Ticking of the Clock

To rid herself of the taste of guilt, Loup raced over the mountain. Convincing Gregorov of the need to hunt that night had taken very little. He was sick of the shackles of reports and lectures. Together, they explored the far side of the mountain where the snow was still thick and the darkness almost absolute. In blue shadows, they paused long enough to check for the scent of prey and then plunged back into the deep drifts in search of nothing other than play.

Snow sprayed in chunks as she chased after him. He was faster than she and more agile. Her best chance at catching him was, as always, sheer strength. Leaping over a fallen tree, she caught his scent still sharp, practically screaming he had just passed. Closer. Skidding on her haunches, she slid down the steep sides with reckless speed, seeing just ahead the ghostly gray shape dart between trees. Her breath made a long stream behind her as she stretched full out to run. Dark fur bedecked with icy points, she sparkled from the starlight when she crossed a small clearing. The scent was gone. The air tasted of the cold night, of snow and of warm prey, but no mate. Ears flicked to find a sound and then lowered in annoyance. The sensitive nose sniffed about, finding nothing. With long bounds, she crossed back to where she had last seen him and worked outwards from there. He had changed course at the trees and headed upwards along the rocks. Her nose caught whiffs of him as she climbed back up the mountain. It seemed as though the only sound was her panting. The angle was steep and Loup was not in the best of the shape. Of course, neither was he.

At the first ledge large enough for her to rest upon, she collapsed. The rocks sucked away the warmth from her belly, welcome relief in her overheated state. She tried to catch her breath, long tongue lolling bright against her dark fur. Even frustrated, it felt good to be outside, away from the responsibilities, away from the feeling of guilt and doubt that plagued her. She was done. Until Magda was ready to end the farce, she had no part of it. Rolling onto her side, still panting, she willed herself to forget her role. It was another contract. Just another job for a client who should be grateful for her skills. It wasn't, though. She should never know the names of those affected. Someone should have vetted the client and then she should compete for the work. It should be done properly, but whole affair felt slipshod, amateurish, almost a parody of real work.

Pebbles spilled off in the distance. Her ears pricked at the sound and, with a grunt, she rolled to her feet. As she got her bearings, she heard it: a yip and then a long howl laughing at her. She peered upwards and saw him shadowed at the top of the rise. Up, she groused, beginning to climb, why is it always up?

* * *

Saturday morning started late. The bells were only rung for meals on the weekends and, between the soft/loud sounds of sleep, neither of them heard the toll for breakfast. By the time they rose, the Tempus charm showed the hour to be nine, a very late start.

Habit kicked in and they shuffled towards the door, meaning to have their morning tea and coffee in the staff room, but at the door, Loup froze. Images of what Wronski and Magda could look like flitted by. "We could have our coffee here," Loup suggested, knowing how Gregorov would interpret the idea.

His pale eyes opened fully for a moment. In response, he forced a sleepy smile and gave her a small push towards their living quarters. She sat rigidly on the sofa, wondering what he saw in the room next door. He still looked groggy when he returned bearing a tray with her coffee press, his teapot and mugs. He set the tray down with a clatter and snatched up the teapot and press. Yawning loudly, he set off to the bathroom to fill them. She Accio'ed the tea container and her sack of coffee while she waited for his Cale spell to heat the water enough.

It was nice. They sat silently and drank. After the first cup, he leaned against the arm of the couch and she took the comfortable position of curling up on top of him. Warm and sleepy, they dozed away the rest of the morning until the bells called them to lunch.

The peace of the morning held until they settled onto the bench. The server gave Loup a glare and set a platter down with a crash in front of her.

"Thought you were supposed to help out on the weekends," Wronski observed. "Nothing like a Dark Mage to peel potatoes and move bags of flour."

Sneering slightly, she helped herself to the bread. She'd conveniently forgotten about the schedule Bette kept trying to get her to adhere to. Kitchen work seemed so low. Her talents should be used for more worthwhile things than what Wronski mentioned. Wronski… Loup leaned forward to look at him. He seemed to be in a very good mood, very unWronski-like. Amazed, she watched as he helped himself to a plateful of food and then ate it. Wronski seemed to hate the food at Durmstrang. He would eat little bits of bread and meat, but often spent the entire meal rearranging the food on his plate or shredding slices of bread. Gregorov reached in front of her for the salt and, without asking, salted some boiled potatoes that Loup didn't recall putting on her plate. Sighing, she scraped the salt off and regarded her fully appointed plate. Gregorov believed in eating. She did, too, but perhaps not as much. Knowing better by now than to say anything about it, she went through her Confirmare spell and then decided, for practice, to try a different spell. "Inspicare Sanitas."

