Ticking of the Clock

Empty. Empty corridor, empty staff room. It seemed as though the Dark Arts building was deserted. Other than Gregorov, Loup saw no one. True, she didn't manage to rouse herself until almost noon, but the staff room held no clues that anyone else had been up, either. They were the only ones present at lunch, a rare treat. Being able to spread out at the usually cramped table seemed odd. Without Kessler taking the platter of meat hostage, or Jones to pick her way through the cheese and bread, or Haken helping himself constantly to the bowls, it felt like a feast.

Alone at the table, they stood out. Bette herself emerged from the kitchens smiling the smile of someone who has a choice gossip. Pouring a cup of coffee for herself, Bette settled in next to Loup. "I have overheard the most interesting conversation this morning." Before Loup could begin the interrogation, Bette waved at a server. "Bring us some cake. Now." Without asking, both coffee mugs were refilled. Gregorov leaned on his elbows and looked away, slightly annoyed at being ignored. A platter laden with leftover cookies and several kinds of coffee cake arrived. Bette eyed the display critically before cutting a thick slice off a golden, almond-encrusted loaf. "This morning, earlier than usual, the Headmaster arrived. He had a stack of correspondence with him."

Loup nodded, waiting for the information. Bette would take her time, undoubtedly finishing her story when she was full. While waiting for the point to be made, Loup helped herself to a confection that smelled delightfully of cinnamon.

"Each morning, he reads through his personal letters. He has done it for as long as he has been here, unlike the last Headmaster. Arrogant bastard. That one rarely ate in the Great Hall, he preferred to have someone walk all the way up to his quarters and then would complain if the food was cold."

Bette's opinions of the last Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, was a tired topic. Loup turned far enough so she could lean against Gregorov. "He's dead, right? What about this Headmaster? What did he say?"

"Yes, yes, you are right. Dead and not mourned." Bette took a huge bite out of her coffee cake and chewed vigorously. "This morning, there was a strange letter. It came from the outside."

"Outside?" Loup frowned and tried to decipher what was meant.

"Outside. It bore a stamp. The Institute has a mailbox at the Village. We receive mail there occasionally." With a shrug Bette dismissed the part of her story that she wasn't interested in. "I heard him, after he read it, speak to one of his men. Clearly, I heard your name and contract. Is that not what you have hoped for? I know you. It has been a long time since you last had money to spend."

"A contract! That would be great. There are things I'd like to buy. I heard that there's a library that's being auctioned off in Prague. The rumors are that it belonged to a man named Richter and that there are several grimoires as well as some scrolls in the collection."

"You have enough books," Gregorov sighed, knowing she wasn't listening.

"Nothing else? You didn't hear anything about where or when?" Loup pressed.

"No. I did not hear whether it was definite or an inquiry only. Still, it is something to hope for."

"That's the best news I've heard in weeks." Loup turned to smile up at Gregorov who stubbornly stared straight ahead.

Finishing her cake, Bette's eyes flicked from one to the other. Loup's good mood seemed to have stolen all of the pleasure from the man's morning. Bette fixed her stare on her mug for a few moments. "You were of great use yesterday. Enjoy the day. Do not worry about working in the kitchens today." With that, Bette rose and walked back through the large doors into her own domain.

"As if I had planned on showing up after yesterday," Loup sneered into her coffee. "I don't plan on showing up tomorrow, either."

Gregorov huffed in response and began piling food onto a plate. In answer to Loup's furrowed brow, he said, "For Siegfried - assuming he is not too ill today to eat. Or too embarrassed."

"He's never too embarrassed. The man has no shame." Yawning broadly, Loup took another sip of coffee. "He really did run by naked last night, didn't he? That wasn't a bad dream?"

"On that night, all things are dreams. Some good," he smiled down at her, "some nightmares. He has a talent for such things."

"Making an ass of himself?"

He shrugged in response. "As you wish. His choices are his own."

She finished her coffee and stared at nothing. When Gregorov seemed ready to leave, she turned to face him. "He's married, isn't he?"

Gregorov stiffened. "Yes."

"Some of the professors have their wives living here. Why doesn't he?"

Conflicting replies telegraphed across Gregorov's face as he sorted through responses. "It is none of our concern."

"Does he have children?"

