Suspicion

Chapter 1

"Place your wand on the table in front of you and keep your hands where the Aurors can see them."

Annoyed at being pulled out of their classes, but quite silent, the Durmstrang Dark Arts staff shuffled over to their places at the table and followed the orders. The small staff room was stuffed with black-uniformed Aurors. Two stood at the door and six more ringed the table, ready to begin their investigation.

The Aurors started at the end of the table where the ever-smiling Rolf Haken sat. Haken greeted the Auror by name and pushed his wand towards the unsmiling man. As his wand's recent past was revealed, Haken kept up a steady stream of questions, inquiring after the Auror's health, past assignments and whether this year's World Quidditch Cup was being held in Greece or Poland.

A few minutes into Haken's examination, a second Auror reached for Rose Jones' wand. It emitted a variety of silver-blue colored images, leftovers from a demonstration of binding spells. Those were followed by a series of very mundane spells through which the Auror impatiently waited. With a grumble, the Auror tossed the wand onto the table where it clattered loudly before the short woman.

Siegfried Kessler had a more interesting array of colors and shapes, none of which warranted more than a grunt or two.

Both Todor Rabe’s and Paul Wronski's wands yielded almost nothing. That raised more eyebrows from the Aurors than the multi-colored barrage that Yuri Gregorov's wand divulged. They expected to see curses and hexes from his work.

Ludwig Lowenstein waited. His work always elicited the most commentary. His wand emitted a rather exciting display of red and white images. A rather sinister black shape gave the Aurors something to write notes about, but the color and image had nothing to do with what they were looking for.

"I would like to attend some of these lectures." Johannes Werner, the Head of the Northern District's Aurors, grinned at Lowenstein. "I am certain you could earn some extra money should you open them to the public."

The rest of the Aurors chuckled, watching intently as the professors recovered their wands. "Where is the cold one? The Frenchman? I thought all were called?" Werner asked, turning to face the Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute who stood in the doorway.

"They were. Professor de Rais should have received the information." With a nod, the Headmaster ordered a red uniformed man to find the missing professor.

They waited in uncomfortable silence while they waited for de Rais' arrival. It was better to say nothing than argue with the authorities. As far as any of them could tell, they weren't suspects this time. Jones rolled her wand back and forth with her forefinger, wondering what the charges were. The possibilities were endless, but it was probably an unexplained death. That would explain a lot. When your business is the Dark Arts, you were always the first to be called in when someone died inexplicably.

Minutes dragged by. Jones stifled a yawn, clamping her jaw shut when the noise caught Werner's attention. She had a lecture to finish. Annoying enough to have to make that up, but she'd been in the middle of demonstrating something that required a long and involved ritual. She had barely managed to grab her satchel when the summons had been issued. A worry nagged at her that she might have left her notes in her class. What were the students doing down there? She caught herself as she began to drum her fingers on the table and carefully folded her hands on the table, fixing her eyes on a particularly deep scratch in the tabletop. After what seemed like forever, she heard the sounds of two people returning.

Gilles de Rais had the haughty air of an offended nobleman as he sauntered into the room. Although not especially tall, he gave the impression of stature and elegance especially when he was annoyed. With great deliberation, he stood next to the only empty chair, folded his arms over his chest and waited.

"Wand." A black gloved hand stretched out towards him. De Rais gave the Auror a bored look.

"I have none." He obligingly removed his uniform red leather coat and displayed it so that the Aurors could go through the pockets. Draping the coat carefully over the back of his chair, he slowly rolled up his sleeves to show that he had no wand in either of them and then spread his arms dramatically to allow them to pat him down.

The Aurors glowered at him. They didn't like anomalies. "Professor de Rais, your wand!"

"And again, I have none." De Rais donned his coat and adjusted the sleeves to fall at their proper place. "If you would be so kind as to refer to your notes from the last several years, you will find that I have never had a wand." He looked pointedly at Werner. "Never. Would you care to examine my hands?" He spread his black gloved hands out before them and slowly turned them over as if displaying them.

With a snarl, Werner turned and left, followed by the rest of his Aurors.

"So, who died this time?" Jones started searching in her ever-present satchel for her cigarettes.

"A foreign visitor. The spell was rather...graphic. Most assuredly the work of someone well-versed in the Dark Arts," said the Headmaster.

"Anyone we should know?" Having found her cigarettes, Jones began the search for her matches, dumping papers and parchment over the scarred table.

The icy silence caused her to look up. She wasn't the Headmaster's favorite by any means and, having met with his disapproval earlier in the term, she knew that she had, once again, talked too much.

