Need

Chapter 8

Gregorov told no one about his new houseguest. His lectures faltered frequently the first day as images of her bleeding body interrupted his concentration. During lunch, he watched while Haken examined her and announced that she was healing. The deathly pallor seemed to suggest otherwise. Although he looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else, Haken suggested that they should awaken her after the school day was done. Neither asked the other if anyone else was to know.

After dinner, Haken woke her. She mumbled in English, occasionally lapsing into nonsense French. Her breathing was regular and some color had returned. Pressing a hand to her forehead, Gregorov tried to decide whether she was feverish. She protested with a pathetic growl and tried to push his hand away.

"Should she be that pale? Are those sounds normal?" Gregorov pulled up a chair to sit next to the bed.

Haken ignored the questions as he finished his examination. With practiced motions, he prodded her ribs and stomach, watching for reactions. He seemed nonplussed when she groaned and pushed harder in two places to gauge her reaction. When he finished, she lay still, eyes open and panting.

"You will probably find a wolf in your bed before long." Haken collected his coat and satchel. With Gregorov at his heels, he walked through the small rooms, stopping at the door to the hall. "The animal forms take the pain better. When she can think at all, she will undoubtedly transform. Do not be surprised. Give her some water and see if she can keep that down. If all goes well, try to feed her tomorrow. Soup, nothing solid. If she seems to be in a great deal of pain, make her sleep. She will probably need to use the toilet. Help her."

The last statement put Gregorov into a near panic as the information settled, but he stammered a 'thank you'. His eyes glazed with each step that his conspirator took down the hall. The door clicked shut trap-like. This was more than he had bargained for. His rooms felt claustrophobic as he walked back to his bedroom to stare at the pale, panting woman. She turned to face him and tried to raise a hand, which wilted back by her side. What was he supposed to do? Grasping at old memories, he dampened a towel and placed it over her forehead. It may or may not help, but it was something. Eventually, she lapsed into a fitful sleep.

When her breathing slowed, he sagged into the chair next to the bed and considered his new charge. It was then that the enormity of what he had done sank in. This was not a stray dog that he could abandon or release into the government's hands. He would have to care for her until she was healthy enough to be on her own, and then what? He had seen the Mâitre take her badge, which was supposedly the only way she could re-enter to Paris. Where would she stay? With him? Not a good idea. At the school? Why would the school let her stay? He could turn her over to Werner, but he had already heard the Auror's opinion. Werner would have left her to die. Gregorov wondered what the Aurors would do with a stranded black mage. His brain chased the idea around until she groaned as she tried to roll onto her side. The pain woke her and she pawed at the shirt they had dressed her in, confused by the buttons. Gregorov felt a pang of sympathy and tried to quash it. Weakness would be exploited. But he sat down next to her, placing the damp towel back onto her forehead. Her hand weakly grabbed his and, exhausted, she fell back to sleep.

* * *

The rest of the week became a blur of caring for the invalid, teaching classes, keeping up with the endless grading, trying to hide what was in his rooms and occasionally get some sleep. Every day, Haken came by at lunchtime and checked her progress. It was hard to tell in the sleep-deprived haze that Gregorov lived in whether she was getting stronger. There was a wolf in his bed as frequently as there was a woman, neither of which was inclined to talk.

By the end of the week, she was able to hold a conversation. Both Haken and Gregorov questioned her about the events to no avail. Her memories centered on her client. Too many people, too much noise and the overwhelming press of personal scents masked by cigarettes, cigars and cologne. Why they had left the party was a mystery. Her first clear recollection was pain and waking up again at Durmstrang. A grim-faced Haken had nodded as he listened to the recital. Gregorov was surprised when he pressed her again and again for more details, giving up only when Loup grew snappish and pale with the effort. The reaction apparently satisfied Haken enough to leave the matter be, at least for now.

Once Haken left, Loup had her own set of questions. After several false starts, Gregorov told her a heavily edited story of how he had come to find her, skipping many details that might be embarrassing. He made up for those omissions by laying bare the role the Aurors and her Mâitre played. The sheer callousness needed no embellishment. Being left to die in the snow didn't surprise her at all. It was, after all, the role to which she'd agreed. Throughout his entire story, she remained impassive until he reached the point where the badge had been taken; that got a response. Loup stiffened and asked about her wands. Gregorov lied and said that those had been taken, too. Her voice cracked only a little when she asked him to leave her alone.

By morning, she had accepted the bitter situation. Although she could barely sit up unaided, she announced that she wanted a shower and Gregorov found himself in the somewhat awkward position of having to help her. He was not cut out to be a nursemaid. Roughly, he held a hand against her shoulders as she stood in the hot water, for once, finding the sight of a nude woman annoying rather than interesting.

It was not too long after that when she wanted her bag from Jones' room. Trying to get something from Jones' heavily-warded office was almost impossible. Gregorov had watched Mueller attempt to break the wards before and the Northern District's finest breaker had failed. If the wards could not be broached, then he would have to ask for the bag thereby letting it be known that Loup was still alive. The rumor of the Mage's death had received a mixed response from the group. Most said nothing or shrugged; Wronski made a comment that it was too bad; Jones looked smug. Even the possibility of wiping the smug expression off of Jones' face wasn't worth owing her a favor.

