Ticking of the Clock

September's days were golden. The warmth lured Loup outside. An ancient wooden table outside of the Dark Arts building became her desk as she graded homework and attempted to study. The sunshine, the buzz of the little brown bees and the enticing scent of the deer and rabbits fought unfairly against endless essays and crumbling grimoires. Who could be sad during such glorious weather? Who indeed.

On a particularly fine Wednesday afternoon, Loup dozed between a stack of rolled parchments, the sixth-year Dark Spell coursework, two folders of fifth-year homework, Gregorov's notes for both classes and the text for the seventh-year class. The night had been spent in a fruitless hunt. They'd scented and chased two hares, a small doe and each other for hours. Gregorov declared that they had been cheated of the last hare by Loup's indifference to making the kill. It was true; she was in a mood to run instead. He didn't really care, but to not say anything at all was to invite caustic commentary about his own hunting skills.

The hunting was, in many ways, better than the glorious days. The summer had been bountiful and thus the prey was, too. The mountain exploded with rabbits and hares and the deer were fat from their summer grazing. A good life.

It was easy to ignore all of the distractions waved enticingly at her. She recognized them and pretended that she didn't see them. Gregorov's classes kept her busy during the day, she studied with de Rais whenever he deigned to give her time and the nights were consumed with the pleasures of the hunt and her mate.

She'd seen Magda a few times at dinner. The quiet, much-younger woman had smiled sadly each time, saying nothing. The pinched look told of the sorrow and the silence reinforced it. It seemed as though someone was always there whenever Magda wanted to talk to her or, if Magda pressed, Gregorov had something for her to do. Loup didn't question, didn't examine closely, didn't want to get involved.

It was jarring when that quiet voice called Loup's name and then repeated it, loud and angrier. Loup started out of her drowse, jerking alert and ready to fight. Hunched, power ready, she realized that what had startled her was someone she'd just as soon not see.

Magda took the space across from Loup and icily regarded her. "You have been avoiding me."

"I've been busy. There's a lot of grading to be done." Loup began unrolling one of the rolls of parchment, suddenly interested in a poorly spelled essay on how to cause temporary madness.

"I know that you have been avoiding me, as I know that they, the men, have made certain that there were things for you to do. I do understand. I had thought you my friend."

Loup squirmed guiltily. Magda was the only one in the Dark Arts group who had wanted to be her friend. It was hard to count de Rais; it was difficult to understand what her relationship was to him except that of teacher to pupil. Looking at the essay, Loup muttered, "The deer will be gone soon. There won't be anything to hunt. The classes will become easier to keep up with."

Magda looked unconvinced. "I would like some information."

Loup didn't want to answer, choosing instead to nod.

"The Non Concipere spell, how does it work?"

Leaning on her hand, Loup stared ahead, and, in a flat voice, repeated part of a lecture she had heard many years ago. "The Non Concipere is used to prevent conception. The spell assumes that it is to be used between two or more people who are not yet ready to conceive a child. It is only inclusive of those who take part of the spell." Loup blinked and looked back at Magda. "That's not exactly true. There are derivatives and additives that can be worked into the basic spell. I don't know the exact wording of what was used on you, so I can't be certain."

"Then, I cannot bear Ludwig's child, but I could bear someone else's?"

For a heartbeat, Loup wondered if she had heard correctly. "Probably. Maybe. It depends on what was done." She allowed herself a long stretch while she tried to figure out what to say next. "Are you considering taking a lover?"

"He does. At least one a year. Why should I not do so as well?" Magda wrapped her shawl, a brightly-colored one, around her thin shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly. "The new one should appear soon."

"New one?" Loup asked and then wished she hadn't.

"There will be at least one, usually two. All blonde, much like Ludwig." Magda took a deep breath. "I wish you to help me."

With narrowed eyes, Loup regarded her friend. "I can't. They'll make me leave."

"I doubt it. None here will say anything save Ludwig and perhaps he will think the spell has ended. You did say that it is not permanent?"

"Most magic isn't. Not that kind. If it doesn't destroy, then it usually fades or ends at a predetermined time." Loup rolled up the scroll while she bid for time. "Are you sure the thing is still in place? If it was done when you were eighteen, it should almost be gone by now."

"Seventeen. I was a member of the Quidditch team. It was how I met Ludwig. When I was a student, the Dark Arts were not required. I would have never met him had I not played."