A long stare, a half sigh and then Gregorov looked away. "Two. Girls. They live in Berlin."

Brittle laughter erupted from Loup. "He has daughters and he acts the way he does. I can't believe it."

All was still at her side. After what seemed like a great deal of thought, Gregorov rose and left. Loup remained where she was, digesting the information. For ten months of the year, the professors and children remained at Durmstrang. With the exception of two weeks around Christmas, it was their home. She couldn't understand how anyone could have a family and not bring them along. She knew only a few of the professors from the other areas. None of the Defense professors were married. Heiniger was a widower, but the rest were single. It surprised her to realize that she knew more of the staff, many of whom were married and had their families at Durmstrang. Kessler never spoke of his children. Loup had overheard angry mutterings about a wife, but the status had always been nebulous. Since most of what she had heard while eavesdropping had concerned money, her suspicion had been that there had been a divorce. Apparently not. Haken was married. She'd seen the photos - endless photos, of a wife and enough children to field his own Quidditch team. Jones occasionally asked after them to the rest of the Dark Arts staff's dismay. Once started, he prattled on, obviously sad about not watching his children grow. And, for all of his faults, Ludwig appeared to be happily married to Magda. Personal affairs were always strange. She was still trying to understand the rules of the one she had. Gregorov never talked about his family back in Russia. She'd seen no photos or any signs of relatives. Much like herself.

Pushing aside the steadily depressing reverie, she pushed the rest of the food onto one platter and began to take it back to the kitchen. At the large, swinging door, she realized that there was a good possibility that none of the others had eaten. Surprised at a rare feeling of generosity, she turned around and carried the tray back to the building.

Empty. It still looked empty. A small puddle on the staff room counter hinted that at least one other person had been around. She left the tray on the table and went back to their quarters. It was empty, too. Kessler must have been awake when her mate had come to call. Boredom and laziness battled it out until boredom won. Fat folders of homework sat patiently on the desk. She opened the first one and was delighted to see that it was one of the fifth-year classes. Easy. The rest of the afternoon was consumed by industry.

There was still no sign of Gregorov when the dinner bells tolled. When she left to look for him, she found a no longer empty staff room. Jones and Wronski had taken residence at the table. Wronski looked wretched. Skin slick with a sheen of sweat, he was pale enough to gather a second look. A glass of water and two white pills sat in front of him. It almost looked like a tableau. No one moved. Wronski slouched in his chair, eyes closed, arms folded over him, a picture of misery. Jones leaned on the table, eyes unfocused. Loup evaluated her state as introspective, not ill. A full package of cigarettes sat unopened next to her lighter. A pristine ashtray waited. She hated to disturb the silence.

"Have you seen Gregorov?" Loup asked. No answer. As if in slow motion, Jones blinked. She tried again in English. Like an automaton, Jones began to unwrap the cellophane from the package of cigarettes, hands visibly shaking. Loup waited until Jones managed to suck down a lung full. "Hello?"

"Heard you the first time." The hit of nicotine seemed to help. Jones shifted position to lean on one hand while she attacked the cigarette, intent on finishing it as quickly as possible. Color slowly returned as the glowing embers were dragged to the filter. "Better." Without answering Loup, Jones turned towards Wronski. "Hey, you really should take the aspirins. It'll help."

Without moving, Wronski moaned.

"I haven't seen anyone except you and Paul," Jones rasped. "Crazy night."

"Uh huh. I brought some food back at lunch." Loup pointed at the tray in front of Jones.

"Saw that. Thanks. I guess."

Miffed at the lack of gratitude, Loup crossed the distance to the table and sniffed at the food there. It smelled perfectly fine to her. Smelled better than what she suspected would be on the dinner table. She pulled out a chair and sat down across from Jones who flinched at the noise of the chair scraping. With bored precision she cast her Confirmare spell and then made herself a sandwich. The coarse brown bread topped with some cheese tasted wonderful. She picked her way through a sampling of everything, halfway wishing that electricity worked there and they could fit a refrigerator in the staff room. Jones blearily watched her. Finishing her second sandwich, Loup wondered if there was any white at all in those bloodshot eyes.

"How can you eat? I saw you last night. You had at least five shots. How can you even face food?" Another cigarette was lit.

