Ticking of the Clock

While she tried not to dwell on it, the time left was barely thirty-six hours. A day and a half in which to perfect the spell. The important assignments became more important with each second that passed. Focused solely on the papers and rolls of parchment, Loup tried to keep the annoying whispers of possible failure at bay. She missed lunch, vaguely recalling Gregorov coming and going during that hour. With all of her attention riveted to the task, she put the last paper into the last folder late in the afternoon. Her eyes burned and hands cramped from holding the pen too long. Joints cracked ominously when she stood. The next set of papers wouldn't be truly due until the following Monday. A whole weekend after the spell had been set. After. After sounded a very long time off until she flipped her thinking and thought that there was only thirty-some hours left until it had to be done. It seemed as though everything sped up.

With a quasi-plan of hunting down another test subject, she grabbed up her cloak. There were other places to check in town for the "not seen" people. A gypsy perhaps. Too clannish. One of the beggars by the church or the old men huddled in the train station as they tried to keep from freezing. Any of them would do. The memory to implant kept eluding her. Still fumbling with her cloak, she made it as far as the hallway before the decision was no longer hers to make. A smiling Gregorov arrived earlier than usual and swept her up into an embrace. Never a good liar or actress, she worked hard at relaxing.

"What is wrong, little wolf? I had thought you would be pleased to see me earlier." Gregorov held her at arm's length, caught between suspicion and confusion.

"I've been busy all day long. I'm stiff from sitting at the desk. I need to walk, to get out for a bit." All true.

"Wait." He gripped her shoulder briefly and then walked into his rooms to emerge moments later free of his satchel and long red leather coat, his uniform as a Durmstrang professor. "Let us enjoy the weather together. The winds are gone and the snow is only ankle deep."

Knowing the hunt was finished before it started, she watched him open the door and hold it open for her. The grounds were blanketed with a lumpy white carpet of not-quite-white snow. Already, the light faded into evening. He reached out, taking her elbow and began to lead her along the endless expanse of curtain wall that surrounded the grounds. The snow was fresher there and deeper. There was an illusion of isolation and privacy along the walls. A few yards further away was to put oneself in peril of snowballs, racing students and the occasional low-flying broom.

Loup tried hard to ignore the clamor. After the last class had finished, it seemed as though the grounds erupted in red. Laughter and shouts echoed off the stonework. The noise set her shoulders into a hunch. Not relaxing.

"Ignore them. Come with me. I will show you beauty." Gregorov smiled down at her and moved his hand around her waist, propelling her along the path he had chosen.

The mystery destination became apparent after a long walk. The greenhouses sparkled with the late afternoon's last light. He opened the outer of the double doors and waited as she immediately shed her cloak in the hot-to-her air. Greenhouse Two was awash in the cloying scent of flowers. Benches were thickly packed with pots and flats of brightly colored blossoms. Compared to the winter outside, it was a fey kingdom full of garish courtiers. To her surprise, he knew the folklore of many of them. When Gregorov chose to impart his knowledge on topics he enjoyed, it was always a production of carefully selected words and images. The hours until dinner were spent listening to him tell fairytales associated with the flowers. The lecture was both delightful and irritating, but mostly amusing. Giving in to the inevitable, she managed to force herself into a receptive frame of mind, watching as the growing shadows changed the rough-featured man into a dark presence whispering of enchanted princesses and children small enough to sleep in a cowslip.

* * *

The faucet dripped the seconds away. Loup gripped her mug listening to the ticking and not to the morning chatter. Time was running out. Not knowing if she could really manipulate Wronski's memories safely was a jabbing annoyance at her conscience. If she wasn't certain, then the possibilities of things going wrong went up considerably. Any of the Dark work required a steady mind and confidence. She needed one good test to make certain.

"Yes?" Gregorov elbowed her gently to get her attention.

"What?"

"You have not been listening. Are you too tired this morning?" He had a smug air about him as he flashed a grin at a strangely-subdued Kessler.

Loup tried to pretend that her coffee was more interesting. "I didn't hear the question. Can you repeat it?"

"Soon, Halloween will be celebrated. Siegfried wondered if our department should not bring something special to share." Gregorov finished the last of his tea and set the mug down loudly.

"Something special. I suppose that means vodka." The disapproval rang through. Gregorov and Kessler had been drinking buddies for years before Loup's arrival. The stories were enough to disgust her, something she had made quite plain. Having no tolerance for alcohol herself, she didn't like being around others, especially Gregorov, when the goal was to get drunk.