"Return to your classes. You will cooperate with the Aurors if they return." The quick click of his boot heels echoed in the stone corridor as the Headmaster left.

"Great. Another round of questioning. I bet they're back tonight." Jones began scraping her mound of papers back into her satchel.

"Anyone doing some work on the side?" Wronski looked around at the rest. "I know I could use some extra money."

"He said 'spell'. That implies someone who can do magic," Gregorov growled as he looked down at Wronski, his voice thick with scorn.

Wronski grabbed his wand and shoved it into his coat pocket. It was hardly a secret that he didn't possess any great magical powers. In comparison to the rest, he was practically a Squib. Potions and poisons didn't require the same kind of prowess; they required intelligence and discipline. He hated it when his lack of ability was so blatantly pointed out. It wasn't as if he needed to be reminded, especially by the huge Russian.

As if anticipating a slur aimed at him, Rabe hurried out of the room.

"How long until lunch?" Jones finished shoving the last of the stray papers into her satchel and tapped a cigarette out of the package. Gregorov gave her a withering glare, but kept quiet for a change about the smell. Ignoring the lack of answers, she continued, "I’m almost out of cigarettes. Thought I would go down into the village tomorrow after my last class. Anyone want to come along?" The room was quiet except for the soft noises of wands being replaced into pockets and coats being rearranged. "Don’t everyone answer at once."

"I hate going down there. They stare at you and mutter." Wronski patted the long coat back into place. "Besides, there isn’t much there that I want."

Gregorov flung a few large coins at Jones. "Usual." He left the staff room without a backward glance.

Wronski raised an eyebrow. "Usual?"

Jones pocketed the money, avoiding Wronski's eyes. "Vodka, if they have it. Whiskey, if not." She ignored Wronski’s snort.

Lowenstein leaned back into the chair and said to no one in particular, "It is almost time for lunch. From the smell, it will be the same as yesterday and the day before. Hardly any need to rush back."

Haken, ever cheerful, tugged at Lowenstein’s arm, "Wurst is good for you. Come." Haken waited as Lowenstein ever so slowly stood and asked, "Will you be joining us?"

Jones made a face. "I got a package of food from the States. I’m planning on popcorn for my lunch."

"Can I buy some off of you? I can’t stomach wurst and sauerkraut three days in a row." Wronski burrowed into his coat’s pockets, searching for any kind of money.

"I know you will not be eating with us, Gilles, but will you share your company?" Haken smiled his toothy grin at the sullen de Rais.

"No. I have other things to attend to." De Rais wore his inscrutable face, his mouth twitching with something that might have been a smile or a grimace. Silently, he left the staff room and stalked down the hall towards his office.

Haken and Lowenstein left, their boots echoing loudly. A cold blast of air, a door thunking shut and then silence in the staff room.

"So, you and Gregorov on speaking terms these days?" Wronski leaned his elbows onto the table and gave Jones what he hoped was a neutral expression. Failing, he started to laugh.

"Hardly. Not even sure why I offer." Jones lit her cigarette and took a deep drag. "Do I have 'doormat' on my forehead?"

Wronski peered intently at her brow. "No. Wait. There it is! I think it says 'hopeless optimist'. When did you start saving puppies and kittens?" He waited as she alternated between trying not to laugh and looking slightly peeved.

"God. I hope I’m not getting soft. I’m not used to working with people. I guess I keep thinking we’re supposed to be one happy family or some tripe like that." She flicked the ashes into a mostly empty mug. "Don’t get your hopes up that there’s anything worth talking about. Gregorov gives me some money every week when I go to down to the village. He never says thank you or even go to hell."

"I knew I saw 'hopeless optimist'. Gregorov is Gregorov. Not exactly Mr. Charm. I've been told that he was better before Petrov was killed." Wronski pushed his chair back and swung his feet onto the table. Rocking his chair onto the back legs, he made himself comfortable.

"Who was Petrov?" Jones asked, perking up. She was always interested in gossip about the rest. Most of the group were very close mouthed about their pasts. Too useful in pinpointing a weakness.

"Petrov was the other wolf. Well, one of the other wolves. Someone shot him when he was out hunting. I was his replacement. You replaced Tal. Gregorov is without a pack these days. He really started drinking hard after Tal’s death. The wolves don’t do so well without a pack." Wronski made a sweeping gesture. "This whole group used to all be wolves for years. Something about the psychology of Animagi as pack animals." Wronski rocked back and forth. "Popcorn?"