Haken had no suggestions nor did he offer to help obtain her possessions. The problem stood for several days. Loup asked repeatedly. The bag held only a few changes of clothing, but it was all she had and it was hers. When it became apparent that the men were not going to help her, she waited until the classes had begun one morning and staggered slowly down the hallway. It took a long time to walk the short distance from Gregorov's rooms to Jones', but she did it. Sheer stubbornness prevailed. Her only fear was that Jones had changed her key phrase - but why change it when the only other person who knew it was dead? Swaying in the doorway, she croaked the too cute, Seattle-based phrase, breathing a groan of success when the wards' silver coloring changed, allowing her inside. Jones' quarters looked frighteningly similar to Gregorov's in the amount of paper, clothing and things strewn across every flat surface and the floor. "Nothing would fit her anyway," became Loup's mantra as she sifted through the mess until she uncovered her precious bag from where it was hidden beneath a pile of laundry. She left the mess as it was, doubting that anyone would note any changes her search had made. The trip back seemed twice as long. Already tired, the minimal weight of the bag seemed to be too much. Everything slowed down to a step at a time until it was just too much. Exhausted, she dropped it and slid down the wall of the hallway to sit on the floor, not caring who came by. First, it was the blast of cold air working its way into her haze and then it was the sharp pain of someone yanking her upright. It took so long to focus. By the time she truly registered what was happening, Haken had propelled her into Gregorov's room's, dumping her upon the couch. She clawed her way into a sitting position in time to snatch at the bag, which he threw at her feet before leaving.

It was an unpleasant evening. Undoubtedly briefed by Haken, Gregorov arrived bearing food and an ultimatum. "You must remain here. Inside. You must not leave."

"I can't stay here forever. Why can't I leave? What does it matter?" She extended her hand for the plate of food, which he pulled away.

"You are too weak still."

The sweaty, pale face agreed, but the black within black eyes blazed. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" He pulled the plate away from her, placing it on a bookcase. "Then get this yourself."

Stomach wounds, no matter how minor, make rising a difficult proposition. Slouched on the couch, she hauled herself up and then tried standing. Gregorov reached out as if to help her and instead pushed her back. Arms flailing, she fell back. "That wasn't fair!"

"And you believe that the Aurors will play fair?"

"What about the Aurors? Why would they have anything to do with me?"

"You believe they will allow you to remain at large until you are healthy?"

The doubt preyed on her and, instead of rising again, she folded her arms and lost herself in thought.

"You must promise me that you will remain here. Stay inside."

Emotions played over her face as she debated. "How long?" The question was torn out, leaving her looking paler.

"I will say when you are ready."

The answer was not sufficient. "Why should I listen to you?" Loup began, clearly winding up for a row.

"I did not bring you back from the snows where you were bleeding to death to have you die that easily. You owe me your life."

Lips set in a tight line, she clutched herself closer as if mustering strength. "Why? Why did you? What's in it for you?"

Not willing to be dragged into an argument he had yet to decide himself, Gregorov shook his head. "You owe your life to me. Yes?" He folded his arms in imitation of her and waited.

Loup grimaced and eventually looked away. "Yes."

"For now, you will do as I ask. You will stay here until you are strong enough to fight if need be. What could you do to protect yourself? You have no wand." The last was the trump card. Injured and without a wand, there was little she could do.

"I need a replacement. Where's the nearest maker?"

"Ah." He sat down on the chair, feeling as though he had scored a point. "The closest one that I know of is in Stockholm. There are others, of course, but that is the closest."

"That requires a Portkey. I don't have any of my paperwork. They won't let me use one of the Ministry's Portkeys. Stockholm is a long way from here. It would take days on a train. Are there any single use ones?" Gregorov shook his head no, although he had no idea whether there were any. "I've never made one. It's a specialized skill that I never needed. You know how to...?" Gregorov began shaking his head before she finished the question. The once-fierce eyes closed and Loup looked weak and beaten down. "I have to have one. How will I live without one?"

"You will need to rely on my kindness."

* * *

To Gregorov, it seemed that time passed quickly. His days were the usual schedule of classes to teach and homework to grade. In Loup's opinion, time stood still. Once most of the damage healed, she found the days to be an endless succession of long seconds. There was little to occupy herself in Gregorov's rooms. Nothing to read since almost everything was in Russian and the few books that were not in Russian were things she found uninteresting, no wand to work magic, no place to go... The few hours that Gregorov spent with her in the evenings were spent quarreling. Whatever he wanted her to do, she resisted. She'd given her promise to remain inside, but the struggle for dominance continued using other avenues. Unable to hold his own in the arguments, he left her along during most of the evenings, hiding in the staff room. To the rest of the staff, it looked very normal. Gregorov grading papers or rather ignoring homework and spending the night playing chess or drinking with Kessler. Nothing looked out of place. Wronski hissed to Jones that it seemed like Gregorov didn't want to go back to his quarters any more. Haken's usual smile grew larger and toothier.