"Little wolf," Gregorov began in a teasing voice, "it would not be what you think. A little bottle. Just one. We would all share in a toast. It would take a great deal more than a little bottle."

She could fill in the implied "it would take a great deal more than a little bottle to get them drunk enough to be embarrassing." The sneer was apparent as she answered, "And who pays for this 'little bottle'?"

A crisp pair of bills was laid before her. With a forefinger, she spread them apart to check the denominations. "One very nice bottle of vodka or a big one that's not so nice but very potent?" She made certain the question sounded as sarcastic as possible.

Gregorov picked the bills up and took her hand, pressing them into it. "It is your choice, little wolf. We will, of course, abide by your decision." He turned laughing to Kessler who joined in the laughter, but his eyes narrowed as her regarded her.

Perhaps luck was with her this time. She had an excuse to go into the village. She could take her time as long as she returned by the time classes were done for the day. "One bottle of vodka and lunch for me." She tapped the money against the tabletop, aligning them. "Such labor requires sustenance."

The men seemed to expect the price and stood to leave as the bells began to chime.

As soon as the building was emptied of professors, Loup scampered back into their quarters and changed clothing. Gregorov's side of the closet was rifled to provide a sweater and coat. They were both far too big for her. He had a ridiculous fur hat that she tried on. It was also too large, but it could be tilted to cover most of her exposed hair and, more importantly, with the large, dark sunglasses, would obscure all sight of her black within black eyes. A quick glance in the mirror and she felt that she looked androgynous enough that she might pass as a man under the bulky clothing. Anything that would hide her identity in case she was caught.

The guards were in a foul mood that morning. Loup tried to be patient while they complained about everything from the weather, which was lovely, to the inspection that the shift previous to them had received. Durmstrang had rules that required the guards to verify each entrance and egress through the Portkey. Loup hadn't signed or left her sigil in months and was startled when the large book was thrust in her face and a guard snarled, "Sign!" before continuing to complain about everything with his coworker. Even with an excuse, she didn't want to do it. It bothered her to have anyone know where she was. Her Mâitre had required her to report on her whereabouts daily in Paris for years. It was only the last few there that he had declared that she was one of the dullest people he had ever supervised and relented to a weekly accounting. She hadn't liked doing it then and now it seemed dangerous. She scrawled an illegible line with a dot and a dash over it. It could be any number of names. She closed the log and slid it back to the still-squabbling men. They never bothered to check what she had written. They probably didn't care. It was enough to have gone through the paces.

Once in the village, she began her hunt for another test case. Outside the tavern, traffic buzzed on the cobbled streets and the occasional moto screamed by. She stopped and carefully shoved her sunglasses back against her nose. It was always shocking when she left the tavern. At Durmstrang, it was as if time meant nothing. The school felt as though it were frozen in some pre-industrial past and the village, even as small as it was, was like stepping into a loud, fast-moving movie set. Nothing seemed real. All of the characters waited to be cued to start talking or yelling or doing whatever. She took a deep, steadying breath and then walked down the sidewalk towards the train station.

The narrow streets twisted towards the central platz. There, the traffic whizzed around the square, a steady blur of white, black and gray cars. Across the pale concrete, with its benches already full of old men and the white plastic tables with two or four plastic chairs leaned around each, was the train station. It was small and bore an air of resignation about it. Its days of glory were gone, a semi forgotten stop on a line that went only to more isolated areas. The automobile was the favored transportation, but the station had been in power first and it still held its spot, anchoring the town square on one side.

It would be quicker to cross the street and walk across the square, but Loup hesitated, unready to join the quickly moving real world. She intersected so seldom with this world.

It was loud, aggressive and cruel in ways that frightened her. So long cloistered in le quartier magique in Paris and now at Durmstrang, the world at large seemed very alien. Like a lost sheep, she crept around the traffic ring, preferring the longer path. Almost to her destination, she heard a squeal of brakes and horns sounding. The sound forced her to turn and there she spotted a black dog racing across traffic, ears down and tail coward as it ran. The scene played out like a bad dream. The noise, the dog, the errand. Loup had a recurring nightmare of being hit by a car while in her wolf form. The scene seemed as if it was there only to trigger it.

The noisy trip to the station proved fruitless. The usual coterie of poor men was missing from their usual spots. A pair of police officers stood in the waiting room, eyes roving over every person entering. The tawdry waiting room was no longer a welcome place for the unseen, unwanted.