"I was hungry." She snagged a slice of cheese and pulled it free causing a small slide on the platter. Half a wheel of a hard, white cheese emerged from the haphazard pile of food. Chewing on the cheese, she wondered why she wasn't feeling awful like the rest. It didn't take much to make her sick. A fuzzy memory of Gregorov putting his hands on either side of her head and muttering something came back. Probably some sort of hangover prevention. Uncharitably, she thought that he would know how to prevent hangovers if anyone did.

"Take the aspirin, Paul." Heaving a sigh, Jones poked at the tray as if searching for something. "It does kind of look good." She plucked up a fork, moved meats around and then sorted through cheese. "Maybe just a little. Do we have a knife or something?"

"There should be something in one of the drawers," Loup offered, but refused to get up.

Jones looked over at the counter and then at the food, moving her head as though it weighed more than usual. The twelve-foot walk was too far. She dragged the chunk of white cheese closer with the fork and tried to cut it. Too tough. "Damn," she grumbled and proceeded to pull out a small silver knife.

Loup's eyes bugged. "You're using your anthame? For cheese?"

"Well, yeah. It's a knife. I keep it really sharp. It'll work."

"For cheese. You're using it for cheese," Loup repeated, completely horrified. "You'll have to rededicate it before you use it again. I can't believe it."

It took all of Jones' concentration to cut a slice of cheese. Finished, she made a show of wiping the blade on her sleeve. "Let me guess. You rededicate it every new moon. It never touches anything except during an incantation. You wear it all the time to keep it attuned to your energies. Right by all the books."

Scowling, Loup replied, "Of course. It's one of my primary tools. I was taught to treat it with respect."

"Yeah. Right. Of course you do. What was I thinking?"

"Play nice." Without opening his eyes, Wronski slid to a sitting position. One hand slid forward until it touched the glass of water. That hand wrapped around the glass while the other began a patting search for the aspirin. "No fighting, please. My head will explode and you'll have to clean up the mess."

Wordlessly, Jones reached over and picked up the aspirin. She tapped his hand and then deposited them there.

"Thanks." Wronski popped the pills into his mouth and began to slowly swallow water. The effect was hypnotic, watching the water disappear as his adam's apple moved.

"Gregorov," Loup tried again, "Have you seen him?"

"Gregorov," Wronski parroted. "Why don't you call him 'Yuri'?"

Gnashing her teeth, Loup sniped back, "Did you see him?"

"No. I haven't seen anyone but you and Rose." That seemed to wake Wronski up. "What happened to Mueller?"

"Nothing." Jones shrank into her chair.

"Nothing." Loup tried to recall the night before, a disturbing image that she'd tried to suppress returned. "I thought you and he were..."

"Nothing!" Jones' voice rose. "Nothing happened!"

There was an uneasy silence until Loup cleared her throat. "Sorry. It looked promising."

Bloodshot eyes glared back as Jones' shaky hands lit another cigarette. "Look, it seemed like a good idea."

"Ran away, huh?" While she tried to force a sympathetic tone of voice, it came out sarcastic. Even Loup had to wince at the words.

"You could say that. I'd prefer to think that he respected me too much." Jones dragged at the cigarette and then puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I can't believe I did that."

A bleary eye opened and Wronski smiled. "Pounced too quickly? Who'd have thought a guy that big would run off that fast?"

"How would you know? You were passed out." With a savage twisting motion, the cigarette met an early death. "One minute, it was ok; the next, he was gone." Fully awake now, Jones leaned on her elbows and glared off towards the door. "I have to go, Rose. I have duty tomorrow, Rose." Her voice was too high and her pacing too quick to be a good impersonation of Mueller, but the anger showed through. "I don't get it. We've been dancing around for the last four months. He wouldn't touch me so I thought he needed to get the idea."

"It looked like he did," Loup offered, trying hard to sound neutral.

"Yeah. I thought so, too." Jones scratched at her head and then turned her attention back to the platter of food. She pulled out a pale slice of cheese and rolled it up. "I dunno. Maybe I was too forward. He's kinda shy." Jones held the rolled up piece of cheese and eyed it dubiously. "I was starting to get plans. God, it's been a long time."