There were benefits to a bored Mage, for Gregorov, at least. Desperate for anything to help pass the time, Loup hunted for projects within the three small rooms. Years of casual at best housekeeping were undone. Books were shelved, papers sorted, clothes plucked out of odd places. In time, large expanses of floor emerged and tabletops were uncluttered.

In time, she was forced to deal with aspects of daily life she had done with magic for years. The lowliest tasks were simple with magic or could be sent out for others to deal with. Laundry was the stumbling block. Gregorov refused to talk or do anything about it. When the socks ran out, desperation set in. The day she finally filled the sink full of water and set about washing clothing was a black one. Gregorov spent the night on one of the staff room couches, finding that bed preferable to the snarling bitch waiting.

Gregorov was used to living alone and doing whatever he felt like doing. No one's opinion had mattered in years and his free time was his own. Now, he had someone relying on him for food, his habit of ogling girls with Kessler had to end. Long evenings of drinking with Kessler after classes were over on Friday changed, too. Loup didn't approve of drinking. She rarely drank and found his usual bouts with the bottle disgusting. Before long, his bottles of vodka and whiskey disappeared, hidden in some mysterious place. Dropped clothing resulted in lectures and, in a not-too-subtle tone, she suggested that he might bathe more often. It was inevitable that the periodic squabbles would erupt into a full-scale battle.

One fine Saturday morning in mid November, the halls echoed with the sounds of a domestic dispute. The salvos were fired in French and German with the occasional burst of English or Russian. No prisoners were taken, no egos spared.

Wronski stood outside Gregorov's door, marveling at the fluidity of the obscenities. Two doors down, the voices echoed inside his quarters. De Rais, normally capable of ignoring any and all distractions, was soon flushed from his rooms to stand next to Wronski. Neither was certain whether they should be angry or amused.

Carrying a steaming cup of coffee, Jones poked her head out of the staff room and caught sight of Wronski and de Rais. Something heavy slammed into Gregorov's door. Rabe pushed Jones aside to stand gaping at the door. While individual words were difficult to discern during most of the yelling, the anger beat outwards. Kessler and the Lowensteins joined the audience.

"Who's in there with him?" Jones leaned against the wall next to Wronski.

"Dunno. Whoever it is, they're getting equal screaming time." Wronski dunked his tea bag a few times. "Who's he seeing these days? I haven't seen that little, dark-haired girl for weeks." Everyone seemed to be waiting. If anyone knew, it would be Jones.

Jones shook her head. The other voice was a woman's and it sounded very angry.

Pulling himself up to his less-than-impressive height, Rabe knocked on the door. He seemed to feel that his position as the head of the department required him to inquire what the noise was about.

The door was flung open. Breathing hard, Gregorov stood there, his face red, his hair wild. He was only half-dressed, but seemed immune to the cold of the hallway.

"Furry. Should have known." Jones finished her coffee and waited for the show to continue.

The gallery all chuckled; the sound of laughter stopped Gregorov in mid step, clearly annoyed.

"We're not finished," a familiar voice yelled. "Come back here and fight."

"She's alive?" Kessler groaned. "No wonder he has been seen so seldom."

"Must be why he suddenly has clean clothes." Wronski took his tea back into his quarters. The mystery was solved and it looked to be a good time to leave.

"How did he keep a secret this long?" Jones looked over at de Rais who smiled thinly and returned to his own quarters. Apparently it was not as much of a secret if you lived next door. "Who else knew?"

"I did." Haken provided that information with a customary smile, ignoring Jones' glower.

"She cannot stay here!" Rabe insisted. "Only faculty members are allowed to live on campus!"

Lowenstein cleared his throat and Magda waved.

Rabe sputtered, furious that the exception had already been made. Gregorov looked down at Rabe who began to back away from the door.

Shoving her way past Gregorov, Loup made her way into the hall. "Good morning." Dressed in one of Gregorov's sweaters, which covered her to her knees, she walked over to a window and looked out at the snow. "I feel much better today. Let's go for a run." She smiled back over her shoulder at Gregorov who crossed his arms and shook his head no.

Jones made a disgusted sound. "I thought you were the alpha."

"I promised to wait until he said I was ready. When someone hauls you back through the snow and keeps you from bleeding to death, you honor your promise." She looked Jones in the eye, ready to continue any and all arguments.

Wearily, Gregorov called, "Come. Perhaps tomorrow." It was clear that it had already been a long morning.

With a sulky look, Loup followed back him into the office. The door slammed behind him.

"I thought she was dead. Has she been here the entire time?" Lowenstein asked Haken.

"Almost dead. I am more surprised that no one had figured it out. I thought the clean clothing alone would give the secret away," Haken said as he went back into his own quarters.

Kessler continued to stare at the door, pondering the new revelation. "I thought that Yuri seemed calmer. Feh! I cannot decide whether this is a good thing or not."