Following the railroad tracks, she cautiously picked her way through brush and trash. There was little sign of snow, only a few bright patches of white hidden on the north side of rocks pocking the landscape. Safely out of sight from the station, she changed to the wolf and loped along, using the tracks as a guide. There had been a transient encampment not far from town. She had seen it during the summer. The scent was almost overbearing as she approached. Cautious now of thrown rocks or, worse yet, of guns, she crept forward. The clearing held only trash and discards. A more thorough examination of the scents told a tale of a large camp until a week or so previous. She allowed her self to run through her extensive vocabulary of profanity.

The church was her next stop. Usually, there was a man who insisted on opening the door for every worshipper. With one hand on the church's door handle, the other would be out for money or he would shake a paper cup hopefully. The man was there, but the priest was talking to him. Loup tried waiting. She grew cold and bored as the men continued their earnest conversation.

Even lunch provided no hints. She chose to eat as late as possible, hoping to spot someone else sitting alone in the corner of the restaurant. Of the three possible choices, there was no one sitting alone. It took a slice of too rich chocolate torte to console her.

The hours ticked by and still no one to practice on. At the very least, the vodka had to be purchased. The government store held a bewildering selection of vodka, everything from an enormous bottle that was almost ridiculous in size to the regular-sized ones in a variety of different-colored labels and two expensive bottles. The large bottle was ignored. They'd drink it. She knew they would. The average-sized ones had too many choices. She narrowed it down to the expensive ones. Not wanting to buy it at all slowed her decision process.

"It is too early. We shall return later."

Loup hunched immediately. She recognized the voice as one of the Aurors.

"I will not drink that much, Josef. Just a little. It is very bad today."

Shuffling slowly around, she peered around her sunglasses, wishing she could take them off.

"You should speak to someone. This is stupid. You cannot drink and be on duty. Johannes will not tolerate it. You know that. Do you think he would protect you should you be reported?" Josef Baldung stood near the door looking too thin bundled in his knee-length dark coat.

"I know, I know. I have spoken with the District's counselor. He does not understand. He does not have," the shorter man, who Loup identified as Jan Massys, ground a fist into his forehead, "this. I do. I live with it. I cannot work with it screaming at me. You understand, no? It will only take a little. It quiets then."

There was a counter close to where Loup stood. She pretended to drop something and crouched behind it. The two men grumbled at each other, no words audible, just the sound. Checking to make certain she wasn't reflected anywhere, she shifted and then cocked a dark-furred ear.

"There is a report already. You must be cautious," Baldung whispered. "It would go badly for you."

It sounded as though Massys laughed hollowly. "It would go badly, yes, but they need me. I am," his voice curled in disgust, "'special'. There are few of my strength. Even Hans is not as powerful. It embarrasses them. It does. To have a 'Mudblood' who is the strongest man, it is an embarrassment. I know. I have heard. I see the looks. They will tolerate anything that I do as long as I do not fail in my assignments. I just do not wish to reflect poorly on Johannes."

"Johannes," Baldung echoed snidely, "will not save you. He looks only to advance himself." Baldung looked around the room as though out of habit. "It must not go well with him in the main offices. He has not advanced in years. They say that there is a problem with the budget, but I think there is a problem with him. Or, perhaps it is here. My wife believes it is with him."

"No. Do not start this again. Please. My head already screams. Let us go. I have peppermints at my desk. They will cover the smell."

Loup took an experimental sniff, just to see what the smell was. The wolf's muzzle crawled into a snarl. The reek of alcohol was already strong. She had heard a great deal about the infamous Jan Massys from Rose Jones. Poor Jan. So powerful, so well-trained, so very smart. Poor Jan. Unable to cope with the sheer power that he had. From eavesdropped conversations, Loup knew that Massys' drinking was already a problem. There were elaborate cover-ups and excuses made for the man. Jones, always unstoppable when she latched onto a need for information, had heard of a surprise inspection that had happened the summer before and of a very drunk Massys found sleeping at his desk. She peeked around the corner of the counter and then cursed to herself. The wolf's eyes were not her strongest sense. She shifted back and slowly stood. Pulling down the sunglasses, she tried to get a better look at the short, dark-haired man. He had a sullen expression that made his mouth look small and his nose too big. The unhappy air aged him, but that image was lost when the sunlight crossed his face. Mid to late twenties, she guessed. From where she stood, she could feel the crackle of his energy and belatedly worried that he might feel something from her. When he failed to look her way, she had the crossed feelings of relief and worry that perhaps she wasn't as strong as she thought she was.