"You have read the newest copy of Defending the Defenseless, no? I have seen that one mentioned. What do you see?" Kessler asked between swallows.

"I haven't gotten used to the results yet." She peered closely at the display, putting a hand out to block the light from a torch. "It looks like…" she squinted, "there's too much salt. Maybe less sour cream, too."

Chuffing a laugh, Gregorov shook his head and helped himself to the large splat of sour cream that her potatoes were being engulfed by. "Is good. During the winter months, a layer of fat helps keep you warm. You have only just begun to round out properly."

"Great." Trying not to be noticeable, she tried a finger under the waistband of her slacks and noted that it was getting snugger.

His warm breath tickled her ear as he leaned close. "Eat. I prefer you more womanly than thin. We will run it off on the mountain. Women who are too thin leave bruises."

He had been doing fine until the last. "Really?" she asked acidly.

"Yes. They do." There was a brief silence as the two glared at each other. "If you do not eat, I will be bruised until I cannot walk. I cannot hunt if I am in pain. Eat."

Not certain how to take the last, she picked at her plate, appetite gone.

From the other end of the table, Wronski could be heard. The usually sullen Potions professor was talking. Loup stopped pretending to eat and sat still to listen. He and Rabe were discussing television of all things. Sounding very strange at Durmstrang, the two discussed American programs. Wronski explained how the different "Star Trek" series were related to each other, Rabe interrupting to ask questions. It didn't sound like Wronski at all. Normally, he and Jones would mutter to each other, but his fellow American wasn't around. When Jones was gone, he tended to bring something to read and ignored his meal that way. Eating and talking. Were those effects of the memory charm?

Still considering that, she picked out Magda's voice. Magda sounded sleepy. It took a good sniff to be able to pick her out at all. Obscured by Kessler, she sat almost silently on the other side, only speaking when she needed something. Loup puzzled over that for a bit and then Kessler rose from the bench to leave. Magda looked exhausted as she sat by herself, no Ludwig by her side, and smiled secretly. Magda looked up, caught Loup's eye and the smile enlarged into satisfaction. She tried to smile back, but the expression was cut off when Magda held her hands out, indicating size. Too much information! Stunned, Loup turned quickly towards Gregorov who seemed intent on finishing whatever was left on the plates. "You said you'd show me the rest of the greenhouses some time. How about today? There's a pile of laundry that needs to be done. Did I get all of the homework?" It was all said in a rush as she tried to find something that would get her out of there.

Chewing slowly, he looked her over and then looked at her plate. "All can wait. Now," he took a drink and swallowed, "now all I wish to do is continue from the morning. Pleasant, no?" Taking his time, he forked up a slice of ham and laid it over her potatoes. "You should eat." Her wrinkled nose brought a laugh. "There are more."

"More what?"

"Chocolates."

She stretched out as far as she could and leaned her shoulders against the wall. "I thought you gave them all out."

He slowly wiped his mouth and hands with his napkin. "Not all. Most are not as greedy as you." He fixed her black eyes with his pale ones.

Unsure of what that actually meant, she took it as an insult. "So, you'll only give them to me if I deserve them?"

"No, I will gladly give you one, but only if you eat." Still stone-faced, he took another long drink. "I do not like being bruised and, if you do not have plans for the day, then I do."

* * *

Monday mornings were always met with black moods and little conversation in the Dark Arts' staff room. With the exception of Haken, who always made the effort to sound cheerful, the rest concerned themselves with their own thoughts. Even Kessler said little. He eschewed his usual place at the table in favor of the couch and lay there chuckling over an article in a magazine. Loup and Gregorov planned their night's hunt. There would be folders of tests to grade for the sixth-year classes and the seventh-years had essays due, but today nothing waited for her attention.