* * *

With the secret no longer a secret, Loup was seen more often. She spent a lot of time pacing back and forth in the hall, stopping every few passes to stare out a window or glare at the door. The hallway echoed regularly as she argued that she was healthy enough to go out. It was only by reminding her loudly and publicly of her promise that Gregorov kept her in the building. By the next weekend, Gregorov relented, worn down and sick of arguing; they went for a short run that left her exhausted for days.

"I like her better now," Kessler was heard to say. "She is quieter, but then she is asleep most of the time."

But, she grew stronger daily and her boredom increased proportionally to her health. Each day seemed to begin and end with Gregorov lecturing her about her promise. Subtlety did not work; he didn't try to spare her ego and she returned the favor in their daily battles. Most of the others found it amusing for the first week or so, but her frustration wasn't limited to arguing with Gregorov alone. The rest of the staff began to avoid her company. Sulking alone in Gregorov's rooms became tiresome. Being ignored in the hallway and the staff room was intolerable.

After yet another morning of isolation, she reached a decision. It was time to put all of that energy to work. Standing in the doorway of the staff room, she took stock of its state. The room was a cluttered mess; its table covered in newspapers, magazines, Kessler's assignments and a bewildering assortment of mugs and glasses. The sink and the counter looked as though no one had cleaned them in years - with good reason. All of the seating had been claimed over the years and each chair or spot on the couch bore the debris of its respective owner. With a sniff, she began.

If it could be washed, it was. Mugs and glasses were fetched from hiding places as were plates and bowls. Several boxes of left over food were uncovered and tossed out. She made a pile of clothing found under papers or under the couch. By the end of the school day, the room gleamed. The papers were all sorted and placed in piles on the table. Extra mugs and glasses were boxed up and put into one of the storage rooms. The tatty room still looked battered, but it was far more inviting.

Rabe, pleased at the improvement, was the first to attempt a friendly discussion. Pushing down her feeling of superiority, she forced herself to be pleasant. It wasn't easy. Rabe's own air of superiority was hard to swallow. She had to tailor her topics to keep them within his reach, fighting hard against sounding condescending. It was a start.

Her talent for eavesdropping brought enough trivia that she was able to start conversations with the wary staff. Wronski was the easiest. He left a trail of magazines and journals wherever he went. Her bored mind craved stimulation and it took only a small suppression of her arrogance to ask to read some of his books. Under Gregorov's suspicious eye, Wronski led her into his office and allowed her access to his library. She dropped her haughty air when she beheld the amazing diversity within. Gregorov dozed off while she looked through books. Wronski had to tell her to leave when it was time to go to sleep, but it was in a voice that said that he understood the need to read. The Potions professor favored mysteries and thrillers for his fiction reading. Most of his library was composed of chemistry texts and other non-fiction that she had no use for. His collection of books on the topic of magic was small and she had already read the ones he had. He loaned her a box of novels, which she tried to read. She made a point of at least skimming through most of them, memorizing the names of the main characters and getting the gist of the plot. When Jones wasn't around, she made an effort to talk about them. When Jones was, it was made clear that it was a closed conversation.

The Lowensteins were more difficult. Wrapped up in their own domestic world, the couple created a careful barrier when approached. The normally chatty Magda would step behind Ludwig who rarely proved much of a conversationalist. Overhearing a question Haken had about an herb gave Loup the hint. On one of the rare outings with Gregorov, she grabbed up bits and pieces of plants, stuffing them into the oversized robe that she had borrowed. The pockets were huge and she collected as many different kinds that she could find. These she brought out during the few times she found Magda alone or when the staff room was quiet. Reluctantly at first, Magda began to open up and soon began to provide an almost nonstop commentary on the attributes of what was available locally. The information was useful on many levels and Loup found that she actually liked the small, dark woman. Ludwig kept his distance, but would occasionally contribute bits of his dry humor.

Those were the easiest ones. Haken watched her and missed nothing. She caught him looking at her with a smile that said he understood, which he quickly switched back to the usual broad grin. None of her efforts to talk proved successful and, in time, she gave up.

* * *

Long hours stretched before her every day with little to fill her mind or occupy her time. The everyday tasks that once were accomplished with a spell or charm now had to be done manually and that novelty wore off quickly. Loup had not lowered herself to what she considered "menial chores" for years. The lack of a wand proved intolerable.

"Gregorov, the laundry needs to be done. Let me use your wand." She balanced a large basket of clothes on her hip in an effort to impress upon him the need.

Reluctantly, he looked up from his book. From his comfortable position on the couch, the laundry looked like a task to be avoided. The book claimed his attention again.

She set the basket down next to him, hoping that would make an impression. "Please." The word was forced out of her. It came out with a clunk and sat there.

He enjoyed making her wait, knowing that she was dependent on him. He liked to make her say it. The tasks she needed done were things he cared little for and making her need him was a pleasure. It was only when the magic word was said that he would allow her to use his wand, which seemed to be a poor match for her. The first several times she tried, it required the spells to be repeated many times. It was still sluggish in her hand, but, with a great deal of effort, she could coax it to direct her magic.