Wronski coughed as he tried not to laugh and then rocked his chair back and slung one foot onto the table. "Sucks, huh?"

"Abstinence is its own reward." A little bit of good humor returned. "Not like you'd know. You seem to be a happy guy these days." Leaning towards Wronski, Jones smiled. "I've been good. I haven't pried. You've got a girlfriend, don't you?"

"Tsk, tsk, mustn't pry, mom." Color started returning to his face when he smiled back. "Yeah, I've been seeing someone. It's been nice. Really nice."

"Must be good. I've even seen you eat. Food, sex, what more can you ask?" Her laughter turned into a cough, forcing her into a deep-throated fit of hacking.

"Your turn next, Rose."

"Great," Jones managed hoarsely. "If you find someone willing, let me know."

They managed a friendly laugh, leaving Loup on the outside, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Wronski seemed happy. In her mind, she could hear de Rais' purr, "You should verify that his memories are correct." Immediately after the last word finished, Gregorov cautioned, "The human mind is complex. It is fully capable of deceiving itself if it wants to, but it is also capable of guilt and repair." Everything went still for Loup as she watched Wronski. What did he think was going on?

The smile looked plastered on as Loup asked, "Who's the lucky girl?"

Wronski beamed and swung the second foot onto the tabletop. "She's wonderful. A little thing, about shoulder high, very pretty, big brown eyes, short dark hair. Looks kinda like..." Wronski squinted. "Like Magda. About the same age." Magda's name seemed to strike a chord with him and his brown furrowed as he thought.

"You said her name was Angelika," Loup provided helpfully.

"Yeah," Wronski said sounding very distracted. "Angelika. Pretty name, no?"

A single drop of sweat trickled down Loup's back. The phrasing was wrong. Wronski didn't talk like that; Magda did. "She's visiting one of the professors?"

"Yeah. She is. Professor Steuben. He is difficult to find and hard of hearing. He speaks in a dialect of German that is difficult to understand." The pacing was wrong. Paul tended towards slow speech, with words drawn out. Magda spoke in Paul's voice.

Jones shifted to lean back against her chair, all of her attention fixed on Wronski. "What's the matter? You sound funny. Maybe you need something to eat."

"No. No, I'm not hungry. I do need something, though." Looking distracted, Wronski stood and wobbled out the door, turning towards his room.

"Weird." Jones shook her head and took a long look at the platter of food. "I guess this sausage stuff is probably still ok." With a glower at Loup, she stuck her anthame into one and began to cut it.

* * *

Empty. The rooms were empty still. No Gregorov to fill them, just her. Loup spent a troubled evening waiting. Pacing between the living area to the office, she stopped long enough to flip through waiting assignments before pacing back. The quiet bothered her. The confusion consumed.

At ten, the bells chimed their last for the day. Perched on the couch, Loup stared at the door, waiting. At eleven, she crept into bed, worried now that there was something she had missed, some snippet of conversation, some sign. Empty, she fell asleep.

A grinding pain woke her. Something hard and pointy pushing down onto her head. The room was all darkness and too warm, too confining. Adrenaline pumping, she shocked away, trying to discover the source of the pain. Her movement transferred through the bed and the heat and pressure of Gregorov mumbled and moved. With his chin no longer pushing into her head, all was better. She stared into the darkness and wondered when he had returned. "Tempus," she whispered. The time glowed bright and then faded. It was almost 3:30. Rolling to her back caused him to move in tandem, snores suddenly growling through the room. Where had he been and with whom? Loup had few illusions left. When she'd met him, he had slept with the students. None of her few men had ever been faithful. What could be different now? The warm darkness fell cold as she turned on her other side to face him. Too dark to see, the black of the night would hide anything visible, but other senses could tell. The black wolf sniffed the sleeping man's face, tracing down along his body, checking closely for hints of his night. The scents were vivid. Vodka, whiskey, food - the same as from lunch, Kessler, Haken (Loup's nose paused, but the scent was faint and hinted at a short association only). Empty. All felt very empty as the mistrust returned. Angry now, she continued her inspection, sharp wolf nose examining further and pointedly lower. Nothing different. Nothing foreign. No tang of woman or man other than Gregorov himself. Still suspicious, she morphed back to lean on her elbow and stare into the dark.