The bell's long, loud peals were met with a unanimous groan. The entire room seemed to be a swirl of red as the uniform long leather coats were drawn on. Loup reached out and dusted off a streak of chalk from Gregorov's coat, receiving a glare as her reward. Mondays, the least favorite day of the week, started with grumbles, sneers and the fourth cigarette of the day for Jones. The ambiance cheered with each body stalking out.

The out door had barely shut before Magda rose from one of the chairs set across from the couch. A huge smile split her features as she rushed over to take the chair opposite Loup. "It was wonderful," Magda gushed. "True, he is not as skillful as Ludwig, but that can be taught. The techniques he uses…"

Loup cringed. "No details."

"I thought you would like to know. It went well." Magda leaned forward conspiratorially. "It is good that it will be pleasant. He is very sweet, almost an innocent. I will teach him what to do. Seeing him will be so easy. Ludwig spends his Fridays with his chosen one and then expects me to rejoice when he arrives in the afternoons on Saturday, but he only remains until the evening. I should understand, he consoles me, she needs him now. Feh! But, that leaves me free to do as I wish." Catlike, she stretched, sliding down in the chair. "And I wish quite often."

The sharp scent warned Loup the direction the conversation was heading. Instead, she held up her hands and made a show of counting to three. "Three days. That's how long you're fertile, right? When will you know?"

"Three or five days. Even the experts are not certain. I think not, though. Not yet." Looking very content, Magda gazed heavy-eyed at the door. "His schedule is such that he is here an hour before Ludwig most days. It would be simple to see him and be ready to greet my husband when he comes home."

The woman who sat eyeing the door seemed to bear little resemblance to the one that Loup knew as Magda. That woman had spoken lovingly of her husband and traded bits of trivia of plant lore. This one seemed obsessed with sex only. Coughing slightly, Loup pushed the chair back and grabbed up her mug. "Let me know when you need me to plant the memory of you breaking up with him."

Magda's laugh echoed loudly. "That may take months! For now, until I feel a baby kick, I will take advantage of this." With a knowing smile fixed upon her small, round face, she ran a hand over her flat stomach as if feeling for the expected kick. "It is odd to hear him call another woman's name, but even that has a certain charm. Angelika is a pretty name, but I would like to hear him moan my name instead."

Recognizing that as a cue to leave, Loup muttered something about things to do and tried to keep from running out the door.

* * *

The normal silence of the Dark Arts building seemed lost. During the term, its hall and rooms held almost no one during the daylight hours. Loup preferred it that way. In the near silence she liked to work on the grading and on her own studies, preferably in the staff room. The long table there was perfect to spread out her work. Although the surface was pitted and cracked in places and required careful placement of assignments to keep from puncturing them with her pen, it was a convenient and friendly place. Kept company only by the dripping sink, she spent her days there. With the advent of Magda's new, exciting adventure, one she had helped launch, the silence was gone.

It seemed to Loup that each time she settled in to work, she had company. True, Magda would claim that she also had work to do, but the grading for Wronski's Potions courses seemed to be an excuse for gossip. That in itself was annoying enough; however, Magda wanted to share her excitement.

Tuesday, after lunch, deep within the essays of the lazy and clever seventh-year Dark Spell second session essays, Loup heard the sound she'd begun to dread. A faint click in the hall and then silence. The first time she had heard it, it had been dismissed. Could have been many things. Ice breaking, but the deep winter hadn't settled yet. Dishes settling in the sink, but she kept those washed as the sight annoyed her. De Rais, but she never heard him unless he wanted her to. The click, she quickly realized, was the high-heeled shoes Magda had begun to wear. One click meant that she stood outside of the Lowenstein rooms, listening for the scratch of Loup's pen or the rustle of papers. There was time for a silent curse.

Magda radiated joy when she bounced into the room. The demure façade had been dropped for a more seductive look. The bulky sweaters and long skirts had been replaced by form-fitting dresses and, Loup noted with a puzzled frown, high heels, probably one of the poorest choices of shoes at Durmstrang, especially in the winter. The colors had changed, too. Earth tones were gone, replaced by deep reds and golds. And, worst of all, there was perfume. Tapping her pen irritably against the tabletop, Loup watched as Magda spread out two folders of homework.

"It is a beautiful day, no?" Magda began to hum as she opened the first folder. "I had no idea how difficult a subject Potions was. So much to learn!"