Without moving from the couch, he held the desired implement out. Her temper was too volatile to play games, but he enjoyed seeing the jaw tighten and the posture alternate between aggressive and passive. The scales were tipping.

"I need my own," she said as she snatched his. "There has to be a local maker. Isn't there anyone within a day's train ride?" The basket sat where it was while she waited for his answer.

Gregorov shrugged and returned to his book. It was at times like this that he could almost see her wands glow from their hiding place. When she had straightened his rooms, he worried that she would find them, but she respected the privacy of his trunk. Uninvited and unable to read the Russian books within, she had ignored the chest.

"I can pay you after I get one of my own. I can find a client. There's always work for someone like me. Human nature never changes." She tapped his wand against her leg, agitated at the lack of response. "You have my word."

"When the school year is done." He held the book higher in an effort to avoid her.

"That's months from now!" The argument began anew.

* * *

Most nights found the Dark Arts' staff grading assignments in the staff room. Loup watched the interaction between them and eavesdropped on the various conversations. She cataloged the groups within the group, noting who spoke with whom and who did not.

The Lowensteins were, of course, their own group. They sought out no one, but were friendly, if distant, when approached. The other Americans had taken over a corner of the room where there were two armchairs set apart. When Jones was present, Wronski wouldn't talk to Loup; but when Jones was elsewhere, he would hand over a new novel or share a magazine. Kessler and Gregorov spent most evenings together. They had both worked for governments and liked to compare those pasts along with commentary on the attributes of their students. When the conversation turned towards the pretty girls at the school, Loup would find somewhere else to sit. The old table could seat the entire staff or only the two men's egos. Rabe fit nowhere. Conversations with him proved that he had a theoretical background to magic, but little practical knowledge. He was smart enough, but became easily ruffled if questioned too closely. Most evenings, he spent with his girlfriend, Ewa Krakow from the Herbology department, preferring her quarters inside the castle to the drafty Dark Arts building. She found the remaining two the most interesting.

Rolf Haken fascinated her. Haken's public face was cheerful and outgoing, but the eyes were wrong. They were dead. Something was missing. She listened as he asked question after question of people, none of them of real importance, but put together, provided a great deal of information about this or that person and many events surrounding them. He seemed to ask out of habit rather than actual interest. She took note that, while he asked questions, he did not like to answer them.

That left de Rais. She watched him whenever she could, admiring the silent grace and the detachment. Gilles offered a dark puzzle. Sensing a dislike for idle chatter, she tried to discuss the darkness of their magic. Answers were few and deliberately vague. It became a kind of game for her and perhaps for him as well. They traded half-truths and talked in circles about methods and the dark. She did most of the talking. He made an art of not answering.

* * *

When she could draw a deep breath without pain, she wrote her first letter. It was a short missive. Addressed to her Mâitre in Paris, it stated that she was alive and ready to return. She sealed it with her mark and handed it to Gregorov for delivery. He stood in the hall, waiting for her to close the door. When it clicked shut behind her, he walked into the staff room and tossed it into the fire. Several sets of eyes took note and everyone returned to their coffee or tea.

A week passed and there was no response. She wrote more letters. Another to her Mâitre, one to the licensing bureau in Paris, another to the liaison department and yet another to her Mâitre's superior. Gregorov took those and burned them.

* * *

December's snows grew deeper as did her depression. No wand. No word from Paris. No money. Frustrated beyond her limits, she left the building to hunt only to run into Gregorov. The Russian's wrath startled her. Enraged by what he called her inability to hold to a promise, he roared at her. Confused and surprised, she lost as soon as she returned to their rooms.

Gregorov understood her frustration. He almost sympathized with it. Almost. With every letter she handed him, every hour of pacing in the hall, he felt her strain at the leash of the promise. He weighed her need to leave and his own. The decision was easy. His demons had been silent for weeks. He slept without having to drink and the crazed, anxious feeling had ceased. It was worth the endless fights. With characteristic arrogance, he felt that he was in control of the situation. Just in case, he secreted her wands in his bag one morning and passed them off to Kessler to keep.

Her attempts at forming bonds within the staff worked to various degrees. Most thought she would remain with Gregorov, assuming that he received benefits other than clean clothes. Those who cared to mention it at all seemed to feel that it was a change for the better. Not everyone agreed.

It galled Jones to see Loup. When Loup was in the staff room, Jones fell silent - which was in itself enough to cause comment. The conversations with de Rais hinted of a knowledge of the Dark Arts that rubbed salt into the wound and seeing the much-improved Gregorov kept the wound festering. Jones told herself that the feeling was professional jealousy, but the problems ran deeper. She began trying to figure out a way to get rid of the other woman. An outright attack would be bad form, as her opponent was unarmed. She considered talking Wronski into brewing a potion, but Wronski seemed to like the stranger. She plotted a series of unfortunate accidents, but watching Loup's desperate efforts to get back to Paris planted a seed. By chance, she overheard a conversation that watered the seed. Kessler and Gregorov were talking one morning between classes and she overheard a snippet about Loup's wands. They were still around; Kessler had them. How to get them was another question. She would have to watch and wait.