"Seventeen then. So, it's been eight years. You should have someone examine you to see if it's still active. Maybe it's not." Loup began stacking folders of homework, hoping to find another place to hide. When Magda made no move to leave, she tried another tactic. "You were on the team? What's it like?"

Surprised at the question, Magda's frown faded. "I played Chaser for the Red team for three years. We had a good team and won our year's division twice."

"No. What's it like to fly?"

"You have never been on a broom? Do they not have them where you lived?" Standing, Magda reached out a hand. "Come."

"Why?" Grabbing up her folders, Loup glowered at the other woman, wondering if she ought to claim a more pressing appointment.

"We shall go to the pitch. The school has many fine brooms. You will try one."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I've got a lot of work to do before this evening." The armload of homework seemed to agree with the statement, but Magda wasn't fooled.

"You are afraid of heights, no?" Magda looked at the tight hands clutching the paperwork. "Ah! The great Dark Mage! Afraid of flying! Professor Jones will enjoy hearing about this. And Professor Haken as well. Did you know that Rolf coaches the first-year students on the Green team? Oh, and Siegfried will no doubt find any number of ways to spread the news."

"You're cruel," Loup grumbled, knowing full well that Magda would tell Kessler even if she didn't tell Jones.

"So I am, but so also are you. I am your friend. I will not let you be harmed."

The sincerity in the statement made Loup feel petty for not offering to help. "I'd rather not fly. At least not when there are other people around." Looking at the ground, Loup admitted, "I don't like heights."

"The Quidditch pitch is busy all afternoons and some mornings; however, it is generally unoccupied on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. We will go then. Yes? It is agreed. Tomorrow, we shall both go to the pitch after classes have begun. You will learn to fly. You need only circle the pitch once and then you will know."

Magda smiled broadly, the first real smile Loup had seen since before the awful afternoon of too many revelations. The concept of a flying broom had fascinated the American ever since she had heard of it. Students flew across the Institute frequently and the emphasis on Quidditch was such that one couldn't hope to avoid hearing about them. Loup had never been on one, never had the chance and now the possibility made it seem less appealing. "Once is enough. I just wanted to see what it feels like. You won't tell Jones, right? Or Siegfried?"

"Not if you try. If you do not, then I will whisper in Siegfried's ear and let him decide!" Magda laughed and then laughed harder when Loup failed to join in. Siegfried Kessler was a notorious gossip and the news would travel around the campus in very short time.

"Tomorrow then."

* * *

Loup had to be pushed out of the rooms by Gregorov the next morning. "I have a headache," she protested as her mate handed her an armload of folders and then herded her through the door. Gregorov was in no mood for a morning debate. He draped an arm across her shoulders and steered her into the staff room.

Many of the teachers were already there. Rolf Haken looked up from sorting through his own stack of homework and nodded in greeting. Siegfried Kessler, hung over and irritable, looked up once and then gave full attention to his cup of coffee. Gilles de Rais glanced up briefly from a scroll, offering neither greeting nor commentary before he resumed reading. Magda smiled broadly and Ludwig Lowenstein waved as he relaxed with a magazine. Todor Rabe sniffed audibly when he saw Loup and pointedly poured the last of the coffee into his mug. Had they been able to see Loup roll her eyes, it would been an amusing morning ritual, but Loup's entirely black eyes showed little emotion. Gregorov heated a kettle of water, yawning mightily as he pulled down a teapot for himself and a coffee press for Loup. They both fended for themselves as the morning progressed quietly.

The quiet ended on schedule when Rose Jones walked in. In Loup's opinion, Jones never stopped talking. The scent of cigarettes preceded the little witch by only seconds and then the daily shout of "Good morning!" to Paul Wronski echoed in the hall. Loup and Gregorov took their usual spots at the table, knowing that the morning had officially begun.

Jones was in full lecture mode. She'd been working with Paul Wronski, teaching him how to fully use his magical abilities. Wronski had been taught a variety of useful spells, but it seemed that he was enduring the lessons more than enjoying them. "Seems like you have most of the daily stuff down. I think we ought to start working on some of the defensive spells. We could start with the Aperio and then work into the Cernere Procul. You've seen me cast the Aperio. Makes the window. I'm not sure how it works really, but it twists the light somehow so you can see through things. It doesn't work on thick stuff, just some things. Doors, for example."