Loup stopped tapping her pen for an instant, stopping just short of blurting out that Magda quite possibly brewed as many, if not more, potions than Wronski did. The herbal tonics, distillates, salves, draughts and tinctures Magda produced each month filled boxes. Holding back her comments with difficulty, Loup nodded and tried turning her attention back to the essays.

The humming was irritating, but the perfume was worse. With the Animagus spell came the heightened senses, made more so the more time spent in the animal form. Loup spent as much time shifted as she could. During the early winter, before the grading became almost unmanageable, before the snow was too deep to find mice at the very least, and before Gregorov could no longer be talked outside, there were long nights of hunting and running. A dull, throbbing started as soon as Magda had sat down and, with each movement that sent the musky perfume wafting, grew worse.

"What do you think that means?" The answer key in Wronski's angular scrawl was pushed across. A brilliantly polished nail pointed at a corner.

Loup's nose twitched as she fought back the urge to sneeze. A sequence of numbers was looped around part of the answers. She was tempted to say she didn't know, but ego won out. "It's a phone number, I think."

"Ah, yes. He would use them. How clever he is to be a part of all worlds." Magda retrieved the key and smiled down at it. "Durmstrang is lucky to have him. Before he received the post, there was Professor Petrov."

"Yes," Loup growled, "I know. I've heard the story. Petrov was one of Yuri's pack members. Paul replaced him. And there was also Tal who used to be the department head. Jones was hired after he died. I don't know whether the policy is to replace the wolf Animagi or whether it's to hire in Americans."

There was a brief moment of silence before Magda tried again. "I am not speaking of anyone save Paul." Sounding defensive, she pulled out the first batch of homework. "I had thought, that since you were not here, you might wish to hear of Professor Petrov."

Loup leaned over her work, head propped up on one hand, as she tried to regain her train of thought. She managed to add the beginning of her comments before it began again.

"He has a nice smile, do you agree? Such pretty blue eyes. Perhaps our child might have them, too. Do you think it would be too presumptuous to call the baby after his father?"

"Don't you think you need to be pregnant before you start worrying about names?"

"Ah! That is the fun of it." As if given permission to speak, it began to tumble out. "It grows better each time. Each man is different. Ludwig is much like the lion. Always fierce, strong, powerful in bed. Paul is also as his other form. Very stealthy, quiet. He rarely makes a sound. Next to the lion, the lynx would almost not be seen, but the smaller one is prettier when viewed closer. He is covered in fine, golden hairs."

"I need to finish these," Loup warned, worried at what else she might hear.

"Everywhere!" Shrill giggles bounced against the stone walls of the room. "Oh, it has been so very long since I have been with anyone else but Ludwig. It feels dangerous and so exciting!"

As Magda began to pour out details, more detail than Loup wanted to know in any form. It was all the dark mage could do not to snap that the reason it had been so long since Magda had been with anyone else was because Magda was married. Loup held her tongue, but just barely. She tried very hard to appreciate how happy her friend was, but the attempt kept turning into an ugly, guilty feeling. If Magda had been a client, she would have never known. If it had been a real contract, she would have been paid and continuing her studies.

When the click was heard Wednesday morning, Loup gathered her folders and cloak, heading for the door with her head down as if she had an appointment elsewhere. From the corner of her eye, she could see Magda, dressed in yet another tight dress and impossibly tall heels, waving to catch her attention.

Durmstrang Castle held many possible places to work. The Great Hall, with its wood paneling dark from centuries of torch smoke and age, was far too dim. The blue-flamed sconces were magically lit for ambiance, not working light. Loup hunted for an empty office only to find new wards on most of her previously used ones. She was briefly tempted to try working in Gregorov's classroom. Things were going well between them. He might not mind her sitting in the back of his room as long as she kept quiet and didn't offer any additions to his lecture. She dismissed that idea as unworkable. The current point in his lectures was on topics she had definite opinions about. That left any of the various libraries that sprawled or squatted throughout the building.