* * *

Christmas drew near. Durmstrang celebrated that holiday with reserve. A few garlands were set up in the Great Hall and a single tree appeared mid month. No one expected much more. Loup was horrified at the lack of holiday spirit. Paris put on an amazing display every year and she missed it. With a bit of encouragement from Magda, mostly to force an outlet for that energy, she spent a morning making paper snowflakes and suspended then from the ceiling. Gregorov was coaxed into bringing a tree into the Dark Arts building. Magda and Ludwig were coerced into helping her decorate. Rabe liked the idea and produced a selection from his assortment of shiny things to hang on the tree. It was a bit lopsided and the decorations were eclectic, but the tree added a lot of ambiance. Even Jones grudgingly admitted she liked it. Inspired by too much "holiday spirits", Kessler arrived one Friday evening carrying a bottle of brandy and a huge bag containing the ingredients for eggnog. Inspired by the eggnog and a lot of teasing from Jones, Wronski admitted he had been a part of his church choir. Too drunk to carry a tune, Kessler informed everyone that he also sang. It turned out that all of the men could sing and that none of the women could. More eggnog followed by the rest of the brandy and then a not-too-healthy addition of whiskey and vodka unlocked a variety of talent. Boozy good cheer settled in, at least for the two weeks the Institute didn't hold classes.

However, every holiday has a black side. Kessler's girlfriend was becoming tiresome to him. The lovely Inge had grown whiney and demanding. She wanted something special for Christmas, a ring perhaps; his attention began to wander. There were many beautiful young girls to choose from and Kessler could be quite charming when he hunted among the flock.

One morning during the break, Jones found Inge waiting outside Kessler's door. The girl's eyes were red from crying and she looked away when Jones returned to the building. The seed sprouted and began to grow. Poor Inge. No friends because she had ignored them to be with her older lover. Kessler had made it clear that their relationship was not exclusive, but what boy would want her now that she had spent so much time with a man old enough to be her father? Jones recognized a genuine opportunity when it occurred. Although she had never said more than a mumbled hello to the girl, she suddenly became a concerned friend, listening sympathetically while the poor child poured out the sad state of affairs. With only a few hours invested in the relationship, she soon had Inge promising to do anything for her new best friend. When Inge left Jones' office, she celebrated with a small snifter of brandy and a candy bar.

* * *

Christmas Eve was a boozy affair in the offices. Classes were out for another week. With the snow hip deep and the village a known and rather dull destination, the crew settled in to relax. Hoarded bottles found their way into the staff room in an unusual display of holiday spirit. Most drank too much, laughing hysterically over some odd turn of phrase or a missed note in some song. In her corner, surrounded by a cloud of smoke, Jones waited.

In a rare show of conspicuous pity, Kessler had brought his young lover to his bed for a loudly proclaimed "one last time". If Inge had any reservations about doing what Jones had asked of her, she forgot them when she heard herself referred to as a "mercy fuck". Christmas Day brought Jones a present: Loup's wands presented by furious Inge. That was the first present; the second one was a letter that Gregorov had missed. Jones had waited for a long time; she could wait a few more days.

* * *

After the first of the year, Jones made a visit to the school's administration office. Owls weren't used for non-local mail; those letters and packages were bundled together until there was enough to ship, and then it made a trip through the international Portkeys to various train stations, from whence it was shipped to the nearest large magical center, and then it went owl post. The process took several days, but the wizarding world did not move with the urgency of the Muggle one.

By mid January, a response arrived, addressed care of Professor Jones. How nice that the City of Paris followed instructions. Jones easily broke the seal charm and tried to read the missive. It was in French, of course. Snarling, she stalked down the hall to Wronski's office. He raised an eyebrow when presented with the letter. Although he seemed quite smitten these days by Loup, he could always be counted on to screw someone over. The ploy was a failure however - the City of Paris informed Loup that she was officially dead. She would have to go somewhere else. It took a while before they remembered that the City of Paris got to keep all of Loup's fees should she die in the line of duty. Someone did not want to pay what was owed. Jones swore a blue streak and settled back to plan the next phase of her operation.

* * *

The deep snows got deeper still in the late January storms. Thanks to a hasty promise to Gregorov, Loup was confined to the building unless he agreed to go with her. After slogging back and forth through the frigid grounds, Gregorov was uninterested in leaving the building after his day ended. The fights became more frequent. Cracks began to show in Loup's resolve. The men might not see it, but Jones did.

With a few prompts, Jones got Wronski to ask Loup about Paris. Loup loved the city, knew a great deal about it and was quite happy to talk about her beloved home. She bored Wronski with long descriptions of all of the arrondissements and of le quartier magique. The ploy worked in that Loup became horribly homesick. The pacing seemed to be incessant. Back and forth in the long hallway, she would stride, stopping at the windows to look out and continue making her endless loop. She wanted out. She made certain Gregorov knew she wanted out and, when he pointedly ignored her, her grumbling could no longer be contained. Her frustration grew and she became snappish. Her carefully-built network of friendships began to fray as ignored foibles became fodder.