When the door closed behind the two, she grabbed the closest expensive bottle of vodka and paid for it. The change made a satisfying wad in her hand. There was enough to buy something else. She made the trek back to the tavern window-shopping the entire way. With the dreaded cars a backdrop of white noise, the quaint details were easier to admire. She admired a jet brooch in an antique store window and contemplated yet another pair of black boots before stopping at the chocolate store. The change weighed heavily in Gregorov's jacket. It needed to be spent. Inside, the smell was dark, sweet, tinged with the hint of orange and raspberry. Almost salivating, she dumped her change on the pocket and kept pointing until the cashier indicated that it had all been spent. Swinging the sack containing the vodka off one arm, she held the box of chocolates at nose level and inhaled. The box had mass and would keep her spoiled for a long time.

Even with the nagging doubts still haunting her, she called it a day and headed back. The tavern was already filling with the post-workday crowd. The sight of Auror Werner leaning at the end of the bar caused her to stop suddenly at the door and wait to blend in with a mass of people. Of the Aurors stationed at this office of the Northern District, she liked him the least. He had a notorious cruel streak that had been amply proven by his jeers at her mate. He tossed some money at the bartender and hefted two pitchers, chatting amiably all the while. Loup wasn't certain if he saw her or not, but she could feel his presence as she shadowed a group of men ambling towards the back of the room. With a weak smile, she darted towards the bathroom. A sympathetic man stepped back just short of walking into the room. The illusionary curtains fluffed as she ran through them and then raced up the hall to the Portkey room.

The trend of not-quite-everything-working-out continued at Durmstrang. She was later than she had thought. Everyone was already back in the building, weary professors strewn about the staff room, griping about their day and comparing stories. Loup paused just long enough to register the fact that she was indeed late.

She tried to get by without being noticed, but to no avail. Gregorov seemed to materialize out of nothing in front of her wearing the cautiously neutral expression he bore whenever he was unsure of her. He examined the bottle carefully, noting the price and the small size. He raised an eyebrow and sneered slightly as he turned it around in his hands. Then, he spotted the box. She couldn't tell if he was angry when he opened it. At times, it was difficult to tell. The huffing sound could be interpreted as disgust or a laugh. She still wasn't certain. With a formal bow, he presented the open box, jiggling it once to get her to take one. After she selected a piece, he then made a grand show of offering it to the entire staff, insisting that everyone take at least a piece. Loup stewed by the doorway, trying to ignore the lesson.

"Bette asked after you," Gregorov mentioned casually, closing the box. "You were to help her today. Did you not remember?"

She tried to hold back the sigh of exasperation. It hissed through her teeth as she spun around to leave.

"Loup," Gregorov said softly. "The jacket is not much of a disguise. The hat calls attention rather than detracts. Your normal dress would attract less attention."

When Loup arrived in the sultry kitchen, Bette had an assortment of tasks waiting. As she started the annoying but incredibly useful potato-peeling spell, she noticed how stiff many of the cooks stood and how some would glance over at one woman standing at the end. Loup tried ignoring it, but watching the potatoes spin under the paring knife grew boring. The spell had its own parameters. It would end when the last potato in the bowl was done. There was little for her to do except watch the dance of levitating potatoes and spiraling peels. Dull work at best. Before that task was finished, Bette had her move sacks of flour from the landing far below to the pantry. Move this, move that, lift this, all done with magic. Less physical labor for the mostly-female kitchen staff.

In the unfamiliar silence of what was normally a lively place, Loup could hear an occasional sob and see the shaking shoulders of the woman at the end. Bette stood next to Loup and watched the barely-held sorrow. "Greta has had bad news today," the kitchen manager explained. "Her daughter had a miscarriage. She blames herself."

Everything seemed to revolve around babies and pregnancy. Loup grimaced and took a seat, knowing that she would hear the entire sad story now.

"Greta insisted her daughter have a baby. The child nearly took the daughter's life. It was not as if she forced her daughter to conceive, but she blames herself. It has been like this all day. Every child's voice from the hall brings new tears. I wish that she could forget that she ever suggested the pregnancy. It is killing her."

"Forget? Do you think she'd want to forget about it?" Loup leaned further back in her chair, watching the shaking shoulders of misery.

"Of course she would. No one wishes to feel guilty about such a thing! It kills the spirit. I have offered her a drink and told her a joke, but she just cries and cries. " Bette took one of the other chairs at the table and joined Loup. "If only someone could help her forget."

"I can." Loup blurted the words out before she stopped to think.

"You can?" Bette said the words slowly. "I know you. You follow the Dark Arts. I cannot see you helping where you could instead harm."

"I don't always kill things." Loup scowled at Bette, slumping low in the chair. After a quick mental review of her career she conceded, "I frequently kill things, but I can help, too."