She tried to get into the staff library. Of all the ones she'd been in, it was the least crowded. It was almost always empty with the exception of the librarian stationed there whose angular face drew down busy dark eyebrows into a V-shape every time Loup entered the room. A banner over the doors declared that it would be closed until the poltergeist living there had been banished. Loup put her ear to the doors, hearing nothing at first. Then, as if it realized it had an audience, the poltergeist began raging. The doors bulged outwards, letting a foul stench out. A thin purple slime oozed out and began to form letters. There had to be a better place.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts library was, of course, off limits. Just because she could, she lugged herself up the long staircases, puffing a little by the end, to stand in front of the carved doorway. At worst, she thought, it would refuse to open. The door sent a painful jolt through her hand when she touched the ornate handle. A booming voice solemnly intoned, "Not allowed. Forbidden."

There were other possibilities, but it seemed a waste of time. As the lunch bell tolled (and Loup realized she had again missed her kitchen duties), she walked into the main library on the second floor. On previous visits, the place buzzed with students. At lunch, only the librarian remained. With eyes that would be better suited to a snake, the hatched-faced woman glared while Loup scanned the possible places to work. The library seemed, at first glance, to be equally divided between long tables with benches and bookcases that marched off into the gloom. The extent of the library's shelves was misleading. At the point where the eye thought there was nothing beyond was a set of stairs leading down to another level and, if one continued across that floor, there was yet another stair. Loup had searched the second level and found yet another stair whose passage had layers upon layers of magics stretched over it to seal it. She itched to know what was hidden down there, but today her search was for a quiet and preferably isolated table.

Even on a busy day, most students preferred to work in the first room. There were tables on the other levels, too, and she headed into the soft gray gloom to find one. The smell was of mildew and rot in many of the aisles. Here and there, she could hear the rustle of mice as they scampered over the tops of the books in search of parchment to eat. An emaciated cat with huge lantern eyes stopped in front of her for a second before racing ahead down the long aisle. The table was where she remembered. Stacks of books lay over it, covering most of the surface in what looked almost like a fort. Other than an annoying tickle from the dust, it was perfect in its silence and solitude. Working as de Rais had taught her, she concentrated on light and the area blossomed with a blue-white glow coming from everything around the table. Ignoring her growling stomach, she settled in to grade.

Distant bells told the passage of time. A sudden influx of scent as students entered the second tier announced the end of most classes. When her shoulders began to ache, she stopped to stretch. When her eyes no longer focused, it was time to quit. The first of the seventh-year courses was almost completed. Overall, the students had risen to the challenge and she felt proud of that; however, a nagging voice kept reminding her, had she not demanded that Gregorov enlarge upon several of the topics, the grading would be simple enough that all of it would be done and she could have spent the afternoon in a nap.

The Tempus charm glowed briefly, telling her that classes were over and that dinner would be in less than two hours. Bette would be furious with her for not helping. Although Loup felt the tasks were menial, she knew how much time her magic saved the staff. There were times that she wished she knew more of the practical enchantments. Although she herself had never seen it, she'd heard of homes where all of the chores were done with spells. As it was, she had learned the most useful of all her kitchen spells from Magda who claimed to have gotten it from Gregorov, the most unlikely of people.

The main room seemed to be packed by students pretending to do their assignments. In one corner, a group of boys, sixth or seventh-years by their looks, loudly rehashed the last Quidditch game in their division. One enchanted pencils to perform the movements he was trying to describe to his friends. His team of pencils suddenly reversed their flight and chased him out the door to howls and jeers. Loup watched as the boys fell silent as if being shushed.

Wondering which teacher was in the room to keep order, Loup pushed her way through the students. It was times like this that she wished she wore her working robes all the time. The one time she had worn them into this library, bodies had fallen back as though she scattered hexes before her. Now, she had to push her own energies in front of her as a prod to get the hoard to part. As she drew close to the once-loud table, she realized why they had shut up. There, hunched over a stack of books, sat one of the least-likely professors she had thought to see, Professor Rose Jones.

Jones sat in front of three tall stacks of books and two smaller ones. Chewing furiously on a smacking wad of gum, no doubt to keep her nicotine demands at bay, Jones was mauling a book's pages as she flipped back and forth between its index and text. Occasionally, little grunts of frustration could just barely be heard. Loup noted the blank pad of paper and the scattering of pages torn out and crumpled in frustration.