Before Loup could interrupt with a pithy comment, Gregorov elbowed her into silence. The morning snipefest was not appreciated by anyone except the two women who vied to show off their knowledge of magic and the Dark Arts especially. "She's got it wrong," Loup muttered into her mug. "Aperio allows the light to be magnified through materials that are porous enough to be manipulated. That's why it doesn't work on stone or steel. I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say about the Cernere spell with its various additives."

Gregorov sighed thickly and dug out the first folder of homework. He shuffled through the first few, sucking on his teeth in annoyance. "Comments?" He pushed three papers back towards Loup. "Why must you write so many comments? It confuses the students."

"They should understand how it works, not just that it does. You never talk about the physical and mental requirements that the spells require. I think they ought to know," Loup replied defensively. The content of Gregorov's lectures left a lot to be desired in her opinion. In the last two years, she'd pushed him to increase the amount of information he delivered to his classes, with measurable success that annoyed both teacher and students at the amount of homework that now demanded essays to be written instead of simple answers.

"These two," Gregorov pointed at the names at the top of the papers, "they will want to discuss the comments. I do not have time to decipher your scrawl. You must attend the classes with me."

"But," Loup sputtered in protest and then stopped herself. If she had to attend the classes, she could avoid the dreaded broom ride. "Alright," she said, sounding unusually non-argumentative. "I'll be there to answer questions." She shifted languages from French, which Gregorov and she used for personal conversations, to German and said it loudly enough to carry.

Gregorov gave her a measuring glare, wondering what she was avoiding. With an occasional inquiring glance, he finished leafing through the assignments as he sipped his black tea. Loup finished her coffee and tried to ignore Jones' description of the set up of the Cernere. When she looked away from her mug, she spotted Magda and quickly looked away.

Sitting through a morning of classes was frustrating. Before they entered his classroom, Gregorov made certain she understood that she was only there to answer questions, not lecture or add to his lecture or ask questions. Any chance of enjoying the morning ended at the door. Inside the dungeon classroom, Loup and thirty students were trapped, forced to listen to Gregorov's wandering lecture. Like the students, she found herself longing for the beautiful day outside or to be anywhere else. The morning dragged. The two students, whom Gregorov had thought would ask questions, didn't. When she tried to expand upon a portion of the lecture to the seventh-year section, she was asked to leave.

The climb up the staircase from the dungeons to the main hall gave Loup plenty of time to plan the rest of her day. All of the plans centered on avoiding the pitch and having a good reason not to be there. The only sticking point was the vision of being this week's object of mockery for Kessler. Once around. How far was that? How high did she have to go? The questions still circled when she stepped into the hall, now blissfully empty of students and staff. Half convinced, she started towards the doorway. Get it over with and make Magda a little bit happy. It was the least she could do. The very least.

The decision was not to be. Before she made it across the hall, someone yelled for her. Turning, she saw Bette who waved for her to follow. "Great," muttered Loup as she dragged her feet to follow. "It's either listen to an inadequate lecture or work in the kitchens. I can't believe I'm stuck with this. In Paris…" but even she was bored with her tales of the legal Dark Arts in Paris and she let the thought die.

Bette barely looked up when Loup entered the humid room. A bowl of potatoes sat on a table with a knife next to it. Time to earn her keep. Opting to use it as an extension of the studies she had with de Rais, Loup practiced the annoyingly useful potato peeling charm without a wand to focus the magic.

"Everything is a lesson," she could hear his emotionless voice intone. "You wish to call the power, then you must do so. This," he had said, flexing one of her precious wands into a "U" shape, "is a crutch. Should you be as one with the Dark, it can be used, channeled, but you must be strong enough or it will use you and consume you."

The peel spiraled off as the knife slipped under the skin. The effect was mesmerizing. A potato hovered in midair, spinning slowly, turning whiter with each rotation. Finished, it moved to another bowl to be replaced by the next. Concentration, intent, focus. It was as if de Rais stood next to her, sneering slightly, but adjusting her focus as needed. Everything was a lesson. With the last one peeled, the knife fell clattering upon the tabletop and Loup found herself sweating and cold. End of lesson for the day.

Bette slowed in passing to inspect the results. "Good. Now, move the sacks to the pantry."

With barely stifled complaints, Loup shuffled over to the backdoor and opened it, peering down the long flights of stairs to see the supplies stacked there. Although it irritated her to use her power for what seemed like lowly uses, she knew the result was worth it.