With a sad look, Bette waved a flour-dusted hand towards Greta's back. "She is in a great deal of pain. It will consume her. It is not her fault, yet she wishes it were so. Are you certain you would help, not wound her deeper?" Bette took a long, hard look at her companion across the table. "I never heard you speak of this talent before. It is not like you to be silent about your skills."

"I recently acquired the skill. Let me try. At worst, nothing will change. At best, she'll think," Loup stopped, trying to think of what she would have the woman remember.

"Let her think that it was sad, but that her daughter is healthy and young - young enough to try again. Let her think that it was early still and that the next child will be strong and live. That is what she needs to believe." Bette spun the ideas off easily, showing years of experience that Loup could only marvel at.

"That's it? I can do that." Loup looked around the kitchen. "Can I do it now? How about in the pantry? Would that be in the way too much?" Dinner would be served soon and, with any luck, she could be done in time to eat with the rest.

"Now?" Bette turned the idea over, clearly not excited about the possibility. She looked over her staff, sniffing little sighs as she took in the heavy sorrow that sagged over all. "Now. Now would be better than later. There is a small room in the back of the pantry. It is where I store the cooking wine. You may use that." Having made up her mind, Bette wasted no time. Wiping her hands on a much-used apron, she walked over to the weeping Greta and tapped her on the shoulder. The red-eyed woman turned towards Bette, blanching as she was told to go with Loup. Even as emotionally devastated as Greta was, she was not inclined to follow the dark witch. Bette had to push her by the shoulders to get her away from her station and then through the narrow path between the other women and the large work table set in the middle of the kitchen, steering Greta bodily into the pantry and then into the chosen room.

There, Loup acted as quickly as she could, Greta's eyes bugged with fear as Loup raised a hand. The wild eyes slowed her. Everything she had tried without her wand had been too much. Despite the imagined sneer from de Rais, she pulled her wand from her sleeve and then whispered, "Succombo Tui Mors", making a conscious effort to hold back.

Greta swayed and began to fall. Bette grabbed her employee by the waist and levered her down onto the floor. "She is heavier than she looks," Bette grunted. "Quickly, now. There is work to be done."

Squatting next to the glazed-eyed Greta, Loup checked the woman's pulse to see how she was. The pulse beat slowly, but steadily. "Greta, tell me about your daughter."

"Dead!" Greta wailed loudly. "My fault! All my fault!"

"Nononono. Not your fault. It isn't your fault. It was an accident. The baby wasn't meant to be." Loup flailed helplessly, trying to recall what Bette had said.

"Let her know that her daughter is strong and there will be another child. Tell her that, while it was sad, her daughter is fine." Bette sagged against the door, looking far older than she had moments before. "It is hard to lose a baby. I lost my second one. I still cry."

Using what she hoped was both a sympathetic yet commanding tone, Loup tried again. "Your daughter, she's very strong. She's healthy. The next time will be fine. You should be," Loup grimaced, trying to figure out what the woman should feel like. She looked over at Bette who had poured herself a glass of brandy out of the stores reserved for cooking.

"Proud of her," Bette suggested, gazing deep into the glass. "Proud of the husband for being there for her. Happy that she has such a daughter. Hopeful for the future. Forgiving of the past."

Loupe gave Bette a quizzical look. The sentiments sounded very foreign to her, but she parroted them back into Greta's ear softly and soothingly. Greta breathed raggedly as if crying, but no tears slid down her face. "Be at peace. Know that things will work out. Be, uh, content. Your daughter will be fine. All will be fine in time." Looking up at Bette for approval, Loup hoped it had all taken. It didn't have the right feel to it, but it was all so new. "Greta, tell me about your daughter."

"My daughter," Greta wheezed out, fighting some internal battle, "is healthy. The child was not meant to be. It is in God's hands. I am proud of her. The future will be better."

Greta did not sound particularly convinced, but Loup had no idea if there was anything else to be added. Remembering the convulsions that Wronski had gone through, Loup gripped her wand limply, hoping for another low pulse of magic. "Exsuscitare," she said and snapped her fingers. Greta's eyes fluttered. The woman looked worn out and depressed, but she seemed at ease. Bette patted Greta's shoulder and helped her onto her feet.

"Come on. There's work to be done. Tomorrow, you will feel better. I know you will. We will go down into the village and get a pretty card to send to your daughter. Perhaps have a drink? That would be good, no?"

Loup watched them leave the room and then helped herself to a sip of the brandy left behind, remembering only after the first taste that she had forgotten to cast the Confirmare spell to verify its safety.