Rabe got the brunt of it. His inexperience proved too easy a target one evening. He confused a basic principle and she raked him for it. The savagery of the response startled the whole group. While Rabe was an annoying prat, he was their annoying prat. The ranks closed and she found herself shut out again

This time, she did not care. The building had become a cage with no key. The blue skies teased, promising fresh air and freedom. The iciness of the staff room only fueled her need. Gregorov found himself the prey when each day was done as she pounced on his arrival, demanding to know if there were answers to her letters or whether today he would relent and let her out of her stupid promise.

Standing in the building's doorway, wreathed in smoke, Jones smiled. The time had come. Jones made certain that Loup received a present: her wands.

The wands arrived anonymously, tucked into a parchment roll placed in front of Gregorov's door. It seemed like an exasperatingly simple plan, but the simpler ones did work better. Jones watched as Loup found them and was surprised when the other woman said nothing about the wands over the next few days. Jones stewed, waiting to hear that her rival was leaving.

* * *

By the middle of January, Loup browbeat Gregorov into allowing her free movement around the school. With a dubious look, Gregorov waved her out of the building after a weekend spent fighting about everything. Freed from the building, she raced around the grounds, an odd sight dressed in Gregorov's robes. Her black mood lifted as she explored the campus and its buildings. The response in the group was cautious optimism that she would quit snarling.

Time passed. February began with a wild storm that lasted several days. Getting back and forth from the castle became almost impossible and the staff was given approval to sleep in their classrooms. It was hard to say whether it was a punishment or a gift.

Gregorov's classroom was a dull and dark place. The only things in it were a podium and thirty desks. A pair of cots hardly livened the place up. It was not the kind of room that prompted any kind of intimacy. Loup looked around at the room, noting its thick stone walls and massive door. It was clear that no one would be able to hear anything said in the room once the door was closed.

She waited until it was time to go to sleep on the second night and watched as Gregorov stripped down far enough to sleep. "Yuri?"

Gregorov watched her warily, she rarely called him by his first name and it was almost always when she wanted something.

"What do you do over the summer?" She sat cross-legged on her cot, facing him.

Gregorov waited a moment, trying to figure out what was up. "Some times I go home, other times I stay here."

"Would you like to go to France with me?"

"Why?" Gregorov pulled his sweater back on as the room was cold and this looked to be a long, circular conversation.

"It would make me happy."

Gregorov grunted and waited. There was something else. There always was.

"I need someone to go into Paris and talk to the officials for me. They think I'm dead. I want to go home."

"No." He tried lying down, seeing if that would end the conversation.

"Yuri, I want to go home. I know they think I'm dead. My badge was taken. I can't get into the city. I need to get into my apartment. I don't think they've broken the wards yet. I haven't felt anything. I'm not sure I would feel it this far away... but I need my books and tools. I left all of that there." She unsuccessfully tried to sound like she was not begging.

"Why do you need your books? Do you not need a wand first?" Gregorov asked in an effort to distract her from the Paris track.

She looked down for a moment and then met his eyes. "I have my wands. Someone gave them back. Someone who was a bit sloppy as to how they delivered them." She swung her legs over the side of the cot and leaned forward. "I'm very good at what I do. Our dear friend Professor Jones wants me to leave. I have to admit that I would like to go, too. But I want to go home. To Paris." She looked around the room for a moment, trying to figure out how to structure her words. "I know you haven't been sending my mail." Gregorov began to stutter an objection, but she interrupted. "No. It's OK. I'm over being angry about it. Someone else sent one of my letters." She tried to read his response, but he turned stone-faced. "I've sent others since they received the first one. I know the City of Paris knows I'm alive. I also know that, as far as they're concerned, I'm officially dead. There are a lot of Black Mages in Paris. I was just one. But I'm one of the best. I can't go back into the city, but you could. I could tell you how to enter my wards, get my tools..."

Gregorov shook his head no, not trusting himself to say much more.

"Do you want me to stay here?"

The simple question surprised him. He realized that, when the question was put like that, he wasn't certain.

"Let me rephrase that: do you need me to stay here?" She waited for a moment. "Look, I understand how this works. We don't have to like each other. This isn't love; it's need. You need me to stay sane. I need you to stay sane. It doesn't have to be happily ever after." She watched as recognition dawned and then continued quickly, "I'll make you a deal. If we can find something for me to do here, I'll stay, but you have to get my tools and books. If the City of Paris can be convinced, I want to go home during the summers. We don't have to live together. We don't have to do anything but hunt together occasionally. I know from past experience that that's all it takes."

It was a simple deal and Gregorov mulled it over, checking it from different angles. "No."

She said nothing for a minute, her face set in a scowl, and then stood. "Get up."

He looked up at her, confused as to where the argument was going now.

"Get up."

He got up slowly, trying to guess what was going to happen next.

"I'm the alpha. I was injured for a long time and you seem to think that you've assumed the role. Well, I think that it's time to settle who's in charge." The black wolf stood in her place.