* * *

In the morning, she pretended that nothing was wrong. A bit difficult at first, but the understood agreement of no talking until after they had both finished their first pot or carafe helped. Although she felt betrayed by his absence, there was nothing she could pin a firm accusation to and thus she decided that no action was the best.

The staff room was quieter than normal. Magda didn't appear and Ludwig only long enough to glance in. Jones still seemed lost in some internal debate, which made the morning just that much quieter. With the school day begun, Loup ignored her kitchen duties and chose instead to grade papers in Gregorov's office.

At lunch, the veneer of "normal" had returned: the usual shoving for space, Kessler booming opinions, Jones and Wronski sniping about policies and procedures, Haken asking endless questions, Gregorov grunting a comment now and again. Rabe's sulking seemed normal, too. The youngest of the department and its head, Todor Rabe sat crowded near the end of the table, crunched between Jones and Haken. Eventually, Haken took pity upon him and asked what was wrong.

"The formal interviews start today. After the last class ends, I will need to appear before the board they have arranged." Rabe sounded morose as he stared across the room at the Defense Against the Dark Arts table. "There are two Aurors, a specialist in paranormal activity, another specialist as well and a former professor of that discipline. The competition is high."

"Really? So, which is which?" Jones asked, happy for the distraction.

"The bald man, he worked for your so-called 'witch hunt' in the United States. Professor Heiniger does not seem to like him, but Auror Werner does. The other Auror, Herr Ali, has a great deal of experience, but he does not say much. Professor Heiniger has not spoken much to him while I have been present, but he seems well-versed in the subject, as all Aurors must be. The woman, Frau Anderson, has been vague about her background, but she is a woman and that will help."

"Anderson?" Loup looked up. "The woman with the braids?"

"Ja. You saw her at their table. She has a sharp wit."

Loup followed Rabe's stare. "She looks familiar. I can't place her though."

Jones, however, laughed. " I recognize her. She used to work out of Seattle for a bit, then she disappeared back east. I think it's funny that she's applying here."

"You know this woman?" Rabe perked up. "What can you tell me of her background?"

"She's a pro. One of my competitors for a bit. Cornered the market in the cursed objects. She didn't wear the braid then. They kinda make her look more European, don't you think?" Jones laughed nastily and began to tap out a cigarette. "What's she calling herself these days? Anderson? I knew her as Roberts. Liz Roberts."

"Liz? No, Elisabet. Elisabet Anderson. What sort of name is 'Liz'?" Rabe stared at his competition. "A professional in the Dark Arts. How interesting. What else do you know?

"I mostly know about her from other clients. I feel kinda funny talking about it. You understand." Jones caught herself. "Oh, sorry. I forgot. It's one of those things you do if you're a pro; you never talk about your clients or repeat what they say."

Normally, Rabe would have been insulted, but instead he nodded to himself. "A professional. Very interesting. I wonder if Professor Heiniger knows..."

"The other two?" Loup prompted.

"Ah. The specialist in paranormal activity seems disinterested. He has said that the handling of the poltergeist was unprofessional and was quite annoyed with how the Aurors dealt with it. The last is the Englishman, Professor Lupin. He taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England."

"Is that a large school?" Loup knew there were other schools scattered across Europe. The only one she'd seen thus far was the Durmstrang Institute.

"On a par with this school and Beauxbatons in France. They tend to be rather insular, hiring only other English for their staff, unlike the Institute with its international staff." Rabe puffed out his chest slightly.

"You said I'd have to deal with him if he was hired. Why?"

Rabe squirmed. "It will not be an issue should they not offer him a position. A small matter, really."

Both Jones and Loup turned on him. "What?" they asked, almost in unison.

"He said he was cursed." Loup jerked her chin towards the bored-looking Lupin.

"Cursed? That could be a lot of things. Probably lycanthropy, though. That seems to be the most common." Jones shrugged as she eyed the thin figure across the room. "There are way to identify them. Physical as well as magical."

"A werewolf? I wonder what kind. There are supposed to be several different sorts. I've never seen one that I knew of before. I have, of course, read about them. Is he a wolf-wolf sort?" Loup was interested. Another wolf would improve their chances at a hunt. "Or," she started, sounding disappointed, "is he the sort that is sort of a man-wolf, the anthropomorphed variety that stands on two feet? Is the transformation one night only or of the three moon variety? Can he shift at will?" She turned to Rabe for answers.