Moving silently, Loup edged around, trying to get a good look at the titles on the spines. The selection in front of the small, stocky woman looked to be popular volumes. Unlike the more advanced spellbooks, generally handbound and calligraphed, most of the frequently referenced beginning and intermediate spellbooks were printed and bound into a heavy and practical library binding. The effect was prosaic, stripping any of the mystical from the magic. Her tired eyes were forced to squint at the small print and, when the letters finally came into focus, she had to shove her fist into her mouth to keep from braying a laugh. Fighting hard to compose her face into something neutral, she casually wandered behind Jones as if looking for a title. With the chosen book in hand, she turned and headed back towards the madly page-turning woman.

"I've used this," Loup growled. A book thudded softly onto the leftmost discard stack.

Jones whirled around. "What? I'm just doing a little research. How would you know what I need?"

The smile was condescending in the utmost degree as Loup settled onto the bench across the table from Jones. "You have a stack of book that all seem to have the word 'Amor' in the title." She dropped any pretense and allowed herself the pleasure of a toothy grin. "Hmmm, now, what sorts of spells would that word be directed towards?"

"What would you know about it?" Jones sneered as she began to rapidly consolidate the books she had pulled out into a stack.

"I've had to do a few since I've been here." Loup looked disgusted as she slowly scanned the Library. "The Headmaster seems to delight in arranging for me to cast them." Her survey complete, Loup leaned forward onto the desk and, placing an index finger on the cover of the offered book, shoved it forward. "I had to look them up, too. Who would have ever thought that Latin could have cutesy spells? Love spells." She made the two words sound as though she said some sort of noxious disease.

"You found stuff that works in," Jones picked up the book and checked the spine, "Modern Love Spells for Busy Witches? You've got to be kidding?"

Loup shrugged. "It had the most variety and the most specific incantations. Most of the other ones require too many things. A lock of hair, a piece of clothing, a mirror that has to be the first thing they look into, an apple that you needed to have written their name on four months earlier… I don't have time for some of the setup required for those things. They're for people who live close to each other for years. I'm a professional." The last was added haughtily.

"Yeah. Right. But you know about this, uh, authoritative study?" Jones looked uncomfortable as she opened the cover and turned to the table of contents. "Well, it seems to have enough chapters to cover just about anything. I guess it will do."

It was quiet while Jones scanned through a few pages, occasionally making a harrumphing sound or sniffing. "At least it doesn't seem to be too cutesy."

"I take it he hasn't made a move yet?" Loup barely restrained her sarcasm.

Jones glowered at her former rival. "Maybe it isn't for me."

"It's for you. You've been sulking for the last week or so. I see him show up, he hangs around not saying anything, you try to get him to talk, you two smoke several of those incredibly obnoxious cigarettes, you touch him and he bolts." Loup looked away for a second, trying to resist. "I could fix it so he would stay."

"No!" Jones hissed, leaning forward. "Look, this is embarrassing enough as it is. You won't say anything to anyone, will you?" Her voice rose in almost-panic.

As she weighed the possibilities, the grin took on a cruel twist. "No. Not yet at least. I'm curious to see what you make of those…spells. I've used the most direct ones that bind two or more people together. Somehow, I don't see you at that stage yet. Are you trying to figure out if or are you trying to ensure it?"

"None of your business." Jones closed the book and stuffed it into her satchel, pointedly ignoring Loup's question.

"True in theory, but we all live so closely together that it's very difficult not to notice." Making a circle on the tabletop with her finger, Loup let the smile fade as she carefully worded her next sentence. "Personally, I would say yes, he's interested, but he doesn't seem to have a clue what to do next. I'd take the initiative."

"Maybe I should ask Lowenstein. He's the expert on these sorts of things." Jones' mouth set into a hard line as she stared away into space.

"Ludwig? His specialty is sex, not love. Not the same thing. Magda would be a better bet. She has an interesting background of both the academic and the folkloric." As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. Magda's current obsession had little to do with the kind of love that Loup suspected Jones was looking for. With that, Loup stood and left, leaving Jones to finish sorting through the remaining books.

* * *

The cold nights, prime for hunting, seemed destined to be only for grading. Gregorov brought back another thick stack of folders and dumped them on his desk. The side that held the completed work appeared tiny next to the untidy tower of the work yet to be begun.