The staff at Durmstrang was composed of Squibs. The cooking, the cleaning, the maintenance, all of the manual labor was done by those who had no place in either the magical or the mundane world. The bitterness was tangible at times. Unable to function in one world, untrained for the other, each Squib had to make a choice. For the richer families, the problem was more of an embarrassment than a financial one. For the rest, there were fewer choices. They could leave to find a place in the mundane world, but they had little practical knowledge of how to survive there or the education to succeed. To stay in the world where most had been born meant finding a job there. For many, the best place of employment was the Durmstrang Institute or the other, smaller schools that dotted Europe.

Wearily, she summoned bag after bag after box after crate up the stairs and into the vast pantry. The work was mind-numbingly dull. During the endless parade of victuals, Bette appeared with a carafe of coffee and a basket of sweets. Bribery helped. Each thing Loup moved by magic was something that didn't have to be lugged up the endless staircases. The simplest application of her magic allowed her to extract favors from the kitchen and the maintenance staff.

When the last sack of flour was stored, Bette invited her to sit and rest. Lunch was spread out on the round table next to the door. After being snapped at by her mate and knowing that she was still avoiding Magda, lunch in the kitchens seemed a friendlier affair than sharing that meal with the teachers.

Bette ruled her steamy domain from the table, pausing her chat with Loup intermittently to yell out orders. More coffee, soup, bread, more coffee and a chance at that evening's dessert, just to test it, of course. A warm sleepiness stole over Loup, a feeling of good will and peace. Far too good to last.

"What did you wish to ask me?" Bette said as the last of the lunch dishes were being washed.

Loup blinked sleepily, trying to recall. As she fought to remember, the doors to the Great Hall swung open long enough to see a mass of students and teachers. Golden in the blueish light from the torches, Ludwig Lowenstein laughed, surrounded by students and a few older women. The feeling of good will passed. "Professor Lowenstein," Loup gestured at the rapidly closing door, "what…"

Bette snorted loudly and slammed a fist onto the table. "Ah! You have finally come to ask about him. Poor Magda. She does not deserve to be treated like that. The man is infamous."

Infamous. Loup took a sip of the suddenly bitter coffee and waited.

"That one, he takes a new woman each year, sometimes two, sometimes more. He likes the pretty blonde ones the best, but he will settle for a dark girl now and again. I do not understand why she puts up with it. She should leave him."

"How long," Loup started, but Bette waved the sentence dead.

"For as long as I have been here and I have been at Durmstrang since before he graduated. Do you think he is pretty? Eh?" Bette looked down at Loup who had begun to huddle around her mug. "No? Perhaps not. Your Russian is hardly pretty. Perhaps you do not like the golden men. Most women find him irresistible. He seems such a lazy lout. Hardly moves, but why should he? They will do everything for him. They always have. Young, old, it does not matter. They flutter around him, begging him to take them. I used to find it funny. There would be a pool amongst many of us as to which girl would be first. Then, Magda came to the school."

Loup swallowed, feeling stupid and guilty. How had she missed what was so well known? "Why did he marry her?"

"That has been the question for many years. She is not what he usually chooses. He likes them fair and tall, built more," Bette made a round motion indicating a fuller figure. "Magda is small and dark and clever. Quite clever. The rest have been silly things, interested more in his body than in his mind." Bette shrugged. "Maybe that is why he married her. "

"How," Loup began and then discarded the thought. "I've never seen him with anyone except Magda."

"That is because you do not play Quidditch. He takes from the seventh years. That is almost a Durmstrang tradition. Leave the younger ones, but those who will leave after the year is done, they are fair game. Professor Lowenstein coaches the Red Division's seventh-year girls' team. Perhaps 'coaches' is the wrong word. I understand that it is actually Professor Greuber who trains the girls. Professor Lowenstein is his assistant." Bette began to stack the plates. "Should you wish to see the truth, then go to the pitch this afternoon. It is that team's turn to use it. But, Loup, I do not think it would be wise for you to do so."

"Why not?"

"It will do you no good to see it. What is there to be gained? The knowledge is not worth seeking. It will only confirm the pain you see in the little one's eyes."

* * *

Having been warned to stay away, the lure of discovery was too much. She tried to ignore the nagging voice in her head, the need to see if it was real. Telling herself that she was going to the greenhouses to see if she could get a bit more mugwort and check to see what was being dried, Loup began a circuitous route that headed in the direction of the greenhouses and somehow ended at the Quidditch pitch.