"Yeah. Wait a minute. I expect a lot more information as a trade." Jones hauled herself up and left for her office. She ambled down the corridor to her quarters and spoke her key phrase to enter. Unlike most of the others, she kept her office and quarters warded. Too many years of habit to break and she didn’t like the idea that the others could walk in and use her stuff. Her stuff was precious to her. Years of collecting grimoires, scrolls, books, odd bits of magical bric-a-brac and there was her food cache. American junk food. The fact that it was only palatable to her and Wronski had never crossed her mind. Popcorn, which was practically a staple in her diet, barely drew a sniff from the rest of the group. Peanut butter, Hershey's chocolates, Doritos… A sympathetic cousin sent her a box of completely unhealthy food once a month. She had to pay, of course, but it was worth it. Grabbing a bag of popcorn, she went back to the staff room. Wronski still had his feet on the table.

"Don’t let Rabe see you do that. He’ll give you quite the lecture." She pulled the bag open and dumped a pile in front of Wronski. "So, give. What else do you know?"

Stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth, Wronski settled his chair and lurched to his feet. He walked over to the ever-dripping faucet and got a glass of water before returning to the table. "Petrov, Tal and Gregorov were a pack for a long time. Obviously, I never got to know Petrov. Some farmer shot him. Hunting accidents seem to be the way the wolves go. Can’t resist the livestock. I guess the deer migrate out of the area during the middle of the winter. Dunno. I can’t take anything that large by myself. Any way, they hired me to replace Petrov. You should have seen the mess he left. My quarters looked like a dump."

Jones snorted a laugh. "What about Tal?"

"Tal was a right bastard. Nasty sense of humor. Much worse than Gregorov. I think he was the alpha. Not sure about that. Since I was the new guy, I got the brunt of Tal’s jokes. It was kind of interesting to watch the way they influenced each other…" he trailed off, trying to remember and not remember.

"What do you mean?" Jones was intrigued. She never had understood why Gregorov drank so heavily, well, except that he was here and obviously unhappy.

"OK. From what I understand, and obviously I'm no expert in this, but I did do some reading, the pack animal Animagi really need a pack. They go crazy without one. Think about it. All of us are solitary hunters except Gregorov and he’s completely tweeked." Wronski turned away from Jones, watching the door. "When Tal was alive, Gregorov rarely spoke – in meetings or otherwise. Kinda creepy. He would mirror Tal. Kinda touchy-feely, too."

Jones made an odd noise that made Wronski turn to face her. "No, not like that. Wolves touch a lot. They play a lot, too. It was weird to watch. I’m not used to seeing pack animals interact. I guess wolves are the most common form of Animagi up here. Not like there are any out in the wild any more, but whole families turn out to be wolves if they decide to put the energy into the spells." Wronski started to feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t realized that he had made a study of Gregorov until now.

"So why isn’t Haken the same way? He's a dog. Should be the same, right?" Jones wore her skeptical face.

"Next time you see Haken transform, check him out. He’s a domestic dog. Looks like a big mutt. Watch him interact with people. Just like a dog. We all mirror our forms in our personalities." Wronski finished his popcorn, swallowed the last of his water and started to get up to leave.

"Whoa. Wait a sec. 'We all mirror our forms in our personalities'? What do you mean?" Jones grabbed Wronski’s elbow and forced him back into his seat.

Wronski glowered at her, obviously annoyed at being restrained. "Lowenstein is the laziest man I’ve ever met. When you get him to do something, he does it quickly, brutally and then goes back to sleep. Siegfried is cranky, hungry and would rather someone else did his work, but he's more than capable when he does it. Even his magic is savage. Rabe’s movements, his collection of shiny things – have you ever seen his office? He has a collection of shiny things: stones, crystals, silver… He’s a cruelly accurate mimic. You…" Wronski trailed off and tried smiling to get out of it.

"Well?" Jones let go of his elbow.

"Very badger-like. Not afraid of a fight, cranky, solitary, always digging into things that are none of your business. There. Happy? Can I go now? I have a lab to set up." He got as far as the door before her question stopped him.

"What about Gilles? I don’t understand him at all. Do you think Haken’s right when he says that Gilles is dead?" She lit another cigarette and waited

"Secretive. Solitary. Elegant. Powerful. I’d rather not look too closely. I’ve never seen him eat or drink. You can force a glass of wine on him but he just plays with it. If it weren't for the fact that I’ve seen him in the daylight, I’d swear he was a vampire. Not that I’ve ever seen a vampire." He watched her take the information in. "Does that answer your question?"

She exhaled a long column of smoke and sat silently for a while. "No. But I don’t think Gilles can be summed up quite that easily."