Dinner was loud all around the sleepy Loup. Her eyes burning, she picked at her dinner and fought against the urge to sag against Gregorov and nap. To one side, Kessler flirted broadly with a trio of seventh-year girls. Between yawns and the gray brain voids of near-sleep, snippets of the banter punched at her ears. The always-loud Kessler, battling against the noise of the Great Hall and the shrill, slightly nervous giggles of the girls, had adopted a voice better suited to proclaiming from a stage. The repartee would soon dive into the double entendres that he excelled at. On the other side, Gregorov seemed to be silent, listening no doubt to the exchange and perhaps remembering a time when he would join in the chase. Since he seemed content to be silent, Loup kept edging closer, hoping his quiet would engulf her. On Gregorov's other side, loud conversation bits blasted through whenever the Russian leaned back. Loup's weary brain acknowledged there was another conversation, but just barely.

As her head began to nod towards a nap, a delightful aroma teased open her eyes. A carafe of coffee had miraculously appeared and someone had poured a mug full for her. She almost forgot to cast her Confirmare spell, but the sudden hush to her left warned her. Nothing woke her faster than the suspicion that an unpleasant joke was being played. Fully awake, nerves tingling, she issued her spell and, for the first time since she'd been at the school, she saw the glimmer. The spell only confirmed that something wasn't normal. To find out what was different would take extra work. With a sour expression, she pushed the mug away and verified that her water glass was safe. Pouring out the little that was left into Kessler's forgotten glass, she poured more coffee and checked to see if it was safe. To her dismay, the entire carafe had been tampered with.

"I hope whatever you did to it didn't take long or use much energy. Are we going to start testing each other?" It came out harsh, angry. Loup had been the victim of "jokes" of this nature before. It was endemic in Paris. Bored Dark Mages waiting for clients, always looking to increase their reputations, played vicious practical jokes on each other. As far as Loup knew, no one had actually died from one, but more than one Mage had been too sick to work for months. The savagery of the game had grown at times to the point where at least one of the Mâitres had to be present whenever there was more than a few Mages. The lesson she had learned after being caught out was that her escalation of the game had to be near fatal.

"It was a joke! Lighten up!" Wronski seemed caught between laughing and being annoyed. "Look, give it to me and I'll have some. All it would have done is make you talk funny." He leaned around Magda and held his hand out for the carafe.

With a huffed sigh, Gregorov slid it over to the American and rose. "There are many papers yet to grade." Loup took it as a hint and tried to follow, but her mate pushed her back into her seat. "Return when you mind is set to the dull and not the kill. You are of no use now." Turning sideways, he shuffled past Kessler and the now-quiet trio of girls. When he rounded the girls, he paused. "In the mood you are in, you could chase that fat calico cat that haunts the back step. His ears tell of many battles."

Kessler took the cue and howled, slamming both hands onto the tabletop, setting silverware a clatter and sloshing drinks. The humor was brittle and Loup didn't feel compelled to join in. Another carafe was set down along with a tray of mugs. The server gave an apologetic smile before leaving. The soon-verified safe coffee took a little of the anger away. Soon, the room seemed to return to its wall of sound. The girls nervously giggled at some of Kessler's jokes. It took two limericks of dubious quality and subject matter before the girls' attention was fully focused on him.

The coffee made an excellent shield. She turned slightly on the bench to ignore the rest of the staff. Kessler's broad back grew unfocused as tired eyes were rested. By the time she refilled the mug, conversation was back to normal, but it wasn't. Voices not normally heard seemed out-of-place, demanding her attention. Eavesdropping required only waking up again. The unlikely trio of Wronski, Magda and Rabe were laughing and having a wonderful time for a Thursday. Ever the clever mimic, Rabe gave a scathingly accurate impersonation of the Headmaster, Heiniger and Werner, another unlikely trio. It took a bit of concentration to figure out that the conversation that Rabe was mocking was an interview. It was no longer a secret that Todor Rabe, the Department Head for the Dark Arts, was trying to transfer into a different area. Loup knew he had interviewed once before and turned down. The position he had applied for had never been filled and now there were two openings. Professor Jessup had been scheduled to retire at the end of last term, but the months-long wasting and death of Professor Lester, the former head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts area, had delayed hiring anyone. Rabe had, of course, reapplied.