"Really, it is none of our business unless he is hired." Huffily, Rabe rose from the bench.

"You shouldn't have mentioned it in the first place then." Loup sulked. "If he's a wolf during that time, does he think like a wolf or does he keep his human mind?"

"I thought that part of the curse was they all went kind of crazy and wanted to infect other humans. That would explain why you'd be involved." Jones began playing with her cigarette, rolling it around in her fingers. "How old do you think he is?"

The women both took a long look. "Early forties? The hair has a lot of gray in it, but that doesn't mean anything. I'd have to get closer." Loup leaned forward, trying to confirm her guess.

"Do you find him handsome?" Voice barely held neutral, Gregorov spoke slowly. "He is of a height with you, perhaps a bit shorter. Another wolf? How convenient."

Coolly, she turned to face him. "I can't see him very clearly from here. I could change and take a sniff. See how the other side likes him. Maybe he's more dominant than you?" Loup tried to stop herself, but her tongue had already run away.

"Enough," Kessler leaned around Gregorov to grab Loup's shoulder, giving her a hard shake. "Enough. You two deserve each other. Leave it be."

Deserve each other. With a sneer, she tried focusing on her food.

"I have met Professor Lupin. He seems to be a fine man, despite his affliction. He has arrived with a letter of recommendation from the Headmaster of Hogwarts and several letters from his students and other professors. His talents will come cheap due to his affliction. The minor problem of his," Kessler waggled his fingers as if dismissing the next word, "curse is not so very great. He has brought with him a formula for a potion that calms him during his transformation. It keeps him as a normal wolf; that is why you both," he glared at Gregorov and Loup in turn, "would be required to participate. Nothing more." Kessler picked up his satchel in preparation to leave. "He is in his late thirties, a bit young for you, Loup, and Yuri would undoubtedly kill him if you tried." Kessler's eyes twinkled as he nodded formally to both of the wolves. "Now, try not to ruin things and, as you Americans say, 'play nice'."

Jones and Wronski muttered amongst themselves as they also picked up their satchels and prepared to leave. Haken glanced at the barely-restrained wolves and left after snatching an apple off the table. De Rais appeared by the door as if he never sat at the table at all, leaving them alone.

"Where were you yesterday?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

"With Siegfried."

"Until after midnight?"

"We had a lot to discuss." Gregorov looked away, ceding her the argument.

"Really? The two of you just sat around talking all day and all night long? I'm supposed to believe that?"

Gregorov turned back and tried looming over her. "Yes. Talking. Friends talk. I would say that you should understand that, but I am not certain you do."

Stung, Loup withdrew, pulling in to herself.

"You should trust me by now. There are no other women. There would not have been at all if," Gregorov stopped and stood. "There are no others here. You are my mate. You live with me. That should be enough."

It was. The words helped, although she couldn't help but note the small point of clarification: there are no others here. Still, she forced herself to smile at him, hoping that whatever problems they had would go away.

* * *

The week seemed to unkink afterwards, as if it had needed to have all the differences aired out. Monday changed gently into Tuesday and Tuesday into Wednesday. The passage of time seemed to be marked by the exchange of graded for ungraded homework and the tolling of the bells.

The quiet was welcome. In a way, it seemed as if things had returned to normal. The morning ritual of coffee and tea resumed without strange faces, meals were the usual cramped affairs and the evenings spent finishing paperwork. Magda was subdued, grading Wronski's Potions homework in silence with Loup. Occasionally, Magda would attempt to start a conversation, but quickly fell silent. Nothing of depth was broached.

Wednesday, "normal" became relative. Magda seemed agitated after lunch and soon left Loup to grade by herself. Left alone in the quiet of the staff room, silent except for the drip of the sink ticking away the seconds, Loup forgot about the time and worked her way through essay after essay, lost in the comfort of the theories behind magic.

One folder completed and the second barely begun, she heard footsteps. The sound stopped at the door.

"Hey," Wronski said by way of a greeting before he shambled on down the hall.

Distracted, she nodded, not really refocusing her eyes. The sixth-years had just begun some of the more interesting work for concealment, not a truly Dark subject, but an adjunct. The more in-depth lectures had covered two techniques that Loup hadn't seen before. Learning and grading at the same time required more of her concentration than usual. The dripping sound seemed to be punctuated by a loud clicking, but that went away before it truly registered. Another assignment received a score and the next begun. It was soothing and hypnotic. Read the essay, think about it, read it again, look for grammar and spelling errors (the easy part) and then read it a third time, this time scoring for accuracy.

"Have you seen Magda?" It was like a whisper, easily ignored. "Magda? Have you seen her?" Much louder.

It was hard to unfold her brain from the topic. "Magda?" she repeated dully. "No. Haven't seen her since lunch or so." Refocusing her eyes took effort. Dressed for his coaching activities, Ludwig Lowenstein stood in the doorway. His usually calm features were contorted into something sharper and more feral.

"Are you certain you have not seen her leave? Heard her leave? Scented her?"

Her focus shifted immediately. "No. Why?"

"I would like to talk to my wife. That is why."

"I thought you were more interested in talking to that Mathilde girl." It was mean-spirited, but Loup didn't care.

"Whom I speak to is my own affair. I am looking for my wife."

"Sounds like you're talking about something you own." She flexed her fingers, ignoring Lowenstein and prepared to resume grading.

"I do own her. I married her. She is mine."

"Really? Then you should take care of her. Maybe treat her like she's special instead of a doormat."

"You should mind your own business."

Tapping the pen against the table, Loup stared back. The usual Lowenstein was gone. The sleepy golden eyes were sharp. The relaxed, handsome face, which always looked as though he had just woken up from a very good dream, was replaced by that of a hunter. Nervous energy kept him moving as he tapped a finger against the door jamb. "Are you threatening me?"

"I do not need to threaten. I do not approve of your friendship with my wife. She, however, seems to be quite taken with you for reasons I do not comprehend. You do understand that she is quite young for her age and prone to flights of fancy. I would hate to think that she has abused my trust in any way and that you have helped her to do so."

"Abused your trust? What does that mean? You seem to abuse her trust all the time."

"My marriage is none of your affair!" he yelled, all control lost. "It will go badly if my suspicions are correct." With that, he whirled away to storm out the door.

Muscles slowly relaxed, allowing a pounding headache to beat. The last thing Loup wanted was to be involved in Magda's messy affair. It should be over soon. Women got pregnant all the time. It shouldn't take much longer. Then, she could plant a memory of a break up and everything would be done. Until then, Magda would have to be discreet. Loup tried to plot out a speech to that effect. Somehow, the topic kept coming back to "this is stupid and you need to stop now". She discarded the idea and tried to return to the endless grading.

Thursday was better. The kitchen work sped by, the seventh-year's class had a test that Gregorov graded himself; the folders were down to the fifth-years only. The wolves treated themselves to a night of hunting. Or, rather tried to do so. The big prey was gone. The deer had migrated. Rabbits, hare and mice were everywhere. It was more of a lark than a true hunt. The rabbits disappeared first. Down they went into their burrows, followed shortly by the hare. Mice had to be dug out anyway, so their flight took longer to notice. When the weather changed, it changed at once. The heavens, wanting to throw down rain, instead pelted hail. Fluffy snow would have been one thing, but sharp, biting hailstones were another. Ears down, tails tucked, they raced from boulder to tree to overhang, making their way back to the castle grounds.

In truth, both were already tired. Long days sitting still meant they both got winded faster. Neither would have admitted it, but the promise of a hot shower and bed sounded better than digging out a frozen rabbit warren. The gates of Durmstrang looked welcoming.

They had to wait while the guards could be convinced to unlock the portals. The on-duty guards took their time, grumbling loudly about having to leave their warm room. Loup shivered until Gregorov threw his arms around her and then waiting wasn't nearly as bad. Once through, they hugged the walls, trying to stay out of the wind. As if it was disappointed at the loss of its targets, the hail was replaced by snow. The wolves stood still and watched as the wind gusts caught the snow to plaster it on walls, trees and them.

With the wind came the smells of the grounds. People, cats, plants... All the parts of Durmstrang, living and inanimate, that made it up left a scent. Part of the enjoyment of being an Animagus was the heightened sense of smell. Loup threw her head back and took it all in to Gregorov's amusement. Then, the wind shifted slightly, bringing a fresh human scent. Close, behind a copse of trees near the wall. They'd have to pass it anyway. Wouldn't hurt to verify, would it? Gregorov growled and tried to rush her past, but Loup slowed to see as well as smell. The dark forms were intertwined, but the sliver of moon that helpfully appeared for a moment, illuminated the infamous Mathilde and a boy Loup had never seen before. Even Gregorov paused to take note. Satisfied, they continued their way back to their quarters.

"Who was he?" Loup asked as she dried off her hair.

"Quidditch player."

"No wonder Lowenstein's been so grouchy." The idea that Lowenstein was being cuckolded by both his wife and his mistress made Loup's evening. Pity she had no one to share the information with.

"You have seen nothing of importance." Gregorov retrieved her towel to return it to the bathroom with his own. He turned to find his mate waiting for him in bed.

"Say it for me in Russian."

* * *

Bette had piles of work for Loup on Friday. Nothing interesting. The same sets of dull household spells were invoked. To force some variety out of it, Loup tried to see how many spells she could control at once. With a wand, there seemed to be no limit. The tried-and-true peeling charms took almost no effort once learned. As long as all that needed to be done was to peel a layer off, it could be ignored. Unlike many of the spells she knew, it had a little rhyme associated that lent a childish feeling to the magic. Gregorov had taught her variants for chopping. You couldn't leave those alone. They had to be watched or, once the things you wanted chopped were done, the knives would look for other things to work on. She tried to avoid trying the butchering spells. For nights afterwards, she had dreamed of flying knives hacking at carcasses. Bette wheedled, demanded and then offered a trade: the three sides of beef, four pigs and, for some odd reason, a goat in exchange for a free weekend. Disgusted, but motivated, Loup tried to direct the magic the same way she'd seen Gregorov do. The cuts looked like a hack job, not correctly jointed cuts. Subtlety, Loup mused, was something she would never learn. Bette's disappointment was evident. The Headmaster's table would not have pretty roasts. Still, a deal was a deal.

Before any other forgotten tasks could be found, she sprang from the kitchens and out the castle. Although heavily overcast, there was no smell of snow in the wind. She stopped to observe the sky and sniff for any other meteorological clues. Convinced that a night of hunting was in the offing, she went back to the Dark Arts building, planning her assault on the resident rodent population on the east side of the peak.

Walking into the building, a cloud of perfume assaulted her nose. Waving her hand in front of her nose to thin the odor, Loup saw Magda down the hallway, adjusting her hair and tight yellow dress. The little woman looked nervous, but resolute as she knocked on the door. Loup's good mood dissolved with the click of the door opening. The entire day went sour when she heard Wronski say, "This is wrong. You shouldn't be here."

"Are you telling me to leave?" Magda slid her hands along her hips to emphasize her figure.

"You're married. This is wrong. Go away."

"Who am I?"

"I used to think you were 'Angelika', but you're not. I'm not sure why I thought you were someone else, but you're Magda Lowenstein and you're married."

Loup stepped back to flatten herself along the wall, fighting hard not to burst into the conversation and try to work the memory charms that she knew.

"How long have you known?"

"Not long. Saturday. Wednesday for certain."

"You let me in on Wednesday."

"I know." Wronski sounded torn. "Look, that was wrong, too. I wasn't completely sure. I hoped I was wrong. I always really liked you. I'm lonely. You're very beautiful."

"One more time, Paul. Then, we will end it." Magda dropped her voice low, putting her need into it.

"This is not a good idea. I feel really weird about this."

There was a long pause. From where she stood, Loup could see Magda from the side. Dressed in her tight yellow dress and improbably tall heels, Magda looked ready for a night out, not an afternoon in. The color brought out her youth and figure. Feeling very old, Loup couldn't help but wonder how Wronski could say no. Divested of the usual modest attire, the small woman was one of the prettiest women Loup knew. Perhaps Wronski's moral standard was as high as Magda had bragged and wouldn't stoop to adultery. Maybe the attraction spell she'd wrought hadn't worked any better than the memory work. Maybe the whole stupid ploy would be over soon.

"Come in." Maybe not.