Gregorov was startled, but he couldn't help but notice the ragged spots in the wolf's fur and how it held a foreleg. She was healed, but there was still damage. The wolf voice in his brain wondered if he could beat her and end the conversation right now. It seemed like an even chance.

It was not. Neither Gregorov the wolf nor Gregorov the man had ever been a fighter. Both had relied on their superior size for years. Loup tore at him, biting deep into a flank. Yelping, he backed off. The whole thing seemed very surreal as he lunged at her, aiming for a spot behind her shoulder, hoping more to bowl her over than anything else. She charged and hit him hard in the neck, knocking him over to slide into a desk. When he looked up, he was on his back. The whole exchange had taken seconds. He blinked again and saw her human form standing over him. She had a small trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. Blood he realized was his own. He shifted back and waited.

"I want to go home to Paris. I want you to go with me. I need to talk to the officials. If I can't talk to them, then I want my books and tools." It was an order.

To Gregorov's surprise, he didn't feel cowed. He should have. She had beaten him and put him into a submissive posture. But it didn't matter. The whole thing struck him as being incredibly funny and he began to laugh until his body shook.

"Why are you laughing? I want you to do this."

"No."

Furious, she stormed out of the room and disappeared. Gregorov knew she would be back. She had to return. The weather was too horrible to go anywhere. He lay back down onto the cot and fell asleep.

If it were not for the bells, no one would have known what time it was in the dungeons. The day seemed normal except for the complete lack of daylight. Gregorov was surprised when she missed breakfast and began to grow worried when she was still missing at dinner. By dinner the next day, it became clear that she had somehow left. Things began to crack.

* * *

The weeks ahead did not go well. Gregorov became moodier than before, going out of his way to pick fights with Jones and Wronski. When the weather got better, he spent as much time as possible hunting, but a lone wolf's choice of prey is limited and the mice were under too much snow.

The staff room still had snowflakes hanging from the ceiling in mid March. Rabe suggested taking the things down and was surprised when he found himself backing down from a fight with Gregorov. The snowflakes stayed where they hung. Jones spent a lot of evenings glaring at them. When he was in a particularly bad mood, Wronski would mutter, "Shouldn't have gotten involved," which would send Jones into a snarling fury.

Gregorov's appearance grew more disheveled and his grading fell behind. The cache of vodka and whiskey that Loup had hidden came to light. The bottles were systematically drained as he drank heavily to enable him to sleep. Kessler offered him the girl again and Gregorov took her into his rooms for a weekend. She left Monday morning, running out of the building in tears. After that, even Kessler left Gregorov alone.

The snows receded slightly in April. The group gathered together for a few hunts, which were mostly unsuccessful, but everyone got out of the building and ran under the stars. The only drawback was that Gregorov drank even more heavily afterwards.

May passed slowly at first as the last projects were assigned and then began to move incredibly swifly as the last of the homework was graded and finals were given. The end of year feast speeches grew strained and tense when Kessler had to give an award to Inge for her exceptional work in his class. There was a lot of sniggering during that speech.

And then it was over for the summer. The last of the students left the grounds and, deprived of the hundreds of student voices, the campus seemed almost too quiet.

On the morning after the last of those students left, she came back. The months had not been kind to her. Looking thin and haggard, her dark hair was grayer and wilder and her eyes held a haunted look. She stood in front of Gregorov's door and hesitated, her hand in a fist poised to knock. Not wanting to knock and not wanting to leave, she froze there. Reviewing all the possibilities, she was immobile until a scrape of footsteps startled her. Rolf Haken walked out of his office, carrying a bag as he left to go home for the summer. The cold eyes took account of her state and, with a knowing smile, he said, "He is in there. He is always in there. He looks about the same as you do." With that, he walked through the door and out into the summer sunshine.

Bowing her head, she felt alone and more in need than ever before. She glanced once at the bright doorway, its offer of a vast choice of places and people shining before her, but it was the need and the emptiness that sounded loudest. It was time. The rap on the door sounded loud; she winced with the echo. The drip of the faucet from the staff room next door counted out the seconds while she waited. Finally, the door opened and what was left of Gregorov stared back at her.

It took several minutes before he spoke. With narrowed eyes, he looked her over, as if unsure who she was. His voice sounded rusty from disuse when he asked, "Did you go to Paris?"

She nodded. "I spent months trying to get them to talk to me. I am officially dead. They wouldn't let me in."

He looked beyond her, staring at the bright sunshine, weighing some internal debate. "Do you want me to go?"

"Would you do that?" Her dejected expression flickered briefly into hope then faded into sadness.

He nodded, slowly turning away from the light and opened the door wider for her to come in. With slow steps, she followed him into his living area, unsure of why she was there or what to say next. The room was not as she expected. She expected a mess, but instead saw her imposed order intact. The only chaos was the pile of clothing draped over the furniture and a stack of books next to the couch.

"Looks like you need a house keeper."

"No. I need a wolf."

A wolf needs a pack.