Swallowing most of the mug in two quick gulps, Loup turned to listen.

"Auror Werner insists upon someone who has actual experience in enforcement. Professor Heiniger agrees with me that it is more important that the men they hire be able teachers. 'Ach, showing children how to twist what is dark into gray is something they will learn on their own!' and then the Headmaster says, 'Ah, yes' in that low tone he uses when he does not wish to say anything. Auror Werner turns to the Headmaster and, in that flat voice he has when he wants to be dangerous, adds, 'These children must understand what they face. It is to them we will turn for protection. They must understand what they see'."

The voices were almost perfect. Rabe's skill at mimicry was cruel in its accuracy. He could twist his face into caricatures of the owners so the words' serious nature was foiled.

"Have they talked to everyone yet?" Wronski picked up the refused mug of coffee and saluted Loup. "Just to prove to you that it was just a silly joke. This is a true show of friendship. I hate coffee." Screwing his face into a rictus, he managed to swallow about half of it. Then, in a voice sounding like the infamous Donald Duck, he said, "See, all it would have made you do is talk like this. I wanted to see if you barked funny, too." Both Rabe and Magda dissolved into laughter, Magda seeming to catch her balance against him. "She can be such a killjoy, can't she, Angel?" he asked Magda as she buried her face in his shoulder.

Haken, strangely quiet, turned to watch the three turn red-faced with laughter. His eyes met Loup's and, instead of looking away, seemed to count bodies. The count came up short. Ludwig Lowenstein was missing. As Loup refilled her mug, she realized that the wandering husband hadn't been seen at dinner for most of the week. That thought registered more fully as she watched Magda casually place a hand on Wronski's leg while they listened to Rabe continue his round of impersonations. There was still at least one person missing. Kessler's presence was obvious. Gregorov had already left. Wronski, Rabe, Magda and Haken were all at the table. De Rais' empty plate showed where he had sat until he had grown bored by the company and the food. She counted again and realized that Jones was missing, too. She tried asking Haken for information via a raised eyebrow, but Haken's eyes had gone dead again and he resumed his usual false smile.

The bench rocked when Kessler left flanked by his bevy of blondes. Two took his arms while the third, undoubtedly the shyest of the lot, followed with many a backward glance. Silently, Loup slid to the end of the bench where the slightest of shadows were. Still now, she sat and watched the by-play amongst the remaining lot. It didn't look like the same group. In her three years at Durmstrang, Loup had never seen Wronski talk this much at a meal. Magda usually sat silently at her husband's side and Rabe, whose skills were sneered at, generally ate quickly and left to spend his evenings with his girlfriend. The three looked to be long-time friends. Wronski's normally sullen features changed dramatically. Squinting, Loup thought she could almost see what Magda was intrigued by. Between the smile and the color that the laughter brought out, he had the all-American boy look. Magda's round face lit up as she joined in and the demure, silent image shed itself to reveal an entirely earthy creature of blood and bone. Rabe seemed, well, less Rabeish and his pomposity was traded for sarcastic humor. It was, Loup decided, a marked improvement. Then, she saw hands entwine under the table and any aspect of improvement vanished. Too public. Wronski rubbed a thumb over the back of Magda's hand in a lazy, intimate circle and leaned over to whisper something in her ear, receiving an impish grin in response.

"You're too evil to be called 'Angelika'," Loup heard him say. "You must be a fallen angel, sent to tempt men into sin." Alert now, she stared hard at the couple, noting a faint shimmering effect when Magda, or rather Angelika, moved. The spectacle slowed: Magda pursing her lips in a kiss-cum-smile before dropping her hand to slowly tease a fingertip over Wronski's thigh. In the Great Hall. Didn't they know that there were no tablecloths to help hide their hands, only shadows? No, obviously not or they didn't care.

The Great Hall slowly emptied of students and faculty. The blue-flamed torches seemed to dim with every body leaving. In the growing shadows, Loup could see a golden glow from across the room and understood that it wasn't a question that Haken asked, but a warning. Ludwig Lowenstein and the beauteous Mathilde huddled together at a table at the end of the Hall, seemingly entranced with each other, but Loup saw. There was something about the torchlight that caught the golden yellow eyes when they turned towards the table. From her now cave-dark corner, Loup could see the reflection turn more and more often.