The pitch was huge, much larger than she had anticipated. She tried circling it, but soon realized that it went on and on. Besides, she wasn't there to run laps. For an agonizing few minutes, she wrestled with her conscious and then gave in to the nagging need to know. The building felt like ice. The doors leading in opened onto a huge circular corridor with hallways opening along the inside wall that led to the seating. Every step echoed in the hall as she hunted for a way to the field itself. Light faded rapidly as she walked away from the door until it all was darkness. Too dark for her eyes and confused by the layout, she shifted to the wolf and used those senses to scent the breeze whistling and to hear voices yelling and cheering. The passageway to the field was a long trot; the wolf's nails clicked loudly on the tile as she followed the scent and the sounds. The door was shut tightly forcing Loup to shift back and shove hard against it to open it.

The scene was not what she expected. A gaggle of young women turned to face her. All were dressed for practice, clad in monochromatic red open robes over slacks and sweaters. The arm and shin protection looked like armor and a few wore practice helmets to protect them from the vicious Bludgers. "What do you want?" a husky girl asked as she pulled her hair back into a braid.

"I'm looking for Magda Lowenstein," Loup said as she scanned the young faces. The room was crowded with girls. Most ignored her while others scowled, annoyed at the intrusion.

"I've never heard of Magda. Does she play for the Blue team? Are you her mother?"

Loup coughed in surprise as she first began to deny the question and then realized that she was old enough to be Magda's mother. "No. I'm a friend. We were supposed to meet here."

"Lowenstein? Is she related to Ludwig?" The question came from a young woman for whom the word "beautiful" was an understatement. Tall, thin, blonde, lushly developed. Loup knew who the first conquest of the season would be.

"You could say that. She's about this tall." Loup waved a hand at shoulder level. "Dark hair, dark eyes, used to play Chaser."

The girls glanced amongst themselves, all shaking their heads. "No. No one like that here. You could check out on the pitch itself. Ludwig might know." The blonde swept her curtain of hair back, preparing to secure it.

Ludwig. How informal. Knowing that Bette was right, that she really didn't want to know any more than she already did, Loup pushed open the door and stepped out onto the pitch. Enormous. The green grass spread out before her for hectares. The goals stood thin on the far end and huge before her.

Whoosh! She stared up to see shapes streaking above her. Two dove at each other, darting away at the last moment. Another did a lazy barrel roll; others merely circled around the vast area described by the goals. Along the base of the enclosure, there were dark areas, leading under the stands that circled the field. Loup trotted over to the welcoming dark shadows and stepped into the first one she came to. The field was too open, too clear.

The girls filed out of their changing room, brooms in hands, their laughter and shouts loud in the emptiness. From one of the dark areas across from where Loup huddled, Ludwig Lowenstein stepped out, glowing gold in the afternoon sun. Somewhere deep inside her, Loup wanted to howl, wanted to scream and leave now. But, she was there to observe and to know.

The practice began with the shriek of a whistle. The team counted off to form three sets of seven. Seven girls flew up immediately and the other set began to turn their robes inside out, a black lining showing dark. The other seven flew up to watch.

The practice game went on forever, at least a full hour. Stuck under the stands, Loup froze. The dark shapes above moved in high speed, diving and circling. The warming spell had to be kept very small and contained, barely unthawing finger and toes. With growing depression, Loup noted that not everyone had mounted their brooms and taken to the skies. On the grassy floor of the pitch, there was plenty to scrutinize.

It seemed that of the twenty-one girls in the team, only twenty were in the air. Across the pitch, brazen in the late afternoon light, there was some very personal instruction to be seen and heard. Information for Loup's analysis came from Lowenstein's comments to the pretty blonde, Mathilde; the sight of a hand creeping along the girl's back and then under the robes and lastly the scent of lust.

The practice seemed interminable. When the grossly troll-like Greuber declared that they were pathetic and did not work hard enough, the team was dismissed. Loup hoped to race back to the Dark Arts building before Lowenstein left, but he seemed frozen in front of where she'd have to pass. She looked around, trying to figure out where the other exits were when a throaty chuckle alerted her in time to see what she truly didn't want to see. The confirmation was there in writhing limbs, in growled passion. Years of stalking targets had taught her patience in the hunt, but it was all she could do to not burst out. When his attention was completely diverted, Loup slunk by in the deepening shadows and ran back to the relative warmth of her quarters.