Shadow over the Urals

Author's notes: What can I say except that I'm sorry? I know it's been too long, and I'll try to be better, I promise! As usual, I thank my wonderful beta baghee from Perfect Imagination for helping me sort this chapter out, and especially for helping me keep the characters true to themselves, no matter what.

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Chapter Six - The Suspect Returns

At night it was not so bad, Vladimir thought to himself as he sat in his square, dark cell. The Ministry guards dozed on their posts outside and only remembered to hex him every hour or so. His body ached from numerous Stinging Hexes and Spraining Curses. Nothing that would show or leave permanent damage seemed to be the Ministry's orders (if it was the Ministry that called the shots, that is; maybe he was in the hands of some lunatic official).

Daytime, they hexed him repeatedly in agonisingly long 30-minute intervals and then brought him to a Controller to be interrogated for the remainder of the hour. He was sometimes given food and water then, and allowed a toilet visit. Then they started all over again in an annoyingly routine manner.

They had removed his robes. The first couple of days, they had brought their friends around to gawk and guffaw at his disfigurements through the peeping hole in the cell door. Their laughter was nothing, however, compared to his own deeply ingrained shame over his grey, blotchy skin, his white shining body hair and his numerous scars. As his face was fairly smooth, he could cover his body normally and pretend it wasn't there. Now, all he wore was a pair of underpants that the guards sometimes cleansed when they picked him up, and a dirty tunic that they had given him on the third day when he had caught a cold.

He no longer had his wand. At his arrest, the Controller had simply snapped it in half, like a twig. He could still see it before his eyes, the dragon heartstring shivering, mourning. It would cost him a fortune to have the Limiting Charm from his next wand removed illegally, but at least it would not put him into debt, like it had done the first time around. If they released him, he was more worried about whether wandmaker Gregorovitch would still believe in the good word of his deceased brother and make a wand for his suspected killer.

It had to have been Ursus, he thought. No one else had seen him practicing his curses. Most of his late-night activities had been devoted to spell-practice ever since Headmaster Gregorovitch died. Vladimir was not one to take any chances, and if there was a period of unrest, his position might become important once again. The last time the schools' secrets were threatened, he had failed miserably to protect them.

Mirowski must have had known, he realised. Perhaps Gregorovitch had consulted him. There was no other reason for the old man to write the Gothic 'danger' rune in his own blood on the floor outside the library. Incredibly stupid, of course, but the man must have been desperate. Had Elena noticed it? Had she told anyone? These were questions he desperately needed the answer to, and soon. Who knew what might happen in his absence?

He closed his eyes. He was so very tired.

A door slammed, and he heard footsteps walking down the corridor. That would be the morning water. He braced himself; the footsteps came to a halt outside his cell, and the door opened.

Instead of the ice-cold water drenching him, a bundle fell to the floor between his feet. He opened his eyes. His robes lay there: dark, pristine with silver clasps, shining against his tired eyes. Another life.

"You're free to go." The Controller's face betrayed nothing as he removed the invisible barrier outside the door with a brief flick of his wand and then briskly walked away. The navy-clad guard outside his door looked aside, unconcerned.

Vladimir's heart was beating hard as he evaluated the situation. Was this all a trick? Out of the corner of his eye, something unfamiliar on his robes caught his attention, and he looked at them again, more closely this time. Attached to the collar sat a tiny, obsidian pin, its head a pentacle within a double circle. Ironically, it was the first message from his family he had had in twenty years. He closed his eyes, for a moment, and then slowly got up and threw on his robes. His legs ached and wobbled slightly as he walked out of the cell, and then his world went black as a bag was thrown over his head. He was roughly shoved forwards, and he stumbled along the corridor, the odd scratching sounds coming from his former neighbours the only thing preventing him from colliding with the walls.

He lost track of how many turns he was forced to make, and how many corridors he had to walk down, sometimes hearing soft conversations, sometimes hearing nothing but boots hitting floor. Then, there was wind on his face, he fell forwards and he knew nothing more...

It could have been hours or seconds, he did not know. When he opened his eyes, he was lying in an abandoned alley behind a dustbin, partially covered by old newspapers. He got up, confused, and tried to get his bearings. Suppressing an irrational, panicky notion that he was about to get cursed again, he started walking briskly in a random direction. Soon, the street widened, and he saw people crossing some great square ahead. He hurried down towards them, and nearly stumbled as he entered the Government Plaza, the crowd suddenly coming at him from all directions like the waves of a storm. The blinding sunshine reflected on the snow-covered buildings hurt his eyes like knives. It was as if his arrest had never existed at all.

***

The cherry furniture in the teacher's study in the library gleamed in the light from several orbs filled to the brim with flickering candles. Elena had salvaged the orbs from an old storage room, mended them, supplied them with owl-order candles, and put them in her evening dwelling place. The effect was astonishing. Funny, she thought, how easy it was to ignore only barely adequate light until you knew better.

Apprentice Professor Secessa Laburova sat in her favourite chair a few spaces away, neatly scratching out a lesson plan on a scrap of parchment. When Elena had brought the lights, Secessa had given an understanding, tired half-smile, but she hadn't said anything. She didn't need to.

Secessa had shadows underneath her eyes and looked worn-down. A few days ago, Elena had seen a glimpse of her Wednesday night dealings when Secessa had helped Professor Khuditski demonstrate his plans for a new a new celebration - The Night of the Dead. The cheerfulness of the week's Solstice celebration, which had consisted of a rare dinner display of entire roast boars, stