Duty

Paul Wronski walked into the Bursar's Office prepared to do battle yet again for funding. His seventh-year Potions and Poisons class could do a lot more than what they were doing, and it bothered him that the ingredients necessary for some of the last chapters in his text, The Darkest of Draughts, were both expensive and not available from any of his normal suppliers. Apothecaries in both Berlin and Krakow had been unable to help him in his search for basilisk venom and night hag sweat. Recently, a letter had arrived from a supply house in London that claimed to carry both, but the cost was outside of his budget.

The old woman gave him a cursory glance as she heaved a huge ledger onto her desk. She climbed back onto her stool and began to riffle through crinkly pages that puffed dust and mold into the air. Wronski's nose twitched and he felt a familiar tickle as the fourth or fifth flip of the pages saturated the air. Grabbing his nose, he backed up against the door and considered leaving when the Bursar stopped her search and peered at him again. "Professor Wronski?"

Wronski nodded, not daring to release his nose.

"Ah. You have a letter. It has been here a few days. The mail from outside of the normal network is easily misplaced." The Bursar creaked up from her stool and slowly made her way over to a wall of pigeonholes, many of which were thick with spider webs and others that had shoes stuffed into them. Humming to herself, she took her time checking each one in a systematic fashion until, with a cluck of success, she reached in and pulled out an envelope. "These letters are so odd." She looked at the envelope for a full minute before she began shuffling towards Wronski. Pointing to the upper right hand corner, she asked, "What is this here? What does it represent?"

Wronski retrieved his letter and, with a smile, said, "It's called a 'stamp'. It's used to pay for the letter's delivery." A brief glance at the return address on the letter caused a tic to start under his left eye.

"Pay for the delivery? Does the owl eat it? Does it cause a Portkey to activate?" The Bursar waited expectantly as Wronski stared at the envelope.

Startled, he found himself at a loss for words, his mastery of German forgotten by the blocky printing that was far too familiar. "Thanks. Danke. Merci..." He looked at the old woman to see if he had used the right word. The Bursar blinked owlishly at him as he quickly backed out the door.

The main hallway was crowded with students and staff members. Hugging the wall, Wronski tried to find a quiet place where he could open the missive. In the late afternoon, there was no such place. Many of the older students had finished classes for the day, as had several of the professors. He thought briefly of descending the staircase to the dungeons where his classroom was, but quickly discarded the idea of returning to that cold, dark room. Dinner was three hours away and the Great Hall should be empty.

Tucking the letter into his coat, he threaded his way across the floor, detouring a few times around knots of students. It was with a feeling of relief that he managed to get into the Great Hall and hide himself behind one of the huge doors next to the Dark Arts department's table. Mostly hidden from view, he took a deep breath and withdrew the letter again. In his current world of carefully folded parchments, held together by wax or charms, the plain white envelope with its stamp and addresses looked very exotic. He had not seen one of these in weeks and the fact that it came from the United States made it even more unusual. If it had not been for the return address, he would have torn it open immediately. Instead, he sat and stared at it for several more minutes before he felt brave enough to tear an end open.

Looking around to see if anyone else from his discipline was around, he cautiously pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. The letter started out in superficial chatty tones with the usual bits of "Miss you", "Wish you would write more often", and then quickly took a turn that sent a chill up his back. With a small moan, he folded it back up and stuffed it into the envelope. He leaned his elbows onto the table and buried his face in his hands. Turning several options over, he realized that he would have to ask for some advice, a prospect that did not excite him.

Gloomily, he got up and walked back out into the main hall, once again threading his way through it until, this time, he stood at the top of the staircase heading down. He dithered for a bit, wondering if there was a better way, but any of the other options meant waiting until after dinner, and he was far too flustered. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he tromped down the staircases, making as much noise as possible because everyone who was down in those cold depths was already ensconced in a dreary classroom of some sort or another. A bit petty, but it helped.

At the bottom of the last set of stairs, he turned right to go under them. Tucked under the last turning was a classroom. The door was open and bits of lecture drifted out. Wronski leaned against the doorjamb and waited until there was a pause and he could attract the lecturer's attention.

Professor Rose Jones gave an annoyed snort at his wave. The short woman was in the middle of one of her favorite lectures on the superiority of blood over any other bodily fluid when Wronski appeared. His arrival broke her rhythm, forcing her to stop and restart her lecture from a previous thought.

Wronski settled into the most comfortable position he could and waited for Jones to start the students on a "surprise" quiz. Although there were numerous groans, no one seemed the least surprised. Jones had a fondness for quizzes and was notorious for the number of them she gave. When the topic had been presented and all of the parchments rolled out and quills readied, she joined him in the hall.

"What is so damn important that you're interrupting my class?" Jones demanded as she closed the door behind her. "Fifteen minutes left. Well?"

"How long since you had a cigarette last?" Wronski asked as he watched Jones fidget. "I'm not going to talk to you if you're going into withdrawal."

She choked back a laugh. "Damn Rabe has me scheduled so I only get out at lunch. It's been hours. I really need one." She gave him a wry look. "OK. I think I can handle it now. Can I help you, oh patient one?"

Knowing that the nicotine bomb had been diffused, Wronski returned the smile. "I need advice." He started to pull out his letter when red-robed students began to pour out of Kessler's room near the end of the hall. The stampeding teenagers' laughter and chatter were loud as they raced for the staircase. With a grimace, Wronski shoved the letter back into his coat. He leaned over and spoke as loudly as he could to be heard over the thunking of feet heading up the stairs. "Can I schedule some time in your office after this class?"

"After I have a few cigarettes!" Jones shouted back and, with a wave, went back into her classroom.

Disappointed, Wronski turned and looked down the long, dark hall. Torches were placed every twenty feet or so, the flickering light outlining the huge stones in the wall. Large wooden doors, some with small, barred guichets, marked the various classrooms. One lone doorway stood open, calling him back. Without much enthusiasm, he went back to his room and looked into its smoky depths. Wronski taught the Potions/Poisons track in the Dark Arts curriculum at Durmstrang. His classroom was his pride and his own personal prison. Large stone-topped desks with their cauldron-sized depressions were arranged to give the best view of his lecture and demonstration area. The students' desks were bare at this hour, only a few scraps of parchments and papers littering the aisles indicating that anyone had ever sat there.

Wronski's personal space held a bewildering collection of the old and the new. A line of cauldrons of different metals and sizes were placed in a line and behind them was an odd, rather mismatched collection of modern laboratory ware. Tubing and flasks were carefully arranged against one wall while on large shelves, close to where he lectured, were jars of odd colors and textures and vials that shimmered or seemed to suck light. Shelved underneath those were large bottles with printed labels from chemical houses from all over Europe. Boxes of pH paper were crammed next to a large box of pipettes and rack after rack of test tubes. A poster of the table of elements hung slightly askew next to a corkboard. An enormous stone sink, darkly stained from years of potions, both fatal and fair, sat in the far corner.

Ruefully, he regarded his domain and wondered how he would ever explain the odd conglomeration. Paul Wronski was a man out of place. If ever there was someone who was unable to find where he belonged, Wronski was he.

The sink was dripping, so he closed off the taps and began ordering the pile of bottlebrushes. He managed to create some order out of the bristly things before he began cleaning off a battered Ohaus scale, a thing of great importance, as precision was something he admired greatly. The balances that most of his students used did not have the accuracy that he craved. He scooped up the papers on the floor, noting that someone had left a game schedule for the various divisions' Quidditch games. He uncrumpled another piece and found part of a homework assignment for Kessler's Hex class - the score gave a good indication of why it had been wadded up. With an unpleasant laugh, he pinned the assignment up onto the corkboard. As he maneuvered chairs back into their positions behind the desks, the bells began to toll the hour. The hall became dense with students all trying to get out. Wronski watched as students poured out of most of the other rooms and into the hallway. He had hoped to walk up with Jones, but she was short enough to disappear into the crowd. When the flow of students thinned, he closed his door and began to follow.

The rest of the Dark Arts faculty was doing much the same. He could see Todor Rabe, the head of the department, locking a door. Rabe walked by the rest of the staff without a word. Wronski shrugged and waited as Yuri Gregorov and Siegfried Kessler filled the hallway, slowly meandering towards the staircase, discussing Kessler's newest girlfriend. There was a pause as Ludwig Lowenstein, surrounded as always by his adoring female students, stepped out ahead of Gregorov. Lowenstein's courses were popular with the older students - as the topic was sex, it wasn't hard to figure out why. It took a few seconds for the group to re-sort itself into enough order to continue on its way. Burdened by a huge bundle of scrolls tucked into a bag, Rolf Haken herded the last of the second-years out of his classroom. It looked to be the end of a normal Thursday.

Arriving at the top of the endless staircases, Wronski pushed his way around Kessler, ignoring the snarl from Gregorov. Undoubtedly, Wronski would hear about it later. Gregorov was never one to let any kind of slight or imagined insult go by. For now, finding Jones was more important.

At the bottom of the outside stairs, he found her wreathed in a cloud of smoke. Choking only a little, he skidded to a stop next to her. She arched an eyebrow and, inhaling deeply, finished the cigarette. "OK. What's up? Must be important."

He glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. The stairs were crowded with students and faculty. The staccato drum of feet alerted them to jump aside as what seemed to be dozens of children ran out to enjoy the last part of the day. Slushy snowballs began to pelt the walls close by, spattering his coat. Brushing off the snow, he suggested, "Let's go back to your office."

Jones picked up her satchel and, with Wronski dogging her heels, left for the low stone building opposite the castle.

Jones' office was its usual mess. Papers and parchment rolls were piled high on the desk and on every other flat space. The guest chair was buried under several books, a sweater and a pair of gloves. Stopping to read the titles, Wronski moved the pile onto another similar pile on the floor and sat down. She busied herself with hanging up her long red leather coat on the back of the door and dug out an ashtray in preparation for the important chat. With everything ready, she lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair.

"I need some help. I'm not even sure where to start," Wronski began as he tried to untangle the skein of his story.

"Start with what's given you the tic. I've never seen you with one before. What is it? An old lover come to call? Werner's guys coming to talk to you? Must be bad." Without waiting for a reply, Jones leaned over and tugged out a box that had been jammed under her desk. Bags of popcorn and corn chips found perilous spots on top of the piles of papers and books as she sorted through her cache. "I'm starving! I couldn't stand what they were serving for lunch today. I gotta find a way to get Jackie to send me some burritos or some pizza." She popped her head up over the desktop. "Have they come up with a way to stabilize food yet so it won't rot? Real food - like pizza?"

Wronski cracked a small smile "Yeah. Turn it into plastic like those displays you see in the windows of Japanese restaurants. Do you have any pretzels?"

Her head disappeared as the sounds of rummaging continued. "Two different kinds of chips, some peanuts, chocolate - you can't have any of that. Yuck." She sat up holding an aerosol can of cheese. "Must be Jackie's idea of a joke. She sent a can of Spam last time. Will you eat this?"

"Only on pretzels. Chips will be fine." He caught the bag that was thrown at him and waited as she tore open a bag of popcorn. "Settled?"

Stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth, Jones nodded and settled back for the story.

"I got a letter today." Wronski took a deep breath. "It's from my mother."

"How's the family? Where are you from anyway? You don't have much of an accent." Jones flicked the ash off her cigarette. "Oh. You did remember to send her a Mother's Day card, didn't you?"

"Rose, let me finish." He waited until Jones' guilty look faded and she took another drag. "My mother wants to visit me."

"That's nice. You haven't seen her since you came here." She finished the bag of popcorn, then she turned her full attention back to Wronski. "Oh. She wants to come here. Oh, Paul, she doesn't know about... about this... about..." Jones swung her chair around and got up. "What are you going to do?"

"That's what I need the advice about. She thinks I'm teaching at a university in Köln. Supposedly, I'm doing post doc work with Dr. Jensen. She's supposed to arrive on Friday - that's tomorrow. How am I going to explain that I'm working at Durmstrang, not where she thinks I am?"

Lighting another cigarette, Jones leaned against her desk. "Well, I suppose you could meet her in Köln, have dinner, chat for a bit, put an Obliviate spell on her and send her home. Works for me."

"Rose! This is my mother! I can't do that to my mother." Wronski paused and considered the option. "Can I?" Pondering that possibility, he finally shook his head. "No. She'll have to go home and talk to my father and brother. Is there a way to plant a false memory?"

Stabbing out the cigarette, Jones smiled. "Oh, there are lots of ways to do memory charms. If you're really good, you could wipe someone's entire memory out and put a different one in. I don't know how to do that. I could wipe out a few days, but I probably couldn't create enough details for anyone to really believe they had a full visit." She began sorting through a stack of papers. "Bet I know who could, though."

The sound of her voice tipped him off that he would not like the answer. "Not Gregorov. He would never help me."

"No, but I bet his bitch would. If not her, then maybe Gilles." The icy tone thawed slightly as de Rais' name was mentioned. "Let's try him first. She'll charge for it."

The idea of blotting out his mother's memory nagged at him. "Couldn't she just come here, wander around a bit and then go home?" Looking up at Jones, he asked, "I'm not even sure how to get her here. I guess the International Portkeys would work. Maybe I could just wander around one of the Köln universities and hope she wouldn't talk to anyone."

"She speaks German?" Jones began to sort through her satchel, pulling out folders of assignments to be graded and occasionally throwing a wad of paper away.

"She speaks German and French fluently. She teaches upper level biochemistry. My father is a botanist. My brother is the slacker. He's a programmer. I don't know what to do. I never thought any of them would come to visit me during the sacred school year. Always figured that we would arrange to meet some place during the summer." Wronski's face took on a scowl. "She's on sabbatical this year and thought it would be nice to visit." He leaned his face into his hands and took a long breath. "I should have picked a country where she doesn't speak the language. Should have said I was teaching in Italy or some place like that. No. Wait. I think she speaks a little of that, too."

"Paul, you're screwed. You're either going to have to claim you got fired or do some kind of play for her. Walk around the Köln University and hope no one talks to you or... I don't know. Bring her here and don't let her talk to anyone."

"She'll want to talk to my peers. Oh, God, she'll want to talk to my students." The horror of that possibility sank in. "She'll want to see my lab." The image of his scientist mother seeing his mismatched equipment, the strange jars of animal parts, slime, and things that had no part of the non-magical world was too much. "I'll pretend I never got the letter. Yeah. I won't show up. I'll just stay here. I don't think I ever said which university I was supposed to be teaching at. I could just say she had the wrong one."

"Coward."

"So be it." Wronski slapped his hands onto his thighs and stood up. "I think that will work the best."

"How old is your mother? It's been what? Six years since you saw her last? Maybe you ought to see her." Jones warily put down her folders and eyed Wronski who ducked his head and looked away.

"She's in her late sixties. Picture of health last time I saw her." Guilt began to set in. "She won't understand this. Any of it. My family is very, very normal. No weird cousins. No nonconformists. I'm the only one like this. She thinks I'm teaching organic chemistry at a real university."

"Well, you have to admit that most of it is very organic. Newts' eyes, fungus, slime - all very organic," Jones said cheerily. "Come on now! There's got to be a way to make this work."

"OK, smart girl, you tell me. Mom said she would be here. Argh! In Köln for three days. I don't even know where she could stay." He groaned slightly and leaned against the wall, staring at nothing. "I guess there are inns in the village. Oh. What language do they speak there? Where is that place, anyway?"

Jones shrugged. "They seem to understand what little German I know. They definitely understand money. I don't know what currency they're on. I just hand the Bursar some of our money and she hands me back a bunch of bills and coins. I think they have rooms at the tavern the Portkey dumps you into." She seemed lost in thought for a bit. "This could work."

"What if it doesn't? What if she goes ballistic? What if she tells my dad?" Depressed beyond belief, Wronski slowly slid down the wall and curled into a huddled ball on the floor.

"Get a grip! Look, we'll show her around. I'll talk to her. Maybe you can get Haken to talk to her. He's pretty sane. Rabe sounds like any other ivory tower academic. He should be safe. Even Kessler isn't too bad. Ever listen to him talk about his topic? I haven't, either. He just talks about how good he is and about how pretty the girls are. Gregorov hardly ever says anything. Since he took up with her, we rarely ever see him." Jones sniffed at the last. A grumpy expression passed over her face and she started to withdraw into her personal angry space.

Looking up from his place on the floor, Wronski recognized what could become an ugly tirade. Jones still carried a huge grudge against Gregorov's mate. The jealousy was a palpable thing between the two and it was not limited to Gregorov alone. He had a feeling the rivalry over the man could have been overcome, but the professional rivalry would be a difficult hurdle. The two had similar, but not the same, approach to the Dark Arts and both had had long careers practicing their craft. "Hey, how about Ludwig? I can just imagine her asking about what he teaches."

His voice startled Jones back out of her own world. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, we might be able to pass him off as a psychiatrist or sociologist. Magda can talk about plants. Too bad your dad isn't the one visiting. They could have a great time talking about plants and their properties."

Wronski wasn't certain about that. His father had worked on research for the pharmaceutical world for years and he could just imagine Magda and his father discussing the properties of wolfsbane and finding out all the different meanings. "Yeah. OK. So, will you come with me? I'm going to need someone there to make sure I'm not making a fool out of myself and..." He paused as he tried to figure out a way to say it. "If anything goes wrong, I need someone to... you know... take care of the memory." He looked sheepishly at the amused Jones.

"Sure. You get to pay for the Portkey access."

* * *

Friday morning, Wronski changed clothes three times, trying to figure out what "normal" should look like. He had gotten used to the idea that "normal" dress was his long leather red coat, lined with endless pockets and with his name and department enchanted on the left side. "Normal" was the coat over robes or over slacks and a sweater. "Normal" was rubber boots or some of the most exotic footwear imaginable. In desperation, he pulled out an old newspaper and looked at the pictures there, hoping to find something in his own closet and dresser that matched. His closet held dozens of things that looked "normal". Only to his eyes, everything was wrong.

Arrayed in a suit and tie, he posed in front of his small mirror. Sandy blonde hair that needed cutting, pale blue eyes and a nondescript face looked back. He smoothed back the stray bits of hair from his face, thinking that he looked like Joe Everyman in regular clothing. At least the coat made him stand out at the school, marking him as faculty and not one of the maintenance staff. The gray suit made him look smaller than his 5'10" height and it drained what little color he had. He looked like he was wearing his father's clothes.

Flustered, he walked down the hall, a sweater over each arm, looking for Jones. Her characteristic hacking laugh caught his attention as he passed the staff room. Peering in, he hoped to see it nearly deserted. There was a full house that morning. Even Rabe's girlfriend Ewa was there. He looked again and confirmed that not only was Ewa there, but Kessler's current student of interest was also present, giggling while she sat on the professor's lap. "Rose!" he hissed, dragging her attention away from her conversation with Lowenstein. She gave him an airy wave before slowly turning and walking into the hall.

Her eyes traveled from sweater to sweater and a smile appeared as she observed his sartorial splendor. "Going on an interview?"

"I'm from the East Coast. We wear suits there." Wronski's voice took on a sarcastic tone. "I'm looking for an opinion. Red or blue?" He held up a sweater with either choice.

"Lose the tie. You look like you're going to a funeral." Jones took a sip of coffee as Wronski turned red. "Red. The suit's boring. Some color will help."

"I want to leave right after my last class. Can you be ready to go then?" Wronski gave her a pleading look.

"Yeah. How many hops is it?"

"Two. We go from here to some ugly room and then from there to Köln. That's what I remember, at least. I took the train last time I went anywhere." He pulled the red sweater on and adjusted his tie. "Her plane gets in at 5PM. I want to be at the airport and have our story ready. OK?"

"Sure. I'll try to sound professional." She finished her cup of coffee and realized that Wronski was looking her over critically. "What?"

"I don't suppose you have anything better to wear?"

"Don't start with me! Be glad I'm offering to help at all." As she left, she ran a hand over her hair and tucked her shirt deeper into the waistband.

* * *

The students in Wronski's last two classes were rushed through their paces. Those who were unlucky enough to not complete their assignments faced the broad strokes of his red felt tip leaving a "0" on their papers and parchments. Partially brewed potions were neutralized quickly and poured down the sink. No one was allowed to linger and ask questions, not even the most flirtatious of the seventh-years.

Four steps forward, two steps back, pause, long step back, lean on the wall, drum fingers... repeat... It was almost a dance as he anxiously waited for Jones to finish talking to the last of her students. The Special Projects class was her favorite and, as usual, it was filled with the best and the brightest that the graduating year had to offer. Happy, smiling faces discussed the darkest nuances of using a hair or an envelope to bring death or sickness on a person. It seemed to Wronski that each student had a particular observation to make or had an interesting passage out of their extra credit reading to share. Even in his agitated state, he found himself growing jealous at the interest Jones' class took in the topic. As the minutes ticked by, he began to make a mental list of the students who expressed an emotion other than boredom or terror in his classes. The gritty search through the memories of his students in the halcyon days when he taught chemistry labs in a real university had begun, when a tug at his jacket announced Jones was ready to leave.

She was in a good mood, chattering away with one of her students as they ascended the long, spiral staircase, an inverse mirror of the deep depression that Wronski descended into with each step upwards. As the spiral staircase ended and the next flight began, Jones waved goodbye to the student and shifted her attention back to her gloomy companion. "So, what's the plan?"

Jerked back into reality, Wronski made a small, rather helpless motion with his hands. "We go into the village, go to the Ministry office, I pay for our passage, and then we go to Köln and get a taxi to the airport. I have Deutsche Marks. I'm hoping that she'll be hungry so we can eat dinner. If I can get a couple glasses of wine down her, maybe the rest will be easier. How does that sound?"

She snorted and shrugged. "As good a plan as any. We should see if you could get a room at the inn for two nights. She doesn't expect to stay on campus, does she?"

Wronski stopped in mid stride up the stairs, a panicked look crossing his face. "I don't know. I don't think so." He fumbled with the inside pocket of his jacket, his hand missing the pocket twice before pulling out the letter. He slid it out and unfolded it. "I don't see anything about reservations."

With a sigh and a glare, Jones grabbed it away from him. "Let me see." Holding it at arm's length, she squinted slightly and scanned the letter, her face slowly splitting into an ever-larger grin. "Pauley? She calls you 'Pauley'? That is so precious. Who's Cindy Sue?" Bursts of chuckles heralded each new paragraph as she slowly read the letter. Wronski began to blush and leaned against the railing, wishing that he could cancel the next few days. "I've got to meet this woman. I love the little diagram at the bottom. What does it mean?"

He grabbed the letter. "It's the molecular structure of sugar. It's a joke. Cindy Sue is the dog."

"Molecular structure of sugar? I can tell I'm out of my league here. I can't talk about my work, can I?" Still grinning, Jones arched her eyebrows suggestively.

"Not a word. Nothing about magic - dark or not. I teach chemistry. Not potions. Chemistry." He glowered down at the sniggering Jones who managed to place a hand over her heart and hold the other hand up, swearing to be silent on the topic.

"You are Dr. Pauley Wronski, a professor of organic chemistry." She managed to get the entire sentence out before collapsing in laughter against the banister.

"Gee. Thanks. Try not to lose it in front of mom." He looked uncomfortable as he started up the stairs again.

"Pauley, what am I supposed to teach? You aren't going to tell her I'm the department secretary, are you?" Jones still sounded amused, but there was a warning tone to her question.

That stopped him again and he turned to look down at her. "Do you know anything about the sciences?"

"I graduated high school. I took biology and chemistry. Did ok. Don't remember any of it, though. I know some astronomy just because you need to and a lot about plant properties. Nothing you could call botany. Could I be an administrator or something like that?" She thought for a moment. "You could tell her I teach English."

Wronski began to laugh. "When I first came over, I couldn't find a job at a regular university. I thought I would teach English. Almost everyone already speaks English and the few that don't, want to learn British English, not American English.

Jones caught up to him and gave him a puzzled look. "There's a difference?"

"You're kidding me. You can't tell the difference?" When she failed to respond, he added, "Listen to Lester and then listen to me. There's a big difference. The whole intonation and pacing are different and a lot of the words are used differently."

"Lester hasn't been sounding to good for most of the year. Ever since..." She trailed off and looked uncomfortable. "Ever since Loup did whatever it was she did to him. I heard that Heiniger is acting as the department head over there these days."

"Yeah. I've been meaning to ask her, but I don't think I really want to know." He glanced at his watch and grabbed her arm. "We need to rush."

Pressured by the clock, they dashed up the remaining stairs, across the main hall and out the door. The last of the snow crunching under their feet, they raced over to the guard station. There, their progress ground to a stop. The guards were busy and it took precious minutes before one of them was available to unlock the doors to the Portkey room. The small room, with only its old key on a chair, smelled of mildew. As the door clicked shut behind them, Wronski touched the key and instantly appeared in another room that looked very similar. He took a large side step towards the door and waited as Jones blinked into view. With a nod, they entered a long, narrow hallway that ended at a curtained doorway.

"Feeling brave?" She grinned at him and with a sweep of her hand, invited him to go through first.

Wronski hated going to the village. Hated the whole procedure and especially hated the placement of the door. Whoever had arranged the permanent Portkeys and the delivery site had a juvenile sense of humor. The Portkeys were keys and the door you exited from led into one of the tavern's toilets. It was bad enough that he always felt like a target, but to have to appear suddenly in a toilet was just too much for his sensitivities. Gritting his teeth, he strode through the curtains and was greeted by the empty room. Relieved, he opened the door and walked out into the darkness of the tavern.

The Friday crowd was just beginning to arrive. Arrayed around a long wooden bar was an assortment of men separated from each other by large pitchers of beer. The long tables were evenly divided between being packed or completely empty. Squinting through the smoke, Wronski tried to read all of the signs. He had made it through part of the first wall when Jones slammed the door into his arm.

"Sorry." She closed the toilet door behind her. "The office is through that door next to the bar."

"How do you know that?" He looked intently at her, as if to ask when she had bothered to learn any of the local language.

"It's in three languages and English is the second one listed." She gave him a cynical glare and proceeded to light a cigarette. "I'll wait while you talk to them about a room for her."

He looked over at the door next to the bar and there was indeed a sign, in three languages, which proclaimed that it was the office. His eyes already burning from the smoke, he walked into the office and found himself facing a grizzled man who glanced up from a PC.

"Are there any rooms available for tonight and tomorrow night?" Wronski's question received no answer. The man's attention returned to whatever was on the screen. He repeated his question in French, but the PC was more interesting than Wronski. Frustration building, he tried again in English.

The man looked away from his screen briefly. "Very good. Do you speak Italian, too?" When Wronski's face turned from red to crimson, the PC was ignored in favor of a large book. "I have two rooms available. How many people?"

"Just one. Is it ensuite?" Wronski was proud of himself for remembering to ask.

"It is more expensive." Eyes flickered in his direction, taking in the worn-at-the-elbows suit and unfashionable tie.

"How much?" A brochure was pushed over and a finger jabbed at the price. "Is it nonsmoking?" Choked laughter was the response and a package of cigarettes appeared on the counter. "Do you take credit cards?"

Armed with a receipt, a disgusted Wronski exited the office. In the darkness of the bar, it took a few moments to find Jones. Her laughter pinpointed her location. She was talking to a group seated in the far corner. As he got closer, and his eyes adjusted to both the gloom and the smoke, Wronski's steps slowed and he began to rethink his choice of traveling companion.

Crammed around the small table were several faces he knew from unpleasant encounters in the past. With his back firmly wedged against the corner sat Johannes Werner, the head of the local Auror office. Next to Werner, the wall of man, Hans Mueller, was making a point in the conversation. Mueller, who Wronski had never heard speak before, was holding forth, using his cigarette like a pointer while the other hand drew a diagram on the table's surface. Two others, recognizable as Aurors assigned to the district, sat to the left of Werner, all laughing. The sound stopped as if cut off when Werner spotted Wronski, and was replaced by sly looks. Jones stabbed out her own cigarette and motioned Wronski over.

"Paul, come on over and say hi." She continued to wave as Wronski stood fast where he was, unwilling to come any closer to the men whose questioning had rendered him unconscious in the not-too-distant past. "Oh, come on. They won't bite. You don't bite, do you boys?" The question was directed more to Mueller than the rest who all politely chuckled.

Stopping at what he thought was a safe five feet away, Wronski gave a limp wave in the table's general direction. He did not trust any of the men seated there. "Rose, we need to go."

"Where are you going that requires a timetable, Professor Wronski?" Werner's soft voice purred as he scanned the clothing, his eyes lingering on the tie.

"Paul's mom is coming to visit." Jones beamed.

Werner nodded. "Your mother..." he let the sentence trail off as he cataloged bits of data he had collected on Wronski, the information almost seemed to audibly click together as the thoughts were gathered. "...is not, as you would say, 'one of us', is she?"

"H-how do you know that?" Wronski stammered, hating himself immediately for giving anything away.

Werner merely smiled back, pleased that his deduction was correct.

"She's a biochemist. We're going to show her Durmstrang." Jones provided more information as she began to dig around in her satchel. "How hard is it to get from the Köln Portkey to the airport?"

"A scientist. At Durmstrang. I would be interested in hearing what she thinks of your teaching facilities." Werner poured another round for his men and settled back to watch Wronski squirm. "The airport will require a taxi. I believe there is also a bus. The time difference is two hours."

A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Wronski's neck, as his life was unfolded for Werner to pick through. "We should go..."

"Relax, Pauley, we have time. Want a beer?" Jones sipped at hers and turned her attention back to the waxy lines on the table, "So, how did it work after you added the extra spell?"

Mueller lit another cigarette, his attention on Wronski. Inhaling deeply, he watched the much smaller man. Mueller was the biggest man Wronski had ever seen. While both Gregorov and Kessler topped 6'3", Mueller was taller still and far broader. Everything about the man seemed oversized, except the small dark eyes. Out of his black uniform, he looked like a thug, perhaps a bouncer for a club. In the black uniform, Wronski thought Mueller looked like death himself.

"Look, I've got to go. If you want to come along, great; if not, fine." Wronski's voice squeaked, drawing a smirk from the assembled men.

"OK. OK. Thanks for the beer. I still want to hear the rest of the story." Jones reluctantly set the glass down and picked up her satchel, glaring at Wronski.

The group murmured goodbyes as glasses were picked up. Werner gave a mocking salute as they turned and left.

Wronski waited until the door closed behind them. "I can't believe it. You act like you're friends with Werner and his crew."

"They aren't that bad, really. Mueller has a lot of great stories. Even old Werner has his moments," Jones said as she watched Wronski wince. "OK. I didn't have the full questioning nastiness like you did. They let me off because I'm a girl. Sometimes, it pays to play on their preconceived notions." Wronski's glower slowed her down only a little. "Their work is really interesting. I always wondered how the other side did things." Her large grin was met by an ever-deepening funk. "Besides, I think Mueller is kinda cute."

Wronski groaned. "OK. Right. Whatever. Don't ask me to sing at your wedding. Let's go."

"You can sing?" A rather brittle good humor settled over the two as they crossed the square and headed down a small alley.

The alley had an organic seediness to it. Weeds poked through the grimy snow and dark leaves made for slippery footing on the cobblestones. Wedged between the backdoors of a restaurant and a bakery, was a darkness. To most eyes, it was just a shadow, but it was the portal to the local Ministry offices. The shadows gave way to a short corridor that gradually brightened until it made their eyes water with the light. The door at the end opened onto a large room, furnished in what looked to be cast-offs. A long, dark counter separated the waiting area from the officials, its top was scarred and chipped and looked suspiciously like Formica. Poorly cut quills were set every two feet or so on its surface with sludgy pots of ink next to each one. An owl perched at one end of the counter. Their approach woke it from its nap and it regarded them with huge, unblinking yellow eyes as they stepped towards it.

Wronski extended his hand towards the owl and waited. It ruffled its feathers and gave a lazy shake. A clawed foot slowly extended towards a large bowl set next to the perch and, after a brief hesitation, the owl began to scratch behind its head.

"It always likes to make you wait, doesn't it?" Jones said with a sigh. "I think the whole office must take direction from it."

The owl looked offended. It quit scratching and grabbed up a token to hand to them. It looked expectantly as they took the token, cocking its head to one side.

"Did you bring a mouse for it?" Jones looked in her satchel, as if hoping for an owl treat to appear.

"Yeah. It goes faster when you bring it one." Wronski sounded annoyed as he pulled a small bundle from his jacket pocket. The owl perked up as he unwrapped layer after layer of tissue. "I had to stop and talk to one of the Defense staff this morning and he was feeding some of their collection. Good thing, too, or I would have forgotten." The last tissue was unrolled and a large mouse rolled limply onto his hand. The owl clicked appreciatively as the mouse was placed into a small dish at the end of the perch. Swinging its head back and forth, the owl reached back into the token bowl from whence it gathered a different, larger token and handed it to Wronski. It clicked its beak and scooted back over to the mouse to enjoy its tip.

Clutching their tokens, they approached the counter. Bored officials glanced up at them, but did not deign to leave their desks. Wronski and Jones were the only customers and they were easily outnumbered three to one. Two white-haired men stood at the back of the room, smoking and drinking coffee. The men ignored their customers. Three middle-aged women clustered around one desk, laughing. They granted a quick look, but their conversation was far more interesting. A young man of perhaps twenty frowned at his coworkers as he stepped forward. Taking their tokens, he asked where they were going and nodded at the answers as he carefully wrote down the pertinent information. The transaction took several minutes as hexagonal chits in various colors were counted over. Wronski flinched at the final bill and began reluctantly to clank down the coins.

The bill paid, a door opened at the other end of the counter from the feeding owl. The official waved them through and then led them into another room where two black-uniformed Cerebor guards waited. Jones knew both of them. Wronski was horrified when she greeted them and asked how they were doing. Their flinty demeanor softened a bit and the hellos were returned. She did all the talking as she presented their passage chits. The guards became more relaxed, enjoying her rapid-fire, poorly constructed German sentences. Even Wronski had to smile. Jones had made little effort to learn German, the official language at Durmstrang, but recently she seemed to take an interest in it. His smile faded slightly at the thought that her odd interest in the Aurors had anything to do with it.

"See you later, boys," Jones said as she pulled Wronski after her into the next room. Another Cerebor leaned against the far wall, watching them. The permanent Portkeys were well guarded. The powerful spells that allowed passage between the hubs were controlled by what seemed to be a multitude of layers of security. Wronski swallowed and touched the Portkey in the middle of the room. This time it was an old ship's wheel, which seemed appropriate in its own way. A second later, he stood in the dreariest room he had ever seen.

The International Portkey hubs all seemed to be like this - a large room filled with strange objects, Portkeys to different cities, each with its own Auror or Cerebor next to it. It had always made him feel uncomfortable, and today was no different. He stepped aside, waiting for Jones to show up, and watched as people blinked in at various places in the room, held up their chits, stepped forward to the security force associated with that particular Portkey and then blinked away. Usually, that was all that happened, so he found the sudden clamor unnerving when someone blinked into sight who did not fulfill whatever indefinable requirements they were using this time. Four men detached themselves from their posts and descended on an innocuous-looking wizard with their wands drawn and a glow of shield spells surrounding them. Wronski caught his breath and stood still, watching as they had the man put his hands over his head and then searched him. An Auror in a pale gray uniform stepped forward and claimed the man. The man started to object and Wronski was horrified when he heard the Auror place an Imperius curse on the prisoner. The now-docile wizard was led to a different Portkey and disappeared with the gray Auror.

"Wow. Never seen that before." Jones' voice made Wronski jump. She looked over at the black-clad Auror on her left and raised an eyebrow. The Auror could have been made of stone for all the response he gave. Holding up her chit, she waited until a man two keys down raised his hand in response. They walked over to him and handed over the token. A touch later, they arrived at Köln.

Leaving from an anonymous door, they stepped out into an enormous platz. The cathedral loomed ahead of them. It seemed brighter than it should be after the procession of dark rooms. Jones elbowed Wronski and pointed. In the lengthening shadows of the cathedral, a group of Goths stood posing. "I love it. They would look right at home in Berlin's magical sector, don't you think so?"

With a snort of laughter, they waved down a taxi and asked how much it would cost to go to the airport. Wronski frowned at the quote, but the driver very helpfully suggested a bus that left every fifteen minutes and so off to the bus station they went. Wedged in the waiting crowd, he and Jones watched people, carefully comparing notes. Neither got out very much. Teachers only left Durmstrang during the summers and Wronski had stayed at the school the last two years. Jones pointed at the shoes and made a face. "Pointy toes are back." She grimaced, "Look at the lapels." They looked at clothes, at shoes and at hair. Summer was fast approaching and it helped to have some idea of what the "real world" looked like. "Black is still in style." That observation sent both of them into a coughing fit of laughter.

The bus ride seemed to take longer than necessary as they made endless stops on the way to the airport. The airport itself was a reminder of how far away they seemed to be from the rest of the world. They both stopped for a while and just watched the people. Durmstrang was a very small part of the world and suddenly seemed even more so. A large tour group passed by them, its guide trying to keep together thirty people from different parts of Asia. A colorful party of people from Africa walked by, their brightly colored, loosely flowing garments glowing in the artificial lights.

"I need to go somewhere this summer," Wronski mumbled, watching as several women dressed as minimally as possible glided past. "Somewhere warm."

"What's mom's flight number?" Jones started to take out her package of cigarettes and stopped when she saw the "no smoking" sign. "Shoot. I forgot that they're starting to enforce that."

"215. I see it's on the approach." Wronski squinted at the monitor bank. "Let's go meet mom."

They mingled with the rest of the crowd past the baggage pick-up and waited. People were spat out in packets, armed with huge pieces of luggage and armloads of bags. Baby strollers were used as weapons, parting the waiting crowd. Wronski flattened himself up against a wall, crossing his arms, the better to not touch anyone or to provide a surface to be slammed into. Jones followed suit. "I had forgotten there were this many people in the world," she grumbled as yet another pack of tourists wheeled their suitcases past her toes.

Time dragged by. With each swoosh of the doors, they would look expectantly at the people. Group after group of tired, but excited passengers would sweep out to be greeted by friends, family or annoyed-looking men with little signs. Wronski pulled out the letter again and, holding it at arm's length, tried to verify the flight number again. The doors opened again. "That must be her," Jones said pulling at his arm.

"Her" was a trim woman dressed in a navy blue suit. She had the same eyes and nose that Wronski had. Her hair was cut stylishly short and was a silvery gray color. There was a no-nonsense air about her as she stepped aside of the doors and began to scan the crowd.

Paul Wronski took a deep breath, straightened his posture and held up a hand to catch her attention. She waved back and walked forward, her small suitcase in tow behind her. As if on command, the crowd parted for her to pass.

"Pauley!" The Wronskis met in a quick hug before the mother stepped back to look at the son. "You look well. I had half expected to see you in a lab coat. Is that the same suit you had when you interviewed at Dartmouth?"

Wronski's grin became a rictus. "Mother, this is my friend Professor Rose Jones. Rose, this is my mother, Dr. Wronski." His usual voice squeaked into that of a child.

Mrs. Wronski looked Jones up and down, cataloging every bit of information that could be derived. "Professor Jones. So pleased to meet you. If I may call you 'Rose', you may call me 'Mary'." A firm handshake sealed the deal before Jones had a chance to say anything in response.

Jones slid a sideways glance to see how Wronski was doing. The shoulders had rolled forward and he slouched, looking more like a rebellious teenager than a professor. "Paul was talking about getting some dinner. What kind of food would you like?"

But Mary Wronski had turned her attention back to her son, her head cocked to one side as she resumed her examination. "Stand up straight, Pauley. Let's see your hands." She extended hers, waiting for her son to respond.

Slowly the hands were presented and inspected. "Good. I see that you're wearing your gloves." The hands were turned over and examined again and Dr. Wronski's nose twitched. "I brought some correspondence from the university. The department wants to know how your dissertation is proceeding."

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants and slouched more. "Can we talk about this later? I was hoping we could have some dinner first." He ignored the odd look from Jones.

Dr. Wronski nodded and allowed herself to be led out to the curb. "We're taking the bus? Surely, you can afford a taxi?"

Wronski's age decremented a click with each comment from his mother, changing him rapidly from a thirty-four year-old man into a sixteen-year-old teenager. He seemed unable to respond.

With a sniff, Dr. Wronski hailed a taxi. "Tell the man where we're going, Pauley."

He mumbled that they wanted to return to the cathedral square and flinched when Dr. Wronski corrected his pronunciation, her German accent crisp and sure. It would have been a silent trip, but Dr. Wronski seemed prepared with a monologue of family news. When she finished with that, she had a lot to say about new research in her field. The other two passengers had little chance to say anything.

The square was still crowded when they arrived. He walked into the first restaurant that he saw with an outside area to eat. The cigarette smoke did not please Dr. Wronski, who mentioned it before Jones had a chance to begin rummaging around for a smoke. Dr. Wronski also took it upon herself to order for them all, including drinks - non-alcoholic of course. Jones gave her colleague a sympathetic smile as it became apparent who was in complete charge. Conversation was not required during the meal. Dr. Wronski had a great deal to say and most responses could be limited to a nod or nothing. He picked at his dinner, his appetite gone. When he tried to pay with a credit card, the waiter informed him that the restaurant did not accept cards and, before he could pull out any money, his mother had paid.

"Where am I staying?" Dr. Wronski, her suitcase neatly tucked next to her, asked. He gave Jones a pathetic glance and mouthed something that made Jones both smile and wince.

"Dr. Wronski," Jones took her arm, startling the older woman. As Dr. Wronski turned to face her, Jones' wand tapped the scientist as the Imperius Curse was whispered. "OK. Let's take her through." Jones paused for a moment, "Are you sure you want to go through with this? I'm not the best, but I could create enough memories for a general visit."

He looked miserable. "She's my mother. If you haven't guessed already, I'm a bit of a disappointment. I just want to get this over with. We'll take her back. Can you put her to sleep for the night?" Jones nodded. "We'll get her in the morning, take her to Durmstrang, and walk her around a lot." He looked away. "I can hardly wait to hear what she has to say about my lab." The sarcastic tone was an improvement compared to the defeated one. "I'll introduce her to Haken and some of the others. Maybe a student." He hesitated for a moment. "This is going to suck."

"I'll do what I can." Jones took a deep breath. "It would help if I knew what was going on between the two of you. Is she just a ball buster or does she have some kind of agenda with you?"

"I kinda lied about being a Ph.D. I never finished the program." He looked at the ground, as if willing it to swallow him up.

"I figured that out. What happened?" Jones watched as he eyed his mother. "She's off in nowhere land right now. If she remembers any of this, I can take care of it. I'll probably do it just because it's a good idea."

"I had to leave the program because I killed my advisor." The words lay there, waiting.

"Hmmm. This sounds like a good story. Do I want to hear it now or do I want to hear this over a beer? Hmmm." She tried smiling at the glum man. "It just doesn't seem like the kind of thing that should be said in front of a cathedral."

He shuffled over and took his mother's arm, grabbing the suitcase as he did so. "Let's go."

The return trip was completed in silence. The final destination of the tavern looked like a haven in a storm. Jones led Dr. Wronski to her room while he hauled the suitcase up behind them.

With the air of a professional who had done this sort of thing too many times before, Jones erased Dr. Wronski's memories of the last hour, replaced those with memories of dinner and a drive through town and being very tired. She finished with a Somnus spell to keep the scientist asleep for ten hours. "Ten enough?" she asked as Wronski nodded.

They scuffed their way down the stairs and, with a quick look at the clock, discovered that there was only an hour left before curfew. "Buy me a beer and let's talk." Jones' voice brooked no argument.

The tavern was crammed full. He bought a pitcher of beer and grabbed up two glasses while she tried to find a place to sit. The bartender yelled that there were tables outside, which, even in May, was a cold place to sit. They found the terrace empty. A small table next to a wall proved to be the best choice. With quick looks around, they both did warming spells to the benches and tabletop and sat down. Wronski took his time pouring the beer into the glasses, trying to arrange his thoughts. Jones took hers and, without drinking, leaned on her elbows, waiting.

"I told you that I didn't know anything about magic until I was in graduate school, right?" He stared at the tabletop, not looking up for an answer. "There was another graduate student, Will Thayer, he was from England and no, I don't know why he chose chemistry over some magical thing. Anyway, he understood why I could do stuff. The graduate students had a still, an exercise in distillation." He took a sip and smiled thinly. "I used to make sure that no one could find it. Will caught on after a while that it was me doing it. So, he brought copies of the Goshawk books back and got a wand for me. He also introduced me to a bunch of others... like me." Wronski rested his chin on his hand, staring out at the night. "They were a wild bunch. Sort of like being in a frat only the rules were different." Wronski slid his glass back and forth across the table, very quiet for a while.

"So, tell me about the advisor."

"You really want to know?" He shook his head slightly and took another swallow. "I finished my master's degree and started work on my doctorate. I wanted to go to another school but, well, let's just say that didn't happen." Jones made an ominous noise. "It isn't part of the story. Let it be." He glanced over at her and took in the stubborn expression. "It isn't. So, I started the program and got assigned to Dr. Mulder. Mulder is - was - a bastard of the first order. If I said 'white', he said 'black'. I couldn't do anything that made him happy. Every thesis topic I wanted to do, he hated. He finally assigned me a topic and wouldn't let me back out. It was lame. I hated it."

"But you took it, right?" She finally took a sip of her beer, her mouth twitched as she set the glass down.

"Yeah. I took it. I always did. He made my life miserable. I was one of his many TAs and got stuck with more of his grading that I should have. He didn't like the way I did that, either." Wronski put his glass down harder than he needed to, the noise sounding loud in the quiet night. He looked sheepish as he refilled it and was waved off by Jones when he tried to top off her glass. "So, during my second year in the program, I found a copy of an abstract he'd submitted. All of it was my research and he didn't give me any credit. None! I worked my balls off on a topic I hated so he could take all of the credit. I really hated him then."

"Enough to kill him?" She sounded distant, as if the light from the windows was capturing her attention.

"No. I wasn't that brave."

It was quiet for a while. Their breath made little clouds. He ran his finger back and forth across the table for a bit, as if underlining something important. "So, one night I was hanging out with Will and the guys. He and Rick were playing beer pong..."

"Beer pong?" Jones stopped him.

"Beer pong. Ping pong with glasses of beer on the table. You hit your ball into a glass of beer on their side and they have to chug it."

"This is what you do in college?"

"Socializing is important." Wronski sounded hurt. "He and Rick were playing beer pong and the Department of Magical Affairs Investigations unit showed up. Someone had done some sort of illegal spell and they were all over us. We all had to produce identification and give them our wands. Sound familiar?"

Jones just grinned, flashing white teeth in the darkness.

"I didn't think much of it at the time, but they seemed awfully interested in me."

"Was that the first time you saw them? They usually are when they don't know you. Did they make you cast something so they could get a signature?"

He looked confused. "No. They made Will and Rick use their wands. Lumos, I think. It was a long time ago. They just asked me questions. Why?"

She shrugged and took another sip of beer. "I've been hauled in so many times, I don't remember what the first time was like. I've done signature spells at least a dozen times. Kinda like fingerprints. Everyone does his work a little different. Very high tech. Never seen it here. I'd love to ask the boys about it, but I'm afraid to give them ideas. It's bad enough that we all have locators on us."

"The boys." He sneered, "You better be careful around 'the boys'."

"Give me a break. I've been through it with the magic cops, the mundane cops and these guys. They all give me the creeps. I hate to admit it, but I like Mueller and Werner. They're interesting. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of them, though." She slumped back onto the table, tapping a finger against the glass. "So, what happened after the magic cops showed up?"

"Not much. They took names, checked our wands, asked some questions and left." He paused. "Was there something else they should have done?"

"Dunno. Probably not."

"We continued partying. I had too much beer. Will brought out a bottle of whiskey and we all finished that. It was really stupid. Someone else had some scotch. We drank that. We drank a lot of stuff that night. I don't even remember what all we did drink. I just know that some time during the night, I went to Mulder's office and trashed it. Pulled out my wand and... did stuff."

"Did stuff? What kind of stuff?"

"I don't remember. I just let it go." He looked back down at the table. "I'm not very good at it now and I was brand new then."

"Unfocused magic. OK. Now I understand."

"Someone must have seen me because Mulder hauled me in there the next day. He screamed at me for what seemed like hours. Called me all sorts of names and then called me stupid. That's when I lost it. I'm not stupid." The voice changed from angry to cold. "I speak German, French and some Russian. I can read all of those and Latin, too. I've always scored in the top percentages in every test I've ever taken. I had a 3.8. I am not stupid." He slugged back the last of his beer. "I lost it. I yelled back. Told him I knew he had taken my research and not given me any credit. We really got into it then. Screaming and cursing. I don't remember much of what happened. All of a sudden, he was on the ground, turning red and then white. He just sort of shivered and then he died. I killed him somehow."

Jones said nothing. It seemed that there were many interpretations of the story.

"I ran back to my place, packed up everything I could and left. I didn't have much in the place I was renting. I drained my bank account, bought a ticket to Canada and then from there bought a ticket to Germany. I thought I could get a job. I forgot about the unemployment. Maybe I am stupid," he trailed off and began to play with the glass, overlapping wet circles on the table.

"You aren't stupid. I'm not even sure you killed him. Why do you think you did?" She spoke very quietly, not looking at him.

"It must have been me. I've done weird things all of my life when I get angry or scared. Things explode or disappear. I was so mad." A sort of moan escaped him as he held his head in his hands. "I left the school with most of a doctorate, but not all. If he hadn't have held me back, I would be done. I'd be teaching. That's what I wanted to do. I wanted to teach."

"Paul, you are teaching."

"I mean real teaching. Not put two beetle eyes and some powdered unicorn horn into a cauldron, heat for ten heartbeats, and then add some water taken from a holy spring on the first new moon. I wanted to work for a real university. Do research. Heck, even publish or perish sounds good." He poured the last of the pitcher into his glass. "Now, my mom's here to make me feel like an idiot. I can just imagine what kind of correspondence she has for me from the university. Plus, she'll make me show her around Durmstrang. This must be hell."

"I can think of worse things. Look, I'll help you the best I can." She held out a hand, which he shook rather limply.

"It's about curfew. Let's go back and get some sleep."

They gathered up the glasses and the pitcher and headed inside the tavern. The noise was a physical thing, surrounding them. Loud laughter, glasses and pitchers slamming down and a jukebox pounding. The muffling influence of the bathroom door only slowed it a bit, but all was silence on the other side of the curtains. He leaned against the cool wall and waited for Jones. When she failed to appear immediately, he got worried, but she soon popped through. "The boys are still here. They're completely ripped. I think I'm going to hang out for a bit. See you tomorrow!" With that, she disappeared back through the curtains leaving Wronski in a funk.

* * *

Saturday morning was unwelcome. Its cheerful sunshine crept through the small window in his bedroom, lighting the darkness with an ever-widening shaft. The wind-up alarm clock beat him into consciousness as it rang, announcing it was time for act two of the mom show.

The shower did not help nor did the first cup of tea. The second cup was better. The staff room was still empty. Rabe had appeared briefly to make a pot of coffee, but Ewa called for him and the room emptied again. Sitting at the table, Wronski sipped his second cup and tried to decide what to do with his mother. Large, fanciful plots were hatched and then discarded as being too cumbersome. He thought about showing her the sights around the village, but he knew that was not what she had come to see. He tilted the chair back onto its back legs and rocked back and forth, trying to figure out how to explain any of this.

Rolf Haken wandered into the room. Wronski stared at him. Haken was the closest thing to 'normal' on staff. He seemed a gregarious person, always willing to talk or at least ask questions. He looked normal, not dressed in robes or sporting odd footwear.

"Haken, are you going to be around this afternoon?" The attempt to sound casual failed.

"Yes. The last Quidditch match is this morning."

"Oh. How about tomorrow?"

"Why?" Haken poured a cup of coffee and took a seat opposite Wronski.

Wronski looked around the room, avoiding Haken's eyes. "My mother has come to visit and..."

"And you wish her to meet some of the other professors? Yes. I would be pleased to speak to her. I will not mention anything that she might consider odd." Haken's usual grin appeared as he picked up his mug.

"Thank you! I was afraid that, well," Wronski began.

"You were afraid that she might speak to Professor Gregorov or Professor de Rais? Perhaps Loup's eyes might be unnerving? We are all such interesting individuals." Haken's smile grew broader. "I understand that you are the only one in your family with the ability. It should prove most interesting for you, these next few days."

Wronski nodded, not knowing what else to say. After several moments, he looked up. "Who do you know who could do a really good memory spell?"

"Ah. I see. There are several who might be of service, but you should only resort to that if there are no other possibilities. Some minds are more fragile than others. To be able to delete memories is one thing; to be able to create enough detail that such an omission is unnoticed, that is quite another." Haken looked at the door, as if expecting to see someone else. "Professor Gregorov's last employer would have trained him to do such things. But," he said with a sly look, "there are others who can also achieve the same results."

"Who are they?"

Haken merely smiled again and left.

He finished his tea and, after rinsing his mug out, walked over to Jones' door. The raps on the door seemed to echo in the stone hallway. He waited a few minutes and rapped again. When no one answered, he pounded, the noise bringing her next door neighbor, Siegfried Kessler, out into the hall.

Blearily, the big man leaned in his own doorway. "Do you want to pound on the wall next to her bedroom? I am already awake. Now."

Wronski shifted uncomfortably. Kessler had a temper, but had never gone out of his way to pick on Wronski, unlike Gregorov. "Thanks. We're supposed to go somewhere this morning."

Kessler nodded and stepped into the hallway, making a sweeping motion by his door. Wronski sidled by and then stood aside while Kessler led him through the progression of small rooms. He couldn't resist a quick scan of the office, which was surprisingly neat. The living quarters were also tidy. The order ended in the bedroom. "Lurid" was the word that leapt to Wronski's mind when he stepped through the door. The orientation of the bed was such that it took up most of the room. Red sheets shimmered under what looked like a black velvet duvet. There was a rather lascivious portrait of a kneeling nude on one wall while another held a huge picture of Leda and the Swan. He stared down at the floor and pounded on the wall that separated Kessler's room from Jones'. The sounds of feet hitting the floor said someone was awake. Pounding echoed back. "Rose! Time to go!" Wronski yelled.

"Paul? What are you doing in Siegfried's rooms?" The voice was muffled, but easily understood.

"We're supposed to get my mom, remember?"

Something that sounded a great deal like profanity mumbled across. "Give me ten minutes."

Wronski turned to find Kessler enjoying his discomfort. "Thanks. I'll get out of your way now."

Kessler turned to leave, so Wronski took one last look at the decorating motif, trying hard not to laugh out loud. The first two rooms were so ordered and the last was so, so sleazy. He wondered briefly what the bathroom must look like but, after seeing the bedroom, he opted not to peek.

The hallway was cold. Wronski leaned against the wall opposite Jones' door and counted. He had made it into the two hundreds before she opened the door.

"You look like hell," he offered as she allowed him through her wards.

She lit a cigarette in response and stared at him with bloodshot eyes. Rose Jones did indeed look like hell. The short, stocky witch's hair stuck out at odd angles, her skin was pale and there was a smudge of blue chalk that ran the length of one cheek. The hands shook a bit as she struck the match.

Wronski sat down in the guest chair, crossing his legs. Swinging one foot back and forth, he watched as the eyes slowly opened and he was certain she could focus. "I'd offer to get you a cup of coffee, but I think you need to wake up enough first. What time did you get in?"

"Late. I had to bribe the guards to get back in. I don't think I've stayed out that late in, oh, say twenty years. I had a great time!" She chuckled to herself and took a long drag. "You should have stayed." She glanced over at the mostly amused Wronski. "OK. You wouldn't have had much fun. It was the boys and me. They were on a tear. God, they have great stories! Makes me almost wish I could change careers." She finished the cigarette and leaned back in her own chair.

"I didn't think there was a pool table in the tavern." Wronski leaned forward and made a motion in front of her face, careful not to touch her.

"There isn't." She gave him an evil grin in response.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" He returned the grin and raised an eyebrow.

"Nope. I had a great time."

He let her finish another cigarette and then waited until she returned from washing her face and combing her hair. By the time she came back, he'd looked through the top folder of homework assignments from Friday. "What does this mean?" He pointed to the first question.

Bending over her desk, she read the question that preceded the essay. "In which order are the various fluids of the body most useful?" She pulled on her jacket and shrugged. "Basic question in this business. What do you think?"

"Let me see. In the Jones universe number one would be blood." He glanced over to see her give him a serious look. He was being graded. "Number two. Hmm. I've heard Loup say that semen was just as good as blood for a man. Is the equivalent the same for a woman?" He got a small shrug. "Number three has got to be some other internal fluid. Saliva? Lymph?" The second question got a nose wrinkle. "OK. Saliva. I can't think of any other fluids. Did I get a passing grade?"

"Good enough for now. Actually, you got it right. There are a bunch of internally contained fluids, too, but hardly anyone ever works with them. A lot of them mean you've already killed the target, so the point is moot. Amniotic fluid is a great one, though, if you're looking at long-term control." She picked up her satchel and stood waiting for him to digest the information.

"Pretty gross. Some times I wonder why I even ask." Wronski followed her out the door.

* * *

The guards hardly looked up when they arrived. "Door's unlocked," was muttered while the two men worked on some kind of paperwork.

They did the sequence of Portkey to Portkey and walked out into the tavern. Breakfast was being served. Dr. Wronski had taken the table furthest away from anyone else and sat reading a newspaper. She looked up when she heard the footsteps and, with an irritated expression, motioned them to join her.

"Sleep well?" He tried to sound as pleasant as possible as he shook his head 'no' when a woman offered a cup of coffee.

"Tolerably. You couldn't find a place that had nonsmoking rooms?" She glowered at her son who began to once again transform back into a surly teenager.

"This was the closest place to the school, Dr. Wronski," Jones offered over her cup of coffee. "Paul thought it would work the best, don't you agree?" She beamed at the older woman who said nothing.

"I thought you might like to see the area today," he began cautiously, watching for any change of expression.

"I want to see where you work," Dr. Wronski answered peevishly. "I'd like to talk to the other teachers and meet some of the students. How old are they? Is this an accredited university?"

He began to fidget and bunch a napkin up between his hands. His mother leaned forward as if looking for clues.

"Durmstrang is more like a prep school," Jones said quickly, watching the interaction between her friend and this predator that he called 'mom'. "We teach children between the ages of 11 and 18. Paul has students in all those age groups." She tried smiling brightly to lighten the atmosphere.

"Durmstrang? That's an odd name. Is it some kind of joke? Durm und Strang?" Dr. Wronski sniffed, but seemed slightly amused. "How far out of Köln are we?"

He and Jones exchanged glances. "Quite a distance. I only go into Köln on rare occasions. This village is the closest place to the school." He tried to keep his voice level as panic set in. If she did not ask too many questions about the location, it might be OK.

Dr. Wronski seemed satisfied for the moment. She finished her coffee and looked about the place. "I do like the bed and breakfast tradition. The food was quite adequate." Tension seemed to leak out of him and he sagged slightly, slumping in the chair. "Pauley, you really should work on your posture." The tension resumed as he struggled into an upright position. Dabbing gently at the corners of her mouth, Dr. Wronski gave one last look around and then took out a thick packet and handed it to her son. With an unsteady hand, he retrieved it and looked at his mother, his puzzlement showing. "Well, you might as well open it now." A sour look came over her as she waited.

Reluctantly, he opened the manila envelope and shook out a thick assortment of papers. Most of them had a university seal at the top and many of them were multi-part. Setting his lips into a thin line, he began to sort through them. The tic under his left eye beat with a vengeance as he read bits and pieces.

"I expect you to fill out all of the paperwork before I leave. I'll deliver it when I get back. You've come too far not to finish it. I've managed to get you an extension. If you work hard, you can finish in a year, but, at your usual rate, it can be done in three."

"This says that I need to return to finish some course work." His voice sounded leaden. "I can't do that. I... I'm under contract to teach here." He sounded more confident as he pulled the last fact out.

"You might be able to do some of it remotely. I'm sure I can persuade Dr. Coolidge to allow you access to the internal sites. You're so close, Pauley! You have to finish it. Your brother has been such a disappointment. Of course, he is making an obscene amount of money for someone with only a bachelor's degree and, here you sit, with a master's degree and how much are you making?"

Jones cleared her throat and looked away, uncomfortable enough for both of them. Paul Wronski, the object of the lecture, sat shaking before the steady gaze of his mother. "I don't have access to a computer, mother."

"What! Everyone has a computer. Everyone." She looked annoyed that he would even attempt such a pathetic excuse.

"They don't at Durmstrang. No telephones, either." He looked up at her. "It's rather nice, actually. You can focus on the real work, not sit in front of a monitor all day long."

"Don't take that attitude with me. I'm your mother!" The final card in the argument was slapped down. People turned to stare, drawn by the tone of voice. He slumped low in the chair, attempting to hide. Jones looked at the table. Icy silence reigned.

"Now, I expect you to fill out these forms. No backtalk. Wait here and I'll be back in a few minutes after I brush my teeth." With that, Dr. Wronski rose majestically from her seat and, with perfect posture, marched out of the room to the staircase.

"Oh, Paul. I am so sorry. I had no idea." Jones leaned forward and patted his hand.

"I can't do this. I can't. I can't go back. They'll get me for murder. And I'm bound. I can't break my contract. It runs for another two years before they'll even talk to me about leaving." He sat staring at the huge pile of forms, the tic beating steadily under his eye. "You want to know something weird?"

Jones pulled out her cigarettes and lit one. "What?"

"I think I like it better here than there. At least I make a difference here." He crumpled the top letter in his hand and stared at the paper as it relaxed. "I can't believe I just said that. Did I just say that I liked working at Durmstrang?" He looked over at Jones who sat grinning at him.

"Yup. I think you just did. You know, they don't care whether you have a Ph.D. or a Master's or anything else. All they care about is that you can teach Potions and Poisons. You do that quite well." She leaned forward and lowered her voice, "Paul, I'd be happy to teach you magic, too. I'm not the best teacher. I'm kinda crabby, but I think you'd do fine. You worked your way through the Goshawk books and, with a little practice, you'd be like the rest of us." She took another drag. "Or, you can see if you could get on with another university after next year. It's up to you. Don't let her badger you into doing something you don't want to do."

"Badger? Is that a joke?" They broke into much-needed laughter, the tension once again relaxed. "Hand me her muffin. She never eats sweets." The leftovers from Dr. Wronski's breakfast were passed over. He tore the muffin into layers and began to eat the top.

Jones scooped up the paperwork, stuffed it back into the envelope and then secured it in her satchel. "If it's out of sight, maybe she'll forget about it for a while."

He shook his head. "She never forgets. Ever. I'll need to think about it for a bit, but I don't want to do this. Besides, I can't go back anyway. What's the use?"

"Here she is," Jones hissed and put on her "pleasant" face. It looked horribly false, but Dr. Wronski accepted it.

"Well, I'm ready. Shall we go?" Dr. Wronski turned to go.

He shot a look over at Jones and mouthed, "Is the spell still there?"

Jones nodded and, palming her wand, touched Dr. Wronski's arm. An unfocused look spread across the biochemist's face and the hard jaw went slightly slack. "This way." Jones led the complacent woman out of the room, through the tavern and, with only a quick glance to see if anyone was looking, walked into the bathroom. He waited a few minutes and followed suit.

The two women were already at the gates when he caught up to them. The guards were not interested in letting Dr. Wronski into the grounds. Jones had already argued with them and the added voice of Professor Wronski did not gain them any ground. In a stand off between the two guards and the two professors, the former were winning. Wronski had begun to panic when a small sound behind them caught everyone's attention.

Johannes Werner, not looking nearly as healthy as he normally did, gave a thin smile. Werner's face was paler than usual and his light-colored eyes were bloodshot. The shoulder-length brown hair had escaped its clip in places. Even the uniform looked rumpled. He had the appearance of a man who had had not had enough sleep. "Let them pass." The voice sounded thick as he motioned the guards to open the gates.

"Hey, thanks, Jo. Appreciate it!" Jones said brightly, as she was mostly recovered from her night out.

Werner flinched slightly at the familiarity, but said nothing. He appeared to be having difficulty with the bright sunshine. It was all that Wronski could do to not run over to the Dark Arts' building and drag out Loup. She would have enjoyed seeing the Auror at less than optimum. No doubt, so would Gregorov and Kessler.

The guards opened the gates, complaining under their breath the entire time. Jones released the hazy mind of Dr. Wronski once the gates were closed. Werner muttered something that no one caught and headed off to the castle, his head down and a hand partially covering his eyes.

"This is where you work?" Dr. Wronski sounded approving. A point for the grounds. The area in front of Durmstrang's castle was lovely. In May, most of the snow had melted and green grass poked up optimistically. Daffodils made bright yellow swashes against the stone walls and crocus added other colors. Trees were beginning to leaf out. Someone must have put an order in for bird song. The sun glinted off the walls wherever a patch of ice remained.

Dr. Wronski turned slowly around, taking in the architecture. "It's positively Gothic. What century was it built?"

A practical question like that should have had an easy answer. They looked to each other for an answer, but neither had a clue. "Um. 14^th century?" he hazarded a guess.

His mother made an odd noise, negating his answer. "The towers look like they're 12^th, maybe earlier to there." She pointed to where the stones changed color slightly. "I think those towers might be 13^th and the guard house certainly looked 16^th to me. These buildings were rebuilt so many times over the centuries." They were surprised when Dr. Wronski wrapped her arms around herself, lost in thought.

"I think she likes the way it looks," Jones hissed.

"Wait until she sees the inside," he answered gloomily.

"Where are your offices?" The romance of the moment was gone as she turned back to them.

"See." He started the walk over to the low stone building that housed the Dark Arts' offices and living quarters. His mother trailed behind, admiring the stone work with Jones carefully staying with her to make certain nothing happened.

The door stood open when they arrived, an old boot jammed under it to keep it that way. They walked in, stopping for a moment to let their eyes adjust to the darkness. With new eyes, he took in the building, recalling how he had seen it almost six years earlier. The building looked short in comparison to the castle but it was actually tall inside. A long corridor ran its whole length, with doors leading off every fifteen feet or so. The names of the various professors were seen on each door with their office hours posted underneath. The wall with the doors was all wood, set up to partition what had once been a stable into separate offices. The effect was rather attractive in an odd way. The yellow of the wood seemed like a light held in by the gray of the stone. The abundance of boots outside of doors detracted from the ambiance, but that could be ignored. Almost directly in front of the main doors was the staff room from which voices could be heard in a comforting murmur.

Dr. Wronski stood still for a moment, torn between wanting to see the offices and wanting to meet the people associated with the voices. The debate was visible on her face when Gregorov lumbered out. Yuri Gregorov looked tired, caked mud on his hands hinting of a night's hunt. He nodded at the trio and headed for his door. Wronski let out a sigh of relief when there was no exchange between them. The sigh was cut short when Gregorov's mate padded after him. Loup gave a quick smile as she passed by and Wronski prayed that his mother had not noticed the black within black eyes. She hadn't. His mother was far more interested in examining the torches mounted on the stone wall.

"Do you actually use these for light?" Her voice held a tone of wonder as she reached up to touch the brackets.

Wronski cleared his throat, searching for a reply.

"Yeah. We do some times. Electricity isn't that reliable up here." Jones took over the conversation. "The torches look great, too. They really only get used during the darkest part of winter which can be pretty long this far north." She missed Wronski waving his arms.

"I didn't think Köln was that far north." The cool voice of the scientist returned.

"Uh. Well, it seems dark with all the snow." Jones looked around for something to distract Dr. Wronski. "Want to see Paul's office?"

"Why yes. Yes, I would." They turned right and headed three doors down to one labeled "Professor Wronski". "Paul, did you ever learn to keep a tidy room?" Dr. Wronski asked as he worked the wards to let them through.

The office answered the question. No. Wronski's office was thick with books, magazines and journals. There were small paths winding from the door to the guest chair to the desk and back to the living quarters. Books were piled on the floor in tall towers. Journals were tucked into stacks in the corners, and the magazines were stuck into every spot that was not otherwise occupied.

His mother's mouth set itself into a thin line as she surveyed the room. "I see you haven't." She turned carefully in the door to look at the titles. Jones made a quick sidestep to stand in front of a certain book case where some of the tomes had the word "Used" flashing. On one shelf, a series of similarly bound books had images of the same man with blonde, styled hair, clad in a different colored robe for each book, waving and blowing kisses.

Dr. Wronski gave the living quarters an amused look. The small room had been remade into a laboratory. A large stone-topped table stood in the middle of the room with a mish mash of glassware piled onto it. Tubing was coiled in piles here and there and glass tubing was stored in cardboard boxes. Powders and liquids in dark colored glass bottles took up every available shelf while a scale stood to one side with two boxes of pH strips next to it. Racks of test tubes were at one end of the table, odd colored fluids making a decorative effect.

She almost ran into the bristle of darts shoved into a dartboard by the door. Pulling up one of the two chairs, she sat down and admired the odd centerpiece. "It looks like when I started chemistry." Laughter bubbled out as she stared. "It's rather primitive, but you must have fun with it." Even the girlie calendar on the wall got a chuckle. "Do they still make the 'Women of Science' calendar?"

Mother spent the better part of an hour examining the room. She enjoyed playing with the various set-ups, occasionally asking questions about obtaining chemicals and acids, but mostly she looked. In a much better mood than before, she offered some of the older things the university was getting rid of. Jones accepted for Wronski since he was unable to say anything or do much more than slump sullenly in a chair.

When she finished dissecting the living area, she took a quick peek into his bedroom and gave him a disgusted look. "Really, dear, you need to make your bed. It looks so slovenly. Don't you ever do laundry?"

They strolled down the hall to the staff room. Wronski's eyes went large in terror as he imagined who might be in there. Everyone was there. Everyone. He managed to stammer an introduction to the entire Dark Arts' staff as well as Kessler's newest girl. They gave a polite, but indifferent greeting back and most returned to whatever it was they were doing.

Dr. Wronski looked over the crowd, no doubt making her own assumptions of their abilities. She gave a small sniff when Kessler's girl sat in his lap and began to ruffle his hair. Things were ever the same.

Haken slowly rose from his spot at the table, knowing that Wronski counted on him to make some conversation. With a formal half bow, he shook hands with Dr. Wronski. She was charmed at the careful phrasing of the greeting and responded in her fluent German. Haken slid a glance over at the terrified Wronski before he responded. Carefully, he directed the conversation to the weather, the building, and the schedule of classes, only vaguely referring to the courses he taught as "introductory". He made no mention of magic, dark or light. Dr. Wronski beamed at him. Haken had passed with flying colors.

As he passed the table on his way back to his seat, Haken stopped and tapped Lowenstein to take his place. Lowenstein gave a small grimace and then got up to introduce himself. Dr. Wronski was more than delighted. Professor Lowenstein was quite possibly one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. The yellow eyes gave her a brief start, but the rest of the man easily distracted her. Once Lowenstein recognized the admiration, he turned on his most charming side.

"She won't remember a thing he said. All she's going to recall is how pretty he is," Jones whispered to Wronski who still stood transfixed by fear that someone would do any magic in front of his mother.

To their horror, his mother's voice floated over asking, "And what do you teach, Professor Lowenstein?"

The others stopped talking and, with smiles on most of their faces, waited to hear the response. Lowenstein replied without stopping to consider the effect, "Most of my courses are about sex, my dear doctor."

Wronski's eyes bugged and he let a small 'squee' sound escape. Dr. Wronski, however, was unfazed. "Oh, are you an anthropologist or a sociologist? You're not talking about sex in the biological sense only, are you?" She wanted to be able to classify him.

"It's sort of a multi-discipline approach, mother." Wronski's words came out in a rush as he held Lowenstein's eye. Lowenstein frowned, but let the description alone.

Dr. Wronski seemed content with that explanation and allowed the multi-discipline professor to resume his seat.

The rest remained where they were seated. Magda's containers of herbs enticed Dr. Wronski over. "What are you using these for?"

Magda smiled shyly and looked uncertain. In a language that Wronski did not recognize, she responded. He shot a glance at Lowenstein who mouthed, "Romanian." Apparently, Romanian was not a language that Dr. Wronski was fluent in so she moved on.

No one offered any other information and, for a moment, Wronski felt relieved. Then, he noticed a feral smile creep over the face of the fourth woman in the room. She had been sitting behind Gregorov, mostly obscured from Dr. Wronski's sight. Black eyes peered around the Russian and, in her flat American accent, Loup asked Dr. Wronski what her specialty was.

Dr. Wronski tried to see who was speaking, but the voice had seemed to come from nowhere. With her hands trying to find pockets where they would have been on a lab coat, Dr. Wronski began to talk about her current research project. With the exception of her son, no one had any idea of what she was talking about. The words were very long and seemed to have a lot of parts. Gregorov slid down in his chair, annoyed at being lectured to and Kessler's attentions to his girl grew more personal. Haken's smile became frozen and he soon began to drum his fingers on the table. Rabe got up and left, smiling apologetically as he passed. The Lowensteins talked amongst themselves. De Rais looked up from his book and did his own analysis of the situation. "Why Dr. Wronski, your science is almost magic to us." De Rais' comment hung as he passed her and silently stalked down the hallway.

Dr. Wronski stopped, trying to figure out what that meant, giving a moment of silence. Loup's dark hair could been seen as she bent next to Gregorov, whispering something. Gregorov grunted and stood, the two walked out of the room. As Dr. Wronski started collecting her thoughts again, an odd yipping sound caught her attention as two wolves trotted by, leaving by the main door. "They allow pets?" Dr. Wronski sounded disdainful. An odd chuckle amongst the remaining faculty members made her frown as she realized that she was left out of the joke.

"If you will excuse me, Dr. Wronski, as a teacher, I should attend the game. It begins soon." Haken stiffly rose and left. The Lowensteins followed closely behind.

"What kind of game is it, dear?" Dr. Wronski turned to her son whose rigid expression only hinted at his anxiety level.

"Oh, some dumb sports thing. It isn't very interesting," Jones brightly offered. "How about some lunch?"

"Lunch would be lovely."

* * *

Lunch was lovely. The only drawback was explaining the school uniform. Dr. Wronski found the blood red robes odd. "Hardly practical for this climate. The snow must saturate the hems. And why cloaks? Why not something more useful like parkas?"

Poor Wronski was tongue-tied, unable to answer even the simplest question. Fortunately, Jones was not. She had loads of opinions to offer and could make small talk when necessary.

When lunch was done, Dr. Wronski wanted to see his classroom. The tic's frequency increased as they began the long descent down. "They always seem to put the labs in the basement," his mother observed as they started the third set of stairs down. The dungeons, however, passed all of her tests. She found them wonderfully moody. The masonry fascinated her and soon she was on her hands and knees as she looked at the stones.

Exchanging confused looks became routine as Jones and Wronski watched Mom examine the passage and all of the classrooms. The Potions classroom received much the same comments as Wronski's lab had. "Your budget must be so small." She wandered around the room, picking up things and looking at them with a sad expression. "How do you manage? I don't see any of the usual equipment. You don't even have a pH meter. The strips aren't that accurate, as I'm sure you know. I don't even see where the gas lines are plumbed." Standing in front of the students' tables, Dr. Wronski pointed, "What are these supposed to be?" The line of cauldrons gleamed in the light of the illumination charms.

"Aren't they quaint?" Jones asked. "This place thrives on atmosphere!" She poked Wronski in the ribs to get him to talk.

Wronski tried to make conversation, failing time and time again. He just couldn't think of anything to say. In his normal world, his thoughts were focused on science as much as possible and now all he could think of was the magic that Durmstrang was about.

By the time dinner was served, they had taken her on a tour of much of the castle. With a game being played, it was mostly empty of people. Staff members worked on routine jobs and very few students were to be seen. If you worked in a castle, it was quite ordinary.

They were about to return to the tavern when a wave of students crashed through the main doors. Energetic voices told of an exciting finish to the game with interesting gestures that could be interpreted many ways. It could have been a ball's flight they were talking about.

Dr. Wronski was only slightly curious when members of the winning team came in escorted by their admiring supporters.

"Why are they all carrying brooms?" Dr. Wronski wanted to know. "What pretty bathrobes. Is this some kind of silly tradition?"

Sweat trickled down Wronski's face as he nodded enthusiastically, still unable to answer.

They managed to get her out of the building. She wanted to stop and admire the grounds again before they left, which allowed Jones to reactive the spell. Taking her back was easy at that point.

The guards barely gave them a glance as they walked through the gates. There was a late shout of "Curfew has been extended to midnight, Professor Jones," which made Jones laugh.

"How late were you last night?" Wronski asked as they stood in front of the curtain, gathering courage to walk into the tavern's toilet.

She shrugged. "It was still dark outside." She thought for a moment, "Well, it was getting lighter. I think it must have been 5AM or so. You should have seen those guys. They really cut loose after a few drinks."

Wronski frowned, trying to imagine the black wall of death, his private name for the Aurors, cutting loose. "OK. Me first." Squaring his shoulders, he pushed through the curtain and walked into someone who was just sitting down. He leapt back. "Gotta wait."

They stood around in the hallway for a bit. Wronski looked at the zombie-like woman who was his mother. "I wish she would give it a rest."

"Give what a rest?" Jones looked up at the gray-haired woman dressed in her immaculate suit.

"She's always been the best at everything she's ever done. I had to take her class when I was an undergrad. She's really good. Her tests are terrors. You can never stump her on a question. Look at her! Doesn't she look like a professional?" He shoved his hands into his pockets and glared at his mother.

"Did you want to be a Ph.D. or did she want you to be one?"

"I don't know. I think I wanted to be the next Dr. Wronski. I'm not sure now." He looked away down the hall back towards the room that held the Portkey. "It doesn't matter. She's decided I'm going to finish it. One way or another, she'll make me do it. She knows how to find me now."

"No, she doesn't. She couldn't find this place again unless you lead her to it." Jones tapped his arm to get his attention. "You're thirty-four. That means you can make up your own mind."

"You don't know her. Once she makes up her mind..." he trailed off, scuffing his shoe on the floor. "I really was close to being done. I just had to clean a few things up and defend. The extra class work must be new requirements."

"Look, it's up to you. If you let her push your buttons, it's your problem. Why don't you try it again." Jones pointed at the curtain.

Annoyed at everything, Wronski darted through to find an empty bathroom. He locked the door and jumped back to let Jones know. When he reentered, he found himself staring at the mirror, and noticed, with a bit of disappointment, just how much he looked like his mother. Same eyes. Same nose. Her hair had been the same color. Why couldn't he have her self-confidence? He ran his fingers through his hair and sneered at himself. Jones and his mother ran into him as they came through. The two professors grumpily played a quick round of "paper, scissors, rock" to decide who would go out first. Jones won and pulled Dr. Wronski behind her. Noise flashed into the small room that Wronski quickly locked. He counted to thirty and then left, nearly opening the door onto a long line of impatiently waiting women.

The Saturday night crowd was having a very good time. The tavern was so busy that there was almost no place to stand. Jones dragged Dr. Wronski along with Wronski having to push his way through the crowd. Even the happy, drunken crowd made way for the illustrious Dr. Wronski.

"I'll take her up. Why don't you wait here? Get us a drink or something." Jones began steering her charge up the stairs, leaving him to stand like a small child at the landing.

"Professor Wronski, dear Professor Wronski." A hand came down on his shoulder, sending him several inches sideways.

Wronski turned to find "the boys", already well inebriated, standing around him. He had only been this close once before and that encounter had left very unpleasant memories. Without thinking, he began to scratch his arm where the binding spell's symbol shone. "Hi. You look like you're having fun."

"Oh. Yes. We are most definitely having fun." One of Werner's men, Josef Baldung, sat down on a planter at the bottom of the stair, flattening the silk flowers. "You should join us. Have a few glasses with us. Professor Jones was most amusing last night."

Werner himself just smiled, but it was a real smile, not the usual "for show" one. Mueller loomed drunkenly behind his boss, one arm stretched out against the wall. Jan Massys, the last Auror, seemed unable to speak and stood grinning next to Baldung.

Wronski eyed "the boys" who all seemed very pleased to see him. The last time Wronski remembered being drunk was when he had accepted the position at Durmstrang and the time before that had been the disastrous beer pong party. The idea of drinking with a bunch of men who could activate his binding spell just did not have a high level of appeal. When Jones came into sight, "the boys" cheered and began to shake hands with her. Her laughter was infectious, even Wronski joined in, momentarily forgetting how unhappy he was.

Swept up in the general camaraderie, he followed them into the bar. Someone had put money into the jukebox and loud Europop thumped its way through the bar. Bodies somehow found enough room to dance and a glass of beer seemed to appear magically in his hand. The night seemed a friendlier place.

"The boys" had their own room in the back, populated by several men Wronski had also seen in the black uniforms. He was introduced to far too many men and a few women who seemed intent on having a good time. The clack of a cue ball splitting a rack caught his attention. Jones and Mueller were teamed up against Baldung and Werner. It had been Werner's break. Even drunk, Werner's precision was amazing. Pitchers of beer were everywhere and glasses never seemed to get empty. The bass from the jukebox provided a back beat. It got very smoky and very, very drunk.

After his fourth beer, Wronski didn't trust himself any more and wisely picked a chair to sit in and watch the billiards table. The team of Jones and Mueller proved devastating. If they were not scoring well on the game, Mueller would pick the table up slightly. If they were, Jones would "help" the other players. They were having a splendid time. She had blue chalk all over her hands and face. Wronski drained his glass and started to stand up, planning on going back to his quarters. Werner came over, filled the glass to the brim and sat down next to him.

In the time it took for the glass to fill, Wronski became sober. Flashbacks of Werner leaving the staff room and having his bullyboys work the Dark Arts staff over drained any of the fuzzy tipsy feeling away. The skin where the binding spell marked him began to itch at the memory.

Werner looked Wronski over, the pale eyes heavily lidded and his face flushed. It was a look that did not become the Auror. Werner leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You are the only one in the family with magic?" For a supposedly drunk man, he had almost no scent of beer.

Wronski tried to slap a silly drunken look on his face, mostly failing. He looked down a minute and inhaled deeply. One of the best parts of being an Animagus was the sense of smell. It worked best when you changed often, which Wronski did not, but the sense was there in a much-heightened level. Werner had had a few drinks, but the man was sober. A little ping went off in Wronski's head, the game had started. "I think so. I'm the only one I know about."

"Your mother is a famous scientist?" Werner played with a half glass of beer, pretending to watch the game nearby.

"She's well known. She's written a lot of papers." The drunken act was dropped and he sounded as wary as he felt.

Werner turned back to face him, any sham of intoxication dropped. "I am just curious, Professor. Many times, small pieces of information may become important later. I am not a bigot about purity of blood. I am far more impressed by ability." He motioned with his beer glass. "Mueller comes from a family with a wizard father and a Squib mother. His magic is very strong. Baldung comes from pure blood lines. His magic is not strong, but he has other skills. Massys is like you, sprung from non magic lines. He is the strongest sorcerer on the force. Unfortunately, he drinks too much. Still, he is one of the best."

"And you?"

Werner's false smile showed. "I am myself. Professor Jones indicated that you might have the need for someone who is skilled in memory work."

Wronski felt his face go hot. Jones' mouth had run off with her again. She had no right to share his personal problems.

Werner tilted his head to one side, watching the expression shift. With a small shake of his head, he said, "She worries about you. You are her friend. Should you need such a thing done, you may call on one of us."

"I don't understand. Why would you help me?"

"Perhaps, in time, you will help us." The pale eyes bored into him and Wronski's face drained of color.

"Thanks. I doubt I'll need it." He looked away, unnerved by the unblinking stare. Jones' laughter rose above the rest of the noise. Fine time indeed. "I need to go. My mother will want to go to mass in the morning."

"A religious Dark Arts professor. How interesting." With that, Werner stood and walked Wronski to the door.

The main tavern was even louder. It was almost impossible to make his way from the back room to the bathroom and then he had to wait. Some entrepreneur had invested in a mirror ball that looked out of place on the low ceiling. Occasionally, an arm would swing into it, sending sparkles of light crazily around the room. He had a long wait to ponder Werner's offer, wondering what the price would be down the line and whether he would even have to worry. The door finally opened, allowing him to pass through the curtain and head home.

* * *

Sunday morning's alarm was answered by flinging the clock across the room. A small headache ground behind his eyes as he stood in the shower. Getting dressed was a chore and walking the few yards from his office to the staff room felt like a huge effort. Not a soul was up yet, even Rabe was still abed.

The water from the tap sounded like a waterfall as he filled a teapot. He didn't even think when he used his wand to heat the water to boiling. Plunking three bags into the pot, he staggered over to the table and sat down to wait for it to steep. As the minutes passed, he scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. He never got up this early on a weekend. He kept reminding himself that her plane left in the evening, hoping to chase away the deep foreboding he felt.

The tea had steeped too long by the time he poured a cup; its bitter taste made his mouth pucker. He grabbed out the bags and added a bit more water, hoping to make it palatable. Its flavor hardly improved and he tried adding some sugar to even it out. It still tasted bad, but the caffeine was helping his head. Wronski forced the first cup down and then poured another, hoping to finally end the headache and feel more alert.

The faucet dripped out the seconds as he slowly worked his way through his second cup. The forms began to haunt him. Fill them out and give them to her or pretend to have lost them? Finish the damn degree or give up? Leave the school and get arrested in the States or stay and be a nobody? He asked himself an endless loop of questions, each one becoming more ludicrous. Eventually, the questions got too stupid and he managed a small smile.

In the Wizarding universe, the top of the heap was supposed to be the Purebloods, those who were descended from an unbroken line of witches and wizards. Then, the Halfbloods who did not have the status. Almost last were those like him, the genetic sports, who suddenly popped out of nowhere in a line. At least the Squibs were beneath him.

He liked having the power. It made him feel different and a little dangerous. His complete lack of training was a hindrance. While he had worked his way through the spell books, he did not understand the actual use of most of the spells. Obvious ones, such as Lumos, made sense. He liked the heating ones and some of the useful ones such as the levitating spells were good. Those, he understood. Day after day, he watched the rest of the staff do things with their magic that he could not fathom. There were gradations, of course. He rarely saw Lowenstein use magic, but the power was there. Kessler would only perform to help aggrandize himself. Gregorov appeared to have a lot of knowledge in certain areas; in others, none. Haken's command was unknown, but Wronski had to admit that his perception of the short man was colored by Jones' opinion that anyone who taught entry-level courses had to be weak. De Rais had only occasionally done anything and it had been with an effortless style that sent a cold chill up Wronski's spine. Loup was in the same category as de Rais, only not as creepy. And Jones was his hero. She seemed to solve most problems with a flick of her wand. He wanted to be able to do that.

What he needed was practice. Maybe work on the magic stuff the same way he had worked at his science, immersing himself in it until that was all he saw. He'd seen both worlds and, over all, he preferred the one he was in currently. He missed some of the electronic gadgets, but not that much. After he had gotten over the lack of a computer and a TV, he realized that he had gained hours of reading time.

He pulled out the wand he had been given years ago and looked at it. It didn't look like much, just a slender rod. His friend had apologized, saying that there were no guarantees that the wand would even work. It hadn't at first. Wronski had not been certain if it was him or whether it was the wand, but he had worked with it every day. He found the spells in their Latin form a familiar comfort. Wave the thing around, say a few imperative verb forms and hope for the best. It didn't work that way, actually, but he had thought it did. His friend had sat with him over several beers, helping with the wand waving. It had looked incredibly stupid to him at the time, but Will had insisted that things be done just so. When he gotten a spell to work, they had both become so excited that they had run around the quad, screaming their heads off at 2 AM.

Practice. That was the key. He needed to pull the spell books out and practice. He would swallow his pride and have Jones lead him through the uses of the things. With some practice, he could get that wind effect going that he'd seen Loup use to blow the dust out of the room, or he could do his laundry or get a really good blue flame conjured.

Without planning anything, he pointed the wand at a pile of pillows on one of the couches and watched as a pillow rose in small jerks until it hovered in the air. With a small circle of the wrist, the pillow began to spin. He liked the effect enough that he made the rest of the pillows follow suit. Suspending the pillows uncovered someone's shoes. Drunk on his own success, he enchanted the shoes to start dancing all across the room. He laughed as he was forced to pick his feet up to let them pass. Magda had left a shawl on the back of a chair so that became a bullfighter's cape, whirling along the ceiling. Folding his arms over his chest, he let his chaotic world dance around him, enjoying it immensely.

"Pauley? What is going on in here?" Dr. Wronski's voice asked from behind him. Wronski spun around to see the amazed look on his mother's face and the bleary one of Jones behind her.

"I ran into her this morning at the tavern. She thought she'd come with me and meet you here. You might want to stop those things before they hit someone." Jones pointed at a pillow that whirled past.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Trembling slightly, he raised his wand again, " Finite Incantatum!" The pillows plopped to the floor and the shawl fell over the table. The shoes seemed to trip and stumble over themselves to stop directly in front of mother.

"What is going on here? This is some sort of trick, isn't it?" Dr. Wronski strode around the staff room, searching for wires. She grabbed up a pillow, holding it at arm's length and then peering closely at it, all the while running the other hand around the outside.

"Rose, do you think that maybe now is a good time?" Wronski sounded panicky.

"You talk to her first and then maybe we'll do it. I need some coffee. You walked out of a wild party." With that, she turned and headed to her room.

"Pauley, what is this? I want to know immediately!" the scientist demanded as the mother became hysterical.

"Sorry. Uh. I guess it's magic." Wronski folded his hands behind his back and tried to stick the wand up his sleeve.

"There is no such thing. You know that. How did you did this?" Dr. Wronski flung the pillow back onto the couch and waited for her answer.

He looked at the floor, unable to answer.

"Pauley, answer me."

"My name is 'Paul'. I'm not a little kid any more." It would have been more impressive if he had looked at her and not mumbled.

"Paul then. Answer me."

"It was magic." Still looking down, he began to pick up the pillows, tossing them back onto the couch.

"Ridiculous. There is no such thing. You know that the truth only lies in science." She tapped her foot and folded her arms. "Did you finish your paperwork? You need to complete it and give it back to me before I leave this afternoon. It's very important that you print neatly."

"Unless I can work on it during the summers, preferably here, I don't think I'll be able to complete it." He sat down at the table and picked up his mug.

"Not acceptable. You should be thankful that I went to all this trouble to keep you in the program. I understand that you were shaken when Dr. Mulder had a heart attack and died, but you should have come back and finished your degree, not run off to Europe. You wouldn't believe how embarrassing it was for me! The other faculty members had quite a lot to say on the subject."

"I'm sorry I embarrassed you. I needed to leave." He kept his eyes on the mug, making it the center of his world, hoping she would calm down.

"Where are the forms? We'll just fill them out together." She walked over and stood over him, expecting him to leap to his feet.

"In my office." He continued to play with the mug.

"I'll just go and get them." Her heels clicked on the stone floor as she marched out of the staff room. The thrum of his wards holding sounded and a small smirk appeared. Jones' wards were very strong. He doubted that science would find a way through them. The clicking sound drew nearer and what little smile he had managed, fled.

"Pauley! What's wrong with your door? You fetch those forms now." Hands planted on her hips, his mother filled the doorway.

"Can we wait a few minutes? How about a cup of tea or maybe some coffee?" He played for time, hoping she would calm down.

"No. I went to a lot of trouble to get you this extension. Do you know how many people I had to talk to? Do you have any idea the amount of trouble I went to arranging this? I expect you to do your duty."

"Duty?" He looked up and met her eyes briefly before flinching. "Duty to what? I have a duty to this school. I signed on for seven years. I have another year after this one before I can do anything else. I have a duty to my students to teach them. I have a duty to myself to do the best job I can do here."

"You have a duty to your family." The argument had been ended.

"Yeah. Right." He slowly stood up and picked up his mug and the teapot. He took his time walking to the sink and rinsing them out. The little window over the sink seemed to promise freedom if he could just escape through it. Leaning on the sink, he took a deep breath and hoped he was brave enough. Turning, he faced his mother who still blocked the doorway. "I can't do anything until July of next year. I'm under contract. If you want to talk about this next year, I might be interested; however, right now, I can't start my program again."

"I'm sure they'd let you out of a contract with this school. There are hundreds of others out there who could do this job." Her voice took on the tone of superiority that he had always hated. "There are any number of people with master's degrees who could easily fill your shoes. A Ph.D. would allow you to teach at a accredited university or do research."

Wronski heard his own words echoed back to him. The title he had wanted, the career he had craved and all he had to do was fill out the forms, buy his way out of his contract and do his mother's bidding. Maybe he could get in and out of the country fast enough that no one would realize that he was the cause of Dr. Mulder's death. He could go back to Connecticut, probably move back into the house with his parents, work for another professor who would probably make him redo most of his work and eventually become another Dr. Wronski. Just like his mother wanted. It was his duty.

"Well?" she asked.

"I told you. I can't do anything until after next year." He stuffed his hands into his pockets, feeling stubborn.

"Pauley..." she began.

"Paul. My name is Paul. I'm not a little boy for you to order around." He glowered at the floor. "And you're wrong. I'm uniquely suited for this position. There aren't a lot of others out there who could do what I do."

"Oh, really?" The scorn was not disguised. "With that pathetic excuse for a lab? It looks more like a third world country's joke than what a real scientist would use. How could you even consider this a possibility? I worked hard to get you into the graduate program. Your education was expensive. I'd hate to think I had invested unwisely." She walked into the room and stood in front of him.

"Really. I like what I'm doing here." He could hardly believe he had said that. "I get along with the rest of the department." With a few exceptions. "The pay isn't the best, but they allow me to live on campus and they include board along with the living space."

"What about conferences? I haven't seen your name in any of the journals. How could this possibly compare? Once you've graduated, I'm sure we could arrange some post doc work under me and then it would be easy to get you onto the faculty. In a few years, you'll have tenure. I can retire then, knowing you'll continue my work."

The chosen path had been made clear and it was all that he could do to not run out of the room screaming. "No way! I won't do it." He tried to walk past her, but she hung onto his arm.

"You will do it. I went to a lot of trouble to make certain it could be arranged. Get the paperwork." She shoved him towards the door and sat down to wait.

He made it outside the door and collapsed against the wall. His life's path had been laid out before him and it looked like the long gray corridor of a prison. Durmstrang might not be the nicest place in the world, but it looked great in comparison. Listening to his heart pound, he tried to figure out what to do next. Nothing came to mind as bad images of what life could be like, trapped in a lab next to his exacting mother, kept flashing before him. A door opened next to him and he had to move aside as Yuri Gregorov left his rooms to brew his morning tea. Wronski looked up at him and briefly wondered if he could ask the other man for a favor. Gregorov had mellowed a lot since Loup's appearance, but the Russian still baited Wronski. Loup followed him, yawning and stretching as she left the office.

"Hey. Can I ask a question?" Wronski hissed as she passed.

The black within black eyes blinked sleepily at him, but she stopped.

"Can you do memory charms? Detailed ones? Ones that would replace memories with others?" He had little hope that he could afford her if she could.

"You mean Obliviate? I can do that, but I'm not very good at replacing big chunks of time. Yuri might be able to. He doesn't like talking about his previous work, but Siegfried says that was what he did. Want me to ask him?" She dragged her fingers through her hair while she spoke.

"Yeah." He did not like even the thought of asking.

"Want to wait while I ask?" Her face looked more awake and interested in the prospect.

Wronski nodded and hugged himself. His mother would never let up. She would browbeat him into whatever it was she wanted him to do. He wondered how she would like it when the police showed up to take him away.

The staff room seemed unnaturally quiet to him until a low murmur was heard as Loup talked to Gregorov. Wronski did not hear a response, which could mean any number of things. Gregorov was not very talkative to begin with, preferring shrugs and facial expressions to talking or he might have just refused to consider the option. A scrape of a chair startled Wronski into flattening himself against the wall, knowing his mother would soon appear to drag him down to the office.

He could smell the strong black tea before he saw Gregorov. Flanked by the inquisitive Loup, Gregorov towered over Wronski. The fierce face looked sleepy still. "Come." Gregorov opened the door and waited for Wronski to enter.

"You really should let me ward the rooms," Loup grumbled. "We're the only ones who don't have active wards. Even Rabe got Ludwig to set some for him."

Gregorov gave his mate a small smile. "We do not need them, little wolf." She received the hubris with a grimace as she sat on the corner of the desk. Gregorov took a sip of his tea and looked Wronski over, a wry smile on his face. "What do you need such an involved memory spell for?"

Wronski wilted. "I need to replace some memories with others for my mother."

"Oh. You need to erase her memories of magic?" Gregorov nodded to himself.

"Yes and no. I need to remove a bit of magic and I also need to alter some things she wants me to do." He could not look at the other man. His personal problems seemed weak before the steady gaze.

"What do you need changed?"

"She wants me to return to the States with her. She has plans for me that I need her to forget." He glanced up at the two faces. Loup had the quizzical look that he had seen on every dog he had ever known. She spent far too much time in her wolf form, there were times you could almost see the animal superimposed over the woman.

"If it is a long-term dream of hers, it will be difficult to erase it. Removing recent memories is easy. Older ones, more work. Why should I do this for you?" Gregorov folded his arms.

Wronski dropped his eyes, a gesture that caused Loup to bark a short laugh. He realized that, in their pack view, he had ceded dominance. The knowledge confused him and he could only wring his hands and stare downwards.

"I think you frightened him." Loup stepped forward and bent over to peer into Wronski's face. "Why do you want Yuri to do this?"

"It's either him or Werner. Werner has offered. I know there's a price attached."

The wolves seemed to understand. Neither wanted anything to do with the Aurors, local or not. In rapid-fire French, the two discussed Wronski's problem. Gregorov was not interested. He had done enough of the kind of work Wronski wanted and he found it distasteful. It would take hours out of his Sunday and Gregorov was more interested in reading and taking a nap. Loup tried to talk him into it, but did not push particularly hard. It annoyed Wronski that they assumed he did not understand their conversation. His accent was far better than hers.

Gregorov opened the door and showed him out. A quick peek into the staff room revealed his mother trying to make conversation with Haken. Haken's frozen smile indicated how well that was going.

Wronski took a long look at the back of his mother, trying to make a final decision. He was certain that it had taken a lot of effort on her part to arrange for him to return to the school. She wanted to do the right thing for her youngest son and keep him in her world of black and white, where pillows did not fly around the room and where lights were switched on by electricity and not the flick of a wand. It was her world. He wasn't sure it was his.

Feeling depressed, he trudged down to his office. Moving carefully through his towers of books, he made it to his desk and sat down. The fat manila envelope sat on his desk. He had almost forgotten to retrieve it from Jones and now he wished that he had. Dumping out the papers, he sorted through them, recalling life as a graduate student. Parts had been fun. He'd enjoyed the challenges and the camaraderie of being part of a team, but he had hated being squeezed into a specialty and forced to do things a certain way only. He recalled how horrified his mother had been when he had made noises about going into research for a company like his father had. No, only teaching at a large, prestigious university would do for her. He had wanted to go to Dartmouth, but that hadn't happened. Every avenue he had pursued had been shut down even before he had begun. All roads had led back to what she wanted. The only thing he had ever done that was not on her agenda had been to run away.

And running away had led here. It was by chance that he had run into the former headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, at a tavern in the magical area of Sofia in Bulgaria. Karkaroff had been morose that night, slumping over the bar. They had made idle chit chat for a few hours with the end result that Karkaroff had offered Wronski a job. The school had lost its Potions Master for the Dark Arts group and Wronski would do. He inflated his level of experience a bit, but Karkaroff had not really seemed to care. The Headmaster had seemed more interested in Quidditch than anything else, but had taken the time to scrawl a note to the administrative offices with the job offer.

Getting to Durmstrang had been an adventure in itself, but somehow he had managed. No one had told him about the binding spell part of the agreement. The spell was only used to summon or to punish when you made public mistakes. For five years, he had taught at the school, the sixth year would be finished soon. The contracts were renegotiated every seven years. Seven seemed to be a magic number. He grinned at that thought. One, three, seven and thirteen - numbers that showed up a lot in his world. The first two winters had been horrible, but he got used to it. Having sixteen and seventeen year-old kids hit on him had been a surprise, but it was also flattering. He only had to watch out for Gregorov's temper and, these days, even that wasn't too difficult. Life here was not that bad. A bit lonely at times, but it had been worse back home.

Grabbing up the papers, he walked back towards the staff room, unsure of what to do next. Mother's voice greeted him two doors down. She was explaining something or other in the 'lecture voice'. The mere sound of it was grating. He dashed by the open door, attempting to escape her notice. Down the hall, he stopped in front of Jones' door and knocked.

She still looked bleary, but both of her eyes were open as she stood, wreathed in smoke. "What?"

"I need help."

"Yeah. What else is new?" A teasing tone was all that kept the reply from being an insult.

"No. I really need help. Werner offered to do the memory charm. I'm ready to take him up on it."

"And?"

"And? What do you mean now?" Wronski waved at the smoke.

"And what do you want me to do?"

"He said any of his guys could do it. Could you entice one of 'the boys' to help me out?" He started to glance back towards the staff room as the intonation of mother's voice changed.

"Probably. Why don't you ask one yourself?"

"I was hoping you could go get one while I keep her busy."

Jones stood in the doorway, deep in thought. "You do understand that Werner will want to be paid back eventually."

"I know. I tried to get Gregorov to do it, but he wasn't interested. I can't do what she wants me to do and she won't let up until I give in. I'm caught between the devil and the deep black uniform. I'd like to think that Werner would ask me to help on something that's supposedly for the good of the world. I'm probably wrong. I don't know what else to do." Wronski's shoulders sagged.

"Why don't I amuse your mother and you go ask Werner. I don't think it's my place to act as a go-between. You need to find out what he expects in return." She lit another cigarette and watched the tic under his eye speed up. "I feel sorry for you."

"Thanks. Here's the packet of stuff. You can probably talk to her about that. I guess I'll go find Werner. Any idea where he is?" Wronski turned a defeated face towards her.

"Probably at home, asleep. He went home alone, so you don't have to worry about interrupting anything. At least that's what I heard." She brightened a bit at the thought of Wronski "interrupting" anything. "Ask at the station. Someone will know where he's at." She dragged down the last of the cigarette. "Good luck."

He waited until she closed the door and then walked past Kessler's rooms to one of the two side doors. He didn't dare pass in front of the staff room again. The side door had sagged over the years and tended to stick, requiring a sharp shove to open it. Outside, it was a beautiful spring morning, darkened only by his gloomy predictions.

The guards actually joked with him when he arrived. They seemed to get friendlier if you saw them more than a few times each year, something he grudgingly admitted made sense. He asked if Werner had been around and was informed "not today". The Portkey room was opened and the trip made.

The village's streets were only just beginning to wake up. Sundays were slow days, most of the businesses were closed but a few cafés were open. Not far from the Ministry's office was the Northern District's station. Its entrance was hidden in the shadow behind a statue honoring the fallen from some forgotten war. It was a small place, only a few offices. The main station was somewhere else; this was only an annex. It was the first time Wronski had ever been inside and he was not surprised to see that it was furnished similarly to the Ministry's offices. A black counter divided the waiting area from rows of ugly metal desks and, against the walls, banks of file cabinets. It reminded him of sets from bad police dramas he had seen, only there were no telephones. Owls flew in and delivered mail through a window in the back. A huge clock hung over the door, showing time that was two hours different from what it was in the village. He waited until one of the black-uniformed men noticed him and came to the counter.

The conversation was brief. Wronski wanted to talk to Werner. The Auror looked Wronski over once and disappeared through a small door on the back wall. Second and third thoughts came to call while he waited. Maybe he ought to listen to his mother. Maybe it would be better this time. He didn't have that much work left to do. In the odd quiet of the Auror offices, possibilities sprung up and were batted away. Nagging terrors took hold. Maybe it was time to go.

He had just reached his decision to leave when Werner entered the room. Too many nights out had left their mark on the Auror. Dark circles under his eyes and a slight greenish cast of his skin hinted at lost sleep. The eyes were awake. They flicked over Wronski, taking notes. With the patented Werner icy grin, Wronski was invited into the back office. It was like being taken into a cage that locked behind him.

Werner's office was tiny. It barely held a desk and two chairs for guests. A file cabinet was stuffed into a corner, kept company by a stack of boxes that served the same purpose. Nothing on the walls or on the desk gave any clue to a life outside of those walls. It was the most soulless room Wronski had ever been in.

He sank down onto one of the guest chairs, squirming slightly to find the least uncomfortable place to sit. Werner eased around the corner of his desk to take a seat. It was hardly cozy, claustrophobic was more like it. The two men faced each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Wronski knew that Werner would win the waiting contest so he spent the time trying to word his request as simply as possible. "I would like to take you up on your offer."

"Yes. That is obvious. What is it you wish done? Be specific, Professor Wronski. I will need to know exactly what the parameters are." Behind Werner's heavily lidded eyes, Wronski saw a spark that began tallying the debt owed.

"I want to erase some hours from yesterday and today. I want to overlay some memories which are tied together with another or, if that isn't possible, I want another overlaid that will redirect." He hoped that made sense. He had never done any kind of memory spells or charms or brewed anything from his books that hinted of memory manipulation.

"That can be done. It will take time to do so. I would expect most of the afternoon." The Auror kept smiling his thin, annoying smile as he watched Wronski, barely blinking. "I will need details as to what you want done. What you want forgotten and what you want added." He waited a beat. "We will discuss the price later."

The price. The words sat there and drew Wronski's energy away. Of course, there would be a price. Maybe more than one. He stared at his hands that he had clenched in his lap.

"I understand that Connecticut is very nice in the fall. Your family lives close to the campus, no?" Werner interrupted Wronski's examination of conscience.

"Yes." Wronski met Werner's pale eyes. The vision of the endless corridors of the chemistry building seemed to open in front of him and, standing in each doorway that he passed, was his mother. He took a deep breath. "I understand that there will be a price. I also understand that you don't know what it is yet." He waited as Werner's smile grew slightly wider and the eyes closed just a bit. "I want my mother to think she had a nice visit. Saw the campus. Liked it. Met the others. Liked them. You can elaborate as you wish. It's ok if she doesn't like Kessler or Gregorov." Werner snorted a small laugh. Wronski continued, "She will be asked about the forms she brought with her. I want her to remember that she brought them and that we decided that, unless she can arrange that I can work on it during the summer and at Durmstrang, it wouldn't work. I want her to think that she did her best, but thought I was doing the right thing." Finished, he sat back into the chair and waited.

Werner smiled broadly, a true smile. "Understood. It will take most of the day. What time does she leave?"

"Her plane leaves at 1800. She'll need to be there by 1700 at the latest. Can you do it?"

"Of course, Professor Wronski. I am a professional." Werner leaned forward. "You do understand that the favor is owed to me, not to this office."

"I had already figured that out."

Werner followed Wronski out and they returned to Durmstrang. The shrill tones of Wronski's mother filled the building, demanding to know where her son was. Jones' voice was almost inaudible as attempts were made to sooth. "Hope you're ready," Wronski said as they entered the staff room.

With the exception of the two women, only Haken was present. He had retreated into a corner, watching the confrontation. Relief showed clearly when Werner entered the room. Wronski walked over to his mother, who was nearing hysterics. Seated at the table next to Dr. Wronski, Jones buried her face in her hands.

"Dr. Wronski," Werner began, taking the open seat next to her. "Are you enjoying your visit?"

Ice blue eyes met Werner's paler ones and, as Dr. Wronski took a deep breath and was about to begin her tirade, Werner's hand extended as though to pat the woman on the shoulder and suddenly all was quiet.

"Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Jones' voice was muffled from her hands. "If I had to listen to her rant for one more moment, I would forget that she's Paul's mother and take care of it." An eye peered through her fingers. "Take your time, Jo. Take a long time. I don't want to hear another word from her."

Werner glowered at the familiarity. "An office, please. I do not believe this needs to be done in public."

Wronski led them to his office, let them in and was surprised when the door was shut in his face. This was not a lesson, nor was he needed in any way. He reddened as he began to work up a good mad.

"Hey, I've got some popcorn left. Wanna share?" Jones cocked her head in the direction of her office.

"Yeah. I think I need a drink." Wronski shuffled after her.

The hours passed in the comfort of hanging out. Wronski and Jones spent the time munching through what was left of that month's mercy shipment of junk food and chatting about not much of anything. Things seemed normal as they sliced and diced their way through the various other teachers' lives and talked about their students. As the third bag of chips was crumpled and tossed away, Wronski asked, "So, when can I get you to show me how this magic stuff really works?"

Jones laughed. "Oh, how about after finals? I don't have any plans so far. I might go to Canada and see my cousin. Since I've got this damn locator spell on me, I can't go back into the States. Jackie meets me in Vancouver. We usually visit for a few days, but I don't have anything else planned." She looked thoughtful. "You said your friend gave you a wand. Did you ever get fitted for one?"

Wronski made a face. "Fitted? No. I have the one he got for me. I think it was his uncle's, but I'm not sure. They fit you for wands?"

"Usually, you try a few out to see what works best for you. It's really kind of fun. You see which combination of wood and core works. I have an oak wand with a dragon heartstring. That works for me. I've had to replace it a few times. Work stuff. That same combination has always been fine. You might be a yew and unicorn hair kinda guy."

"OK. Where do we go for a wand?" Wronski's slouch was so low he was in danger of falling onto the floor.

"There's usually a maker in every major magical area. I've heard of Ollivander's in London and Jorgen's in Stockholm. I got mine from Mugabe's in Seattle. Too bad we can't go there. It's in the back of a great Ethiopian restaurant." She shrugged. "If you have the right wand, everything is so much easier."

"Sounds like a plan. I might go some place warm for a bit. Maybe the south of France or Italy. Some place where the women wear hardly anything and, who knows, maybe they'll take pity on me." He looked hopeful at the last thought.

"Yeah. Right. Pity. You really do sell yourself short. Let's plan on going in July. You go on your trip, I'll go on mine, then we'll start working on some lessons."

"Deal!" Things were looking better all the time. They began to discuss plans for dinner when Werner rapped on the door.

Jones pulled the door open and looked out. A slightly glazed-looking Dr. Wronski smiled at them. The tension in her face was replaced by a relaxed, happy look. Werner's eyes told of his exhaustion. The smile had gone to be replaced by a frown as he stood next to Dr. Wronski. No conversation was exchanged as mom was handed over. Wronski could almost hear the ka-ching of a bill being rung up. Eventually, he would have to do something to repay Werner. Eventually.

It was late enough in the afternoon that they needed to leave. Wronski generously allowed Jones to get some rest. They sparred briefly, but it was clear that she appreciated the offer and, when last seen, had pulled out a novel, intending to enjoy what was left of the day.

The Wronskis left Durmstrang and the village and made their way back to the airport in the drudgery of travel. He was careful to make only idle conversation, which his mother returned cheerfully. She kept repeating what a wonderful visit it had been. Wonderful. He bit his lip and kept the small talk flowing. At the airport security gates, Dr. Wronski turned to give him a hug goodbye. He felt guilty relief as he realized that she was really, truly leaving.

As she stepped away, the glassy expression faded for a moment, "It was so nice meeting your colleagues. I especially enjoyed meeting your good friend Johannes. What a kind man. He said that he would take care of you for me. Isn't that nice? I invited him to come and visit us in Connecticut. He said that he might." Dr. Wronski's fuzzy smile returned. She didn't seem to notice the tic had returned or that her son gave a strangled moan. With a strange, unfocused expression, she turned on her heel to go through the gates. The last sight he had was of the crowd parting before her as she towed her small case behind her towards her departure gate.

The solitude of the bus ride back let him relax. The motion of the vehicle barely kept him awake. It had been a very long weekend. The platz was nearly empty by the time he got off the bus. The cathedral rose darkly in shadows, lit here and there by a few artful spotlights. Being alone felt good. He took his time heading back - shuffling down the streets, loitering in the Portkey stops and then having a beer in the village tavern.

The tavern was quiet. Sundays generally were. The men, who seemed to have been planted there when it opened, stood around the bar and clustered at a few tables. The waitress carried pitchers and smiled a great deal. Wronski was grateful that no one was interested in making the jukebox play. He took a seat in a back booth and sipped his beer. Even teaching his classes sounded like fun. He realized that he had never finished speaking to the Bursar about his funding. He almost didn't want to go back for fear of another letter, but only his mother ever sent personal mail.

It was with a small feeling of regret that he paid his bill and walked into the toilet and through the curtains. He was not ready to go back to work yet. After the weekend, lecturing to bored or confused students seemed to be the best possible thing he could do. The Portkey rooms made him sneeze, but the guards made pleasant small talk with him. As he walked across the grass, he stopped and took a long look. A crescent moon was poised artistically above one of the towers of the castle and there was a sweet scent on the air, promising a beautiful summer. If you had to choose your worlds, then this was his choice.