Ticking of the Clock

It seemed a glorious homecoming. The stars lit her way from the guardhouse across the snowy grounds to the Dark Arts building. Each step brought a fresh scent of home. She tried not to dwell on the possibility that she might not be welcome. Gregorov was moody, often angry at her fixation on all aspects of the Dark, but he would be over it by now.

The wooden door seemed wedged shut. Putting her shoulder to it, she bounced back twice without seeing it move at all. So close and so tired, she stared stupidly at it, wanting it to open for her and put an end to her long journey. Her brain tried to analyze what to do. Magic? No spells spilled out. Brute force? Much easier. She dropped her bag and tried again. The door scraped back just a touch and, as she stepped back again to renew her attack, it opened. In a star-bright shadow, de Rais bowed and ushered her in.

"You are late," he admonished. "The message you left with Professor Kessler said you would return within two weeks. Professor Gregorov has been almost intolerable."

"There was a problem." Loup looked from him to the door to Gregorov's quarters. "I almost didn't make it back. I'll tell you about it later."

De Rais' thin lips curled in a knowing smile. As she turned to go, he politely coughed to catch her attention. "Loup, there are a few things you should be aware of before the morrow."

One hand on the door, she glanced over her shoulder. "Is it important? Can it wait?"

"There are many things that can wait; it is your choice as to which does."

Cryptic. Always cryptic. She opened the door just a touch. The scent of her mate beckoned from the rooms, the promise of safety and sleep. "Please. I need to see him. Just for a few hours. I know you don't understand any more. Right now, I can't imagine what could be more important."

As she closed the door behind her, she could hear him tsk.

The desk was piled with folders; a bottle sat on its side. She set her bag down on the chair and froze. Searching for clues, she breathed, "Lumos" to set her wand's dim light as an aid. The living area looked as though an earthquake had rumbled through. Books piled on the floor, clothing lumped around her chair, some sort of large stain in front of the couch. Gregorov had not had an easy time of it. It was always hardest on the one who had to remain. She felt almost sorry for him as she carefully draped her expensive, new coat over the back of the couch. Without the work or the fear to distract her, she felt the gnawing need to be with her pack.

The door to the bedroom was closed and, for a moment, she hesitated to open it. If he thought her dead, perhaps her spot in the bed had been filled. How Kessler must have secretly rejoiced when she didn't return. Still, she hadn't come this far to turn back now. Lifting her chin high and setting her shoulders, she opened the door slowly. It only opened a bit before being blocked. She moved her wand in slowly to see what was there. Clothing. Boots. Books. Two more bottles. One of her robes had been wadded up into a ball next to the bed. Seeing one of her expensive black robes that she used as a Dark Mage crumpled as if it was nothing infuriated her. Angry now at both the mess and the abuse of her property, she held the wand above her head to get a better look. The bed appeared to be a mountain of dark colors. One large foot poked out of the covers. She should see a tuft of light brown hair where his head must be. Everything else looked as though it had been thrown there. Careful not to trip, she picked her way closer and saw that the dark swaths on the bed were more of her robes, her sweaters, shirts, slacks, a closet and more of her black clothing all dumped over him. She stopped next to the bed itself and frowned down at the explosion of laundry.

"Is anything where it's supposed to be?" She hadn't meant to say anything out loud.

Gregorov stirred and, in a slurred voice, said something she didn't understand.

"What happened? Why is everything thrown all over the place? Have I been gone so long that this place has already become a pigsty?" She cancelled the Lumos spell and, with a sharp jab of a finger to the ceiling commanded, "Illumino!" Bluish-white light glowed, showing more of the chaos. Drawers had been dumped out. It looked as though everything of hers in the armoire had been thrown over the bed. One of her precious grimoires had been ripped in half and another bottle could be seen on top of a pile of what looked to be another of her working robes. The grimoire's destruction forced a snarl out of her. Turning to vent her fury, she got her first good look at Gregorov, stilling the invective she had planned. He looked awful. Paler than usual, his white-blue eyes were streaked with red; his features seemed to hang on the planes of his skull. He also smelled bad. His scent was that of a sick man when he pushed back the duvet to sit up. "Yuri?"

"I thought you dead. Gone. Gone to die for money and to get away from me." His usual growl was gone, replaced by a needy voice.

Words failed her. Pride had always kept her from sinking this low when Armand had left. It was her greatest sin and her strength. Never let anyone know how badly you needed or felt. Gregorov had no such crutch. The despair he had felt was shown everywhere in the squalor he had forced upon his rooms and upon himself. Struggling with the conflicting desires to hold him and to leave him, she seemed transfixed. Was this what de Rais had tried to warn her about? No wonder Massys had managed a little dig.

"Little wolf," he croaked and held out a hand. As she leaned forward to take it, the wolfish part in her snarled. The roles held. She, the alpha, and he in the role of the submissive. The woman let herself be brought into an embrace while a bit of her spirit pulled back in disgust.

* * *

A clink of glass. The soft plunk of fabric cascading into a pile. The hiss of water. Loup tried to push the duvet back and sent a robe and two sweaters sliding off the bed. Her eyes felt as though a desert had settled in them. Groggy and gritty, she fought the mass of cover and clothing back enough to sit up. A sliver of light outlining the bathroom door highlighted the room's disarray. It was not an auspicious way to wake up. She closed her eyes and tried to prepare herself for the day. Hearing the shower was a good sign. Gregorov needed one badly. She was ready for one, too, but not just yet. She wasn't ready to join him in anything yet.

While the water sent its soothing white noise through the room, she forced herself up and out of the prison of fabric. It was hard to find a place to stand in the squalor. Picking through the piles of black clothing, she found one of her older robes. The black had faded over the years to the color of shadows, showing stains at the cuffs and here and there. It seemed the best choice for the job ahead of her. She pulled it on and realized she had to pull harder than usual. It clung hard at the hip and bust, a testimony to the lack of fashion pressure that the school imposed. Perhaps today would be a good time to cull some of the clothes that no longer fit or resolve to start a diet.

A whoosh of steamy air preceded a rosy-faced Gregorov. He beamed down at her and then swept her up in an embrace. Already, he looked healthier. Smelled better, too, she noted. Burying his nose behind her ear, he made no secret of sniffing for her scent. It tickled and forced a smile.

"Forgive me for the mess," he murmured, again apologizing. He had done so repeatedly during the night while he clutched her almost claustrophobically close. "I will help later. I promise, little wolf. I did not think I could survive losing you."

She leaned into him, enjoying the moment. "What day is it? I've lost track."

"Wednesday." He slowly pulled back to hold her at arm's length. "You look tired still. I will bring you hot water. The coffee is old, but it is all we have. Stay. Please. I am not ready to face the others with you yet. They avoid me now. With you present, they will want to pick and dig. For that, I am not yet ready."

Not having to see anyone else sounded wonderful. She nodded in agreement and almost laughed as he raced out the door. Left alone, she again surveyed the mess. It would take hours, magic or no, to put everything away. Wednesday? No wonder he was so worried. She should have been back at least two days ago. Or was it a week and two days? The latter was just as possible as the first. Time had been lost as she worked. Could it be December already?

She made a circuit of the bedroom, picking up empty bottles and counting them. Five. Two half bottles. One full. The trashcan had three others. The possibility that she was more than a week late seemed more probable. Gregorov returned. In the other room, she heard him digging around in the mess, looking for coffee and tea. He dropped several things before it seemed that he settled into the actual process of making the coffee. Morosely, she lined up the empty bottles and looked at them. Everyone had something they used as a comfort and a hiding place. His was held in a bottle; hers, in a grimoire. Equally addictive.

He seemed nervous as he presented the press. Everything he did seemed too fast and he kept stepping into the wrong place to get out of her way. The effect was more annoying than cute. She pushed enough things out of the way to perch on the edge of the couch and finish making her coffee. As she finished her Confirmare spell, she looked up to catch the sadness in his face. It took extra effort to look casual as she picked the mug up to drink from it. It was a good habit; it meant nothing. The mess on the couch was invisible to him and he sat down on top of whatever was there to drink his tea with her. By the end of pleasant morning ritual, he had relaxed enough to quit glancing at her every few seconds.

"Anything happen while I was gone?" She finished the last of her drink and set the mug down to give him her full attention.

Gregorov shrugged. "I believe they have selected whom they plan to hire. You would have to ask Siegfried for the details. I have not been," he grimaced, "that observant recently. Professor Jones is gone a great deal. The staff room has been blissfully quiet. Professor Wronski has also kept to his quarters."

Sounded as if there had been an improvement to Loup. If Jones was busy elsewhere ("The charms of Hans," whispered by Massys' memory laughed through her head), the tension level would be considerably less than usual. "How many folders of homework are there for me to grade?"

He looked embarrassed. "I am not certain. I go to class and read from my notes. If the folders did not have days written on them, I would have no idea where I am in the schedule." He half-smiled and reached a hand out to cup hers. "It was very hard when you left."

"I would have said things neither wished to hear." The bells chimed in the distance. "I must leave. I will inform my first class that they will receive their homework soon. They will not appreciate your return, but I do." He kissed the top of her head and stopped, asking permission, before kissing her again.

As he left, she tried to shake off the feeling of superiority.

* * *

It did take hours to regain order. Unpleasant hours of uncovering more bottles and a few meals that had been brought in and left to rot. She saw the hand of Kessler there. He had tried to help as Gregorov had tried to help him in the past. At first, she thought about lining the bottles up in an accusing row on the bookshelves, but it disgusted her more than it was worth having the not-too-subtle admonition. She filled the trashcan multiple times, taking it out and dumping it into the larger one around the side. The bottles clinked sarcastically each time she heaved another load into it.

Her clothing proved an interesting dilemma. Some of it was fine. It just needed to be replaced. Other items needed further attention. She didn't know whether to be touched or furious and instead chose to fold those pieces up for later consideration. One of her work robes had been torn to shreds. He had done it with his hands in an act of sheer fury, a difficult task since the wool was so hard woven. If she could have wept, she would have done so over the two grimoires she found torn from their bindings and scattered through the two rooms. Forgiving that would take a great deal of effort and maybe more than a few presents.

He brought her a tray of food at lunchtime. His confidence visibly faded when he walked into the living room. She had made considerable progress while he had taught his classes, but it only revealed more problems. They ate in silence at his desk in the office. His distress ground down at her façade of superiority. He had not been in his right mind the last week at least. Watching him avoid her direct gaze reinforced her decision that having left the bottles out would have only hurt more than helped.

"It should be back to normal by the end of your lectures today," she said, meaning more than just the mess of the rooms.

He nodded as he picked up the tray. "It was a very bad time. It will be better?"

The question softened her still-aloof expression. "I think so. It might improve even more if you ask Bette to send over some cake and coffee."

* * *

The last book was replaced where it should have been. The trashed grimoires could be repaired with a little effort, but she decided he would do that. In preparation for what she was certain would be a memorable night, she took a long shower.

The bells were chiming the next hour when he arrived. Loup still had her hair in a towel, convinced she had at least another half-hour before he returned. Not that he cared. Taking her at her word, he looked at nothing but her as he threw down his satchel and advanced with a smile that she returned. Warm in his arms, it seemed that everything was indeed normal again.

"Where did that come from?"

Loup disengaged, turning to see what he was talking about. Her new coat hung across the back of the couch where they reclined. "Warsaw. It's my treat to myself. I didn't have a nice, long coat. The cloak is nice, but this I can wear anywhere."

"Black," he sighed, pulling her back down, "why always black? I would dress you in reds and greens, happy colors."

"It's my uniform. Black magic, black clothes, all part of the image." She squirmed until her head rested under his chin. "Sort of like the coats you all have to wear. Less than my working robes, but more than wearing colors. I've dressed only in black for a long time."

"Uniforms," Gregorov groaned, "I remember having to wear a true uniform. The coat is nothing. It provides warmth and many pockets to lose things in. I prefer it to the suits and ties I once was expected to wear."

"You wore suits and ties? I can't imagine you in anything except your sweaters and slacks. I don't think I've ever seen you wear a robe, not that they're practical here. I'd like to have seen that."

"I still have two."

"Can you still fit in them?" she teased, poking him gently in the belly.

"I am a fine figure of a man."

She pushed away to gaze at him, a mischievous look on her face. "I'll bet that you can't."

"What is the wager? If it is worth the discomfort of a tie, I will take you up on it."

"What would you like?"

"I will win either way, no?"

Laughing, she agreed and rolled off to let him stand up. "Put it on, Yuri. I'd like to see what you looked like before Durmstrang."

He made a great show of reluctance, but rose. The suits had to be dragged out of a chest. Stored under a pile of spell books, all written in Cyrillic scripts, the first dark gray suit was severely creased in an unflattering way. Gregory looked at it with unfriendly eyes and then, with a downward motion of his hand, removed the wrinkles. He found a dingy white shirt and a dull blue tie. The shoes, however, were nowhere to be found. Loup examined the jacket while he pulled on the slacks, sucking in his stomach to get everything buttoned and zipped. "About twenty years out of fashion. That old or just how boring Russian fashions were?" she asked, grinning.

"Practical. Long wearing. Does not show stains. All good attributes for a suit you wear day after day." Gregorov retrieved his jacket and donned it. He looked more than just different. Donning the suit meant settling into the identity it provided. He looked anonymous and frightening at the same time.

Circling around him, she tried to imagine a Gregorov who wore such things on a daily basis. "You worked in an office?"

"I was based out of Moscow, but I was sent many different places in my work."

Running a hand over his back, she stopped and swung around to face him. "Did you like it?"

"No. It was what I was trained to do. They paid me well for my abilities. I did not like it."

"It makes you look sad." Stepping back for a last look, she decided that she preferred the other version better. "Let's take it off. You deserve payment for winning the bet. You managed to fit into the slacks." She reached for the top button on the jacket and, as she slipped it from the buttonhole, a loud knocking echoed from the office.

"It must be Siegfried," Gregorov muttered. "He worries about me. He has been a loyal friend. I wish that you would make an extra effort to be pleasant to him."

At that moment, Loup would have agreed to be pleasant to Jones. She collapsed onto the couch and stole a moment to pat her new coat.

"She is here?"

Loup's attention to her newest acquisition was torn by the voice. Icy, angry, indignant, not the usual slow drawl of Ludwig Lowenstein.

"Yes. She returned last night."

"It is good that both of you are present. I will wish to speak to you as well." Lowenstein stormed by an impassive Gregorov. Behind him, looking neutral, was Rolf Haken.

Haken stopped at the door and turned to look at Gregorov, a tight smile appearing slowly. "Comrade Gregorov, that is a version of you that I have not seen in years."

"Nor shall you again, Comrade Haken."

"The attire ill-fits both of us, although I never wore a uniform or a suit such as that." Haken stepped into the living room and leaned against the wall. "Ludwig wishes me to be here as a witness and possibly as an enforcer. It seems we both are forced to resume roles that we would prefer to never have again."

Lowenstein stared at Loup, clearly preparing a speech. "How much did she pay you?"

"Pay me? I haven't been paid by anyone yet. I need to see the Headmaster tomorrow to get my share of the contract money, but I haven't left here yet."

"Magda. My wife. How much did she pay you to set the spell? Or did Professor Wronski pay you?"

It took several seconds for Loup to realize what he was talking about. "I wasn't paid anything by either Magda or Paul," she said slowly, knowing that she had to choose her words carefully.

"You did perform a spell though, did you not?" Lowenstein, not waiting for answer, turned towards Gregorov. "She performed some sort of low-level charm. I am not certain exactly what it was, but it would have required that both comply. My wife," he spat, "and Professor Wronski. She did it." He pointed at Loup whose eyes widened at the accusing finger. "I know she worked a spell for their pathetic romance. Which came to you? But, it grows even worse."

"Worse?" Gregorov echoed. "What has she done?" Sounding as though nothing would surprise him, he took position on the other side of the doorway from Haken and also leaned against the wall.

"My dear wife seeks a child," Lowenstein sneered, turning again to face Loup.

"You promised her she could have one this year!" Loup blurted and then wished she could retract the words.

"Yes, I did. It is not yet time. There are other things that must happen first." Lowenstein's eyes narrowed as he edged closer, his nostrils flaring slightly.

"Other things," Loup threw back at him, "how many 'other things' are you going to sleep with? Why is it ok for you but not her?"

"My marriage is of no business to you. Obviously, you do not understand your boundaries."

"She wants a baby," Loup started, looking at Gregorov, ignoring Lowenstein.

"But I do not. It would complicate our lives at present. In a few more years, perhaps that will change."

"In a few more years when the little girls don't fall at your feet you mean! Why are you here on a Wednesday? Did the pretty Mathilde tell you about her boyfriend? Or did you find out from someone else?" Snarling, ready to fight, Loup saw Gregorov's head sag forward and Haken frown.

"Much as I suspected," Lowenstein snarled back, "you have meddled where you should not and now others will have to suffer for your insolence."

"Others? Suffer? I don't understand." Loup looked at Lowenstein who retreated a step to look down his aristocratic nose at her. "What's going on? How do you know about Magda?"

"It was ridiculously simple to discover the affair. At first, I thought that I would allow my wife her little infidelity. She would grow bored and return to her duties and obligations. It would give her something to smile about on the nights I do not return. Professor Wronski, dear Professor Wronski, is a child in many matters, but he seems to have developed a fondness for her. She will not divorce me, not I her; however, dear Professor Wronski has a chivalrous streak and insists that she leave me for him. Foolish man. The romantic notion seems to have taken a hold of my dear wife's mind. I will not hear of it. At first, I was insulted to even think that this could happen, but then I found out about your involvement. How typical of women." He turned on his heel and walked over to the other two men. "When one is not brave enough to proceed on her own, they turn to a friend for support. I am sure that Magda made it sound simple enough, perhaps only sighing for a lost opportunity, but she lacked the nerve to proceed. It is this one who set her on the path to infidelity. Without Loup's interference, all would be normal and sane. And, I have discovered that there was more than just a simple love charm. That, I could have laughed off. How like a woman to turn to the basest of sorcery to ensnare a man! No, there was a memory charm employed to help sway the bashful Professor Wronski. Memory manipulation by someone who does not know what to do. Dangerous, my friends, very dangerous. Stupid as well. Did you not receive a visit from the Aurors, Professor Gregorov? A visit concerning illicit memory work performed by an amateur!" Lowenstein managed to convey disgust and disdain in the word as he twisted it. "Who knows what damage she has done to both my wife and the foolish young man."

"Memory work." Gregorov sounded tired as he looked first at Loup and then down at his suit. "It is considered illegal to tamper with anyone's memory in any way unless that person is qualified and under the supervision of a government agency. Or, at least it was when I worked in the field."

"Yes. The laws here are the same," Haken added, folding his arms, watching both Lowenstein and Gregorov carefully. "If done incorrectly, it could cause irreparable damage."

"I believe that damage has been done. I know that work has been done to Professor Wronski and I fear that Magda has been affected as well." He rocked back on his heels and waited a heartbeat. "I understand that to undo the damage to one, anyone who is close to that person must also have the memories removed to ensure a continuity. Am I correct?"

Defeated, Gregorov nodded. "Yes. All connected with it must have their memories changed to reflect a common past. Are only the two affected or will Loup need to be dealt with also?"

It was said so calmly that it took Loup time to realize what was implied. She half-rose and stopped when Gregorov held up a hand. "It would be best, in my opinion, if she was left as she is. It is a lesson worth learning."

"Afraid you would do more than a bit of memory rearranging? Were I as gifted as you in these skills, I would change more than mere memories. I would teach her her place," Lowenstein growled.

"Ludwig, you are overlaying your personal opinions in this matter with what needs to be corrected," Haken said with a sigh. "Let us be reasonable. You feel that there is sufficient evidence proving that your wife's affair with Professor Wronski was induced by a memory charm and a spell by Loup. His judgment impaired, Professor Wronski acted in a manner that is contrary to his nature and was forced to perform in ways abhorrent to him. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"In this example, the wife, acting in tandem with a professional, has redirected the normal actions of a man and has violated the law. It is the greater problem of the memory manipulation that we must address, in accordance with the law. As basic behavior was affected, most probably due to the false memory or memories implanted by the contracted professional, it is requested by the victim, the husband, that the false memories be removed as well as any spell broken that might have coerced the other victim, Professor Wronski, into actions that injured all parties. Is that correct?" Haken sounded bored, as if he was reciting something committed to memory years ago.

"Yes."

"Which of us will carry out the procedure?" Haken asked, clearly hoping that Gregorov would agree to do it.

Emotionlessly, Gregorov stared at Loup. "It seems that I am attired for the job. I will need access to them both."

"They already await you." Lowenstein turned to leave.

"Wait! How can you pass judgment like that? You don't even know all of the details. I think Paul's in love with her. I know she thinks she's in love with him." Loup tried to get their attention.

"You know nothing about her. Nothing. You have affected her judgment, afflicted her with the burden of doing things she would never have done without your help. It is you to blame. You are at fault." Lowenstein vibrated with anger where he stood. "They are waiting. Follow me."

Sagging back onto the couch, Loup swore under her breath, damming Lowenstein to the darkest hell she could think of.

"You will attend. You started the wheel's motion, you shall see its end. You did want to learn, did you not?" Without waiting for an answer, Gregorov jerked her off the couch and, fingers digging into her arm, dragged her after him.

Lowenstein and Haken waited outside Wronski's quarters. For a moment, Loup allowed herself to feel smug that they couldn't enter. Jones had set those wards. Loup herself had pushed at them a few times, just to check the strength. With a sneer, she pulled herself free to retreat back a few steps. "How are you going to get in?"

"I have already been inside." Lowenstein's toothy smile looked more like a snarl. "This is a simple matter. Professor Jones is a powerful witch. She knows a great deal about the Dark Arts and magic in general and is quite adaptable; however, she tends to simplify things too much. Professor Wronski is squeamish about blood and his own fluids. He would not trigger his wards thusly. He and Professor Jones both feel that they are clever in their choice of key phrases to enter and exit their wards. They use only a phrase, one that changes infrequently. I do not believe that Professor Wronski has changed his at all since she activated the wards. And, as such, 'Everyone has Avagadro's Number'." The wards changed color slightly. Lowenstein stood in the doorway and ushered them all inside.

Things had changed since the last time Loup had been inside. The endless piles of books had been stacked taller and were crammed against two of the four walls of the office, making a much larger area by the door. The living area, which was still mostly devoted to Wronski's hodgepodge of a laboratory set-up, had been cleared out. A small CD player had been set up on top of the stone table. Next to it were packages of batteries and a variety of dance music CDs. Loup recalled Magda's hopes that Wronski might dance. Lowenstein directed them to continue onwards. Loup tried to take a position outside the bedroom. She didn't want to go in there. Gregorov roughly took her by the shoulders and steered her inside.

They were there. Deeply asleep, his sandy blond head and her dark one touching at the foreheads. They seemed happy, little smiles on their faces as they slept. They even breathed together. Loup felt like a voyeur. The men seemed unaffected. Haken retrieved a chair from the living area and set it up in the doorway, effectively gaining a prime place to watch and providing a wall against escape. Lowenstein settled in at the foot of the bed. "I found them thus." He stared at the peaceful scene, baring his teeth in a snarl. "They will sleep until I release them. I wanted you all to see and understand the crime that has been done to me."

In slow motion, Gregorov walked forward until he stood next to the bed. He separated the two gently and, in a manner befitting a gentleman, tucked the covers around Magda's chin. After taking a deep breath, he began asking questions - all in Russian - that Haken translated occasionally. It seemed as though Gregorov was going through a script from a bad play. He looked angry while he talked. Loup understood only a little bit. Her Russian was limited to profanity and a few terms mostly found in the bedroom. Haken nodded at appropriate points, also looking as though he had stepped into a role. When some sort of dialog was decided upon, Gregorov started in earnest.

The procedure seemed basic at first: name, age, place of birth, where did you go to school, who was your mother, all questions that led to establishing an identity and making certain that the person's memory was uncorrupted.

"When did you alter their memories?" Haken asked. "A month? Two months?"

"I didn't alter their memories. Just his," Loup grumbled. "Early October. I don't remember when exactly."

"Key word?" Haken swung a foot back and forth while he waited for a response.

"Angelika. Use that." Dragging it out would just make it worse and, after watching the tedious set up, she found that she wanted to see the actual work.

To the sleeping Wronski, Gregorov said, "Tell me about Angelika…"

It was a nightmare. A sugar-coated, sex-drenched nightmare. In a quiet monotone, Wronski systematically spilled his guts about Angelika. The original memory she had tried to plant was there, but, even to Loup, it didn't fit into anything. Gregorov gave her a disgusted look when everything about Angelika began as a complete story. Loup winced and looked away before long, feeling as though she had no right to sit there at all. Angelika, it seemed, had arrived as a full-formed personal memory, all sweetness and light. It was the mark of her inexperience. Real memories tended to be fragmented, coming from several sources, not a complete tale with such a firm beginning. Wronski's narrative continued with a lot of sexual activity that was nothing anyone needed to know. Lowenstein grew more still with each new tale. For a short affair, there was more material than anyone in the room could have guessed. Loup felt stupid. She had thought that Magda would limit herself to the times she was fertile, but that was not the case. It had been fun and exciting for both participants. Angelika had appeared almost daily after Wronski's last class, staying until dinnertime except for Wednesdays and Fridays and the occasional Saturday. In a precise imitation of Magda's lilting, laugh-fill voice, Wronski said, "We all have our schedules, so precise, and it is so easy to fill in those times with lovely events, not dwell on the sad." Lowenstein left the room, squeezing by Haken who didn't bother to move himself or the chair.

"When did you realize that there was no Angelika?" Gregorov asked, his voice astonishingly neutral.

"The Sunday after Halloween. I just knew. Angelika, there was no Angelika. She was Magda." Wronski's brow furrowed and his smile disappeared. "It was wrong."

Loup sighed and looked down, feeling as badly as she knew she was meant to. It had seemed a simple enough request months ago, but even then she'd known it was wrong.

Gregorov nodded and touched his fingers to Wronski's eyelids, drawing them down. During the entire monologue about Angelika, Wronski's eyes had stared blankly ahead, a creepy addition to the setting. He turned to Magda and seemed reluctant to begin the same procedure.

"Do you have to do her, too?" Loup asked, feeling particularly squeamish.

"Are you afraid that she will implicate you too fully? Are you ashamed of your work? Let us hear Magda's tale. The timelines must coincide as well as the memories." Gregorov ran a hand over his face, clearly tired.

The nightmare began again, but worse in many ways. Magda's story had the more usual amorphous beginning. An idea, a whim, a passing fancy that took flight. Loup was horrified to hear how Magda had planned on using her. It is not a good thing to hear someone's frank opinion of oneself and worse yet when that someone was thought to be a friend. Magda's view of the dark mage was like that of a spider to a fly. So easy to trap, so easy to bring in and manipulate. How could she not use someone who so obviously did not understand the human mind? How could anyone not recognize personal boundaries? Someone who had never really had a friend.

Gregorov made her listen to everything. Even when Loup tried to leave, Haken merely shifted position to prevent her from doing so. The questions went on for what seemed like hours, setting up the backdrop that had allowed Magda to spin the tale of Angelika and how she had found the tool with which to do it. At last, when that was done, the overdose of sexuality spilled forth. Magda had a better descriptive style, one that was florid and salty, making Wronski's descriptions sound like that of a prude. Both of the men seemed uncomfortable with the sordid little tales. Loup stopped listening and wallowed in self-pity. Used by the person she thought she was helping, used easily and piteously.

When Magda was finished and there was only silence, it was a relief. No one wanted to talk for fear of starting the next phase. At last, Haken looked up from staring at his hands. "And now? What will you do now?"

"The simplest is, of course, the best. I will overlay Ludwig as the object of her memories. That will make the most sense. It will reinforce her attachment to him and allow her to keep most paths intact. I have not yet decided what to do with Professor Wronski's memories. I should redirect them so you star in them." He nodded at Loup who no longer rose to take the bait. "But, instead, I think I will let him believe them fantasies."

"Poor Paul," Loup muttered. "Never does get the girl, does he?"

"You feel sorry for him?" Haken asked, mostly out of habit.

"At times. Since Jones has taken up with the Aurors, he doesn't have anyone to hang out with. He's kind of sad at times." Loup didn't look up. She twisted her hands in her lap, hoping it was almost over.

"Sympathy? A vast improvement over what I would have expected from you." Haken sounded vaguely surprised. "Perhaps, in time, a decade or so, you might touch again a spark of humanity."

"This will take several hours," Gregorov said. "You may stay or go. If someone could bring me something to eat, I would appreciate it."

Loup tried to go, but Haken pushed her down. "I think it best that you stay. I will return with dinner for all of us. And, Comrade Gregorov?"

Gregorov gave him a disgusted look. "Yes, Comrade Haken?"

"It is good that neither of us have these insights into the petty minds of men as we once did. I, for one, do not miss it and I do not believe you do, either."

* * *

It was a very long night. Loup listened while Gregorov set memories. It sounded at first like a bedtime story, all that needed to be added was "Once upon a time", but it was more detailed than that. For Magda, it was simpler. Gregorov left her the idea that she was attracted to Wronski, but enforced the idea that it was foolish. As a cruel twist, he enforced the idea that she was happy to wait for her husband to decide upon a child and that she should seek some new friends. Loup looked away, knowing it was probably the kindest thing Gregorov could do, but felt doubly betrayed. It seemed to take forever getting Magda's memories redirected, but Wronski's took hours. There were a lot of loose ends that needed to be found and rechanneled. Frustration mounted when Loup's sloppiness caused problems. All she wanted to do was leave. Leave and disappear into the darkness. Most of Wronski's pleasant memories were turned into fantasies of what he might think of by himself. A few were harder to explain. Why would he have dance music in his room? Who would he have danced with? Neither Gregorov nor Loup had an idea as to where he would have purchased the music. The dates on the CDs spanned over several years. Haken was sent to search the room and came back with a collection of other music, none of which looked familiar to anyone there. The men collaborated on something, Loup didn't care what, that seemed to amuse them and fill the need. Haken left after midnight, leaving Gregorov to do the final work. It was not the homecoming evening either Loup or Gregorov had planned.

* * *

Thursday morning seemed to be a new act for the play, only the characters had changed overnight. Enter stage right, Magda, the faithful and dutiful wife of Ludwig Lowenstein. She looked like Magda, sounded like Magda, but seemed stiffer than the woman that Loup recalled. Lowenstein gave Loup a tight-eyed glare that indicated that the new wife was considered an improvement. Enter stage left, Paul Wronski, a quieter, sadder man. The smile that had become a part of Wronski's face was gone, replaced with the sour turn to his mouth that had been there before the farce had begun. It was odd, Loup thought, that no one noticed. The few members of the staff not involved with the whole thing should have noticed something. Even Rabe, who had become a close friend, seemed to not see a change. That in itself was a lesson. It was hard to notice anything outside of your own problems. Rabe wrestled with his career, ignoring his friends. Jones prattled on, telling a story about the Aurors, completely oblivious to the change in her supposedly closest friend. Kessler wanted only to talk about a new girl he had seen. De Rais may have detected a change, but didn't care about either party and was as always unconcerned. Everyone else knew and looked away from the other conspirators. It was going to be a long winter.

There was one bright spot to look forward to: getting paid. Determined to get through the rest of the day, Loup pulled on her new coat and silently walked with Gregorov to the castle. He left her in the main hall, descending the staircase to the dungeon classrooms without a backward glance or any parting comments. The beautiful coat seemed to lose its luster.

The Headmaster seemed genuinely pleased to see her if a bit surprised. "So long a time for only a few spells?" he said, handing over a bag of Galleons, no doubt amused at the thought that she would have to exchange them in the Bursar's office where she would be shortchanged. Bowing formally, she stuffed what seemed like a pitifully small amount of money for all the work and the horrible adventure into her pocket. "Bette will be pleased at your return. I am certain there is work there for you to do." The Headmaster dismissed her, turning away to one of his aides, and changing her from a Dark Mage into a kitchen scullion, no incantation needed.

* * *

The domestic end was especially confusing. She knew she should feel like she had won overall. She'd survived both the horrible contract and the awful affair. Things should have continued on the way they had before, but each time she met Gregorov's eyes, she felt her status diminish. He refused to hunt on Thursday or Friday or over the weekend. Ordering didn't work, he just stared her down, reducing her from feeling confident to feeling as though whatever kept the peace was just fine. He didn't want to talk to her, barely wanted to touch her. If there was a hell for Animagi pack animals, she was in it. No hunting, no pack communication, no touching, no playing, just icy blue eyes that looked her over as if she werre vermin. When he settled down on the couch on Sunday, book in hand, refusing to even consider going outside, she tried a run of her own. It was ok, just ok. Not satisfying on any level. She dug out mice, killing and eating a few to prove a point. The wolf senses barely twitched. Mice were like popcorn. The rest of the rodent population refused to play. Nothing to chase, no one to chase or help dig, it was hardly worth it.

When she returned, Gregorov was still on the couch, deep in his book. "You win."

"There is no competition. How do I win?"

'I don't know. I just don't want it to stay like this. What do I need to do?"

He set the book aside and seemed to look her over, as if evaluating a purchase. "You are a flawed individual. You have eyes, yet do not see. Ears that do not listen. Your nose works well, that I will admit. You hunt, kill and practice the Dark Arts with great precision. You do not understand how what you do relates to a human being. You are all ego. Strength without subtlety. Greed without end. You will not change nor do you truly wish to. You seek only acceptance. Am I not correct?"

The response was not what she expected. She wanted a task or a condition, a lecture at the worst. "I don't know. Am I that horrible? Do you want me to leave?" She asked the last, worried that he might respond that she should. Frantically, she began to recompile the list of places she could go where she could work. Her latest brush with the outside world had scared her more than she wanted to admit.

"You are more than horrible. You can kill without trying, tear a man's mind from him and not care… I do not understand you. I had thought you utterly selfish, yet you tried to help someone who you thought a friend. You confuse me."

She waited for the "and"; there had to be an "and".

"When you are not being cruel and vain, you are pleasant to have around. You occasionally think of my needs, not often, but occasionally. You can learn things. I have seen that, but only to increase your own standing. Before you left, I had thought things were going well; I am not certain whether that, too, was a farce."

"I'm sorry, Yuri. You've been very patient with me. You haven't lied or mistreated me. I don't know what to say." Loup looked down, waiting for the order to leave, missing the troubled look that passed over him.

"I am undoubtedly a fool. Let us try again. You will not be so quick to think that you are always right or my superior, yes?"

"Yes."

* * *

Things inched back into place. December promised to be a better month on many levels. If nothing else, there was a two-week break over the Christmas holiday. While Durmstrang made no effort to celebrate it at the Institute, it did grant the students leave. As she sat buttressed behind fat folders of homework, Loup hoped to just catch up by the end of the month.

It had been awkward at first to watch the Lowensteins interact with anyone. Ludwig seemed to be around more often than usual, a fact that both Gregorov and Haken found amusing. Magda's health had been a bit delicate during the first part of the month, a flu she said. Gregorov's insertion that she find new friends hadn't worked quite the way he planned. Magda still sought Loup out for coffee, but she also tried to draw others of the group in, too. She couldn't understand what was wrong. Loup avoided Magda whenever possible, isolating herself further.

It seemed that at last everything had returned to what could be called "normal". The Thursday before the holiday started, the debate amongst the professors was whether they could cancel classes on Friday and start early. There was a lackadaisical vote amongst the Dark Arts staff, everyone except Rabe voting to cancel classes. Kessler announced that the vote was official; Rabe was overruled as usual.

In the festive goodwill of the season, Loup hoped that it would all just stay that way. There was just one niggling doubt that kept cropping up. It was a scent that bothered her. Just one. Magda smelled wrong to her. At first, Loup attributed it to the flu that the little woman claimed to have. Looking pale, Magda's mornings were frequently interrupted by a run to the bathroom. There were troubled looks passed between Haken and Gregorov, but Lowenstein remained unfazed.

On the Friday before the official start of the holidays, it all became quite clear. Ranged around the table, Gregorov and Kessler complained about reports they had to fill in. Jones scribbled a shopping list. De Rais sat next to Loup, eyes slitted and gleaming. Loup had a bad feeling; de Rais wore the look of someone in on a joke. The Lowensteins sat on the couch. Magda still looked pale, but Ludwig had an inscrutable look. From down the hall, she could hear Rabe and Wronski laughing about something. Rabe wa

"Great. Which lesson would that be?" Loup asked.

"It can best be summarized from a quote by one of your countrymen." De Rais actually smiled, a very bad sign.

"And that would be?" Loup asked, knowing the answer would come when the timing was perfect.

"I believe the quote is: 'Let no good deed go unpunished'. It was by a woman, Clare Booth Luce. It applies in your case now doubly."

Loup watched as Wronski walked in and waved at Lowenstein. Smiling, Lowenstein left the couch to meet Wronski halfway. The two men chatted amongst themselves. It had the "nudge, nudge, wink, wink" sort of quality to it that she automatically loathed. Wronski passed a flask of something to Lowenstein who listened intently, nodding at appropriate pauses as if it was very important to recall all the details.

"Merry Christmas, everyone!" Wronski called out, waving. "See you after the first. Let's hope mommy dearest has everything set up for me." He waved one last time and then left, dragging a small suitcase behind him.

Jones yelled out, "Hey, bring back some chocolate, ok?" She then resumed working on what looked to be a Christmas list.

"Now, attend to the end of this wretched little tale of human needs," de Rais said, not bothering to pitch his voice higher or lower. Loup doubted anyone other than herself heard.

Lowenstein stopped at the couch and fussed over Magda, showing her the potion and indicating he would get her a drink. Magda's face shone dully with sweat; she looked nauseous. Nodding slowly, she gave him a brave smile before he walked over to the sink and procured a glass. He filled it slowly, measuring out a precise amount of liquid, almost, but not quite, draining the flask.

"The potion is, of course, to be administered by weight. Our dear Magda is small, not requiring the entire flask. It is good that Professor Lowenstein is so considerate to have noted the fine distinction on size and mass and not given her the entire amount." De Rais sounded as though he was doing the voice over on a documentary.

Lowenstein walked over and presented the glass to his wife who at first pushed it away, hand over her mouth.

Not missing a beat, de Rais continued, "A man such as Professor Lowenstein is known for indiscretions. There are times that mistakes occur, the timing is not correct and problems happen."

The glass was pressed firmly into Magda's hands and Lowenstein stroked her head in a fatherly, soothing fashion.

"The story might go that there has been a minor mishap. A lovely young girl has become pregnant, a not uncommon affair, especially in a place such as Durmstrang where the nights are long and young people are kept confined for long periods of time. The human nature, such as it is, often needs distraction. If this young girl has become with child, and she and the father are not in a situation to have a family, would it not be a kindness to help the girl dispose of such a problem? Would it not be nice, in a friendly sort of way, for a man such as Professor Wronski to aid his colleague, such as Professor Lowenstein, towards an end of this problem?"

Magda took a deep breath and raised the glass to her lips, clearly intending to finish it in a draught.

"As you see, the problem will be ended. Rather amusing in its way. The perpetrator has furnished the device that allows it all to end so cleanly. The clock will no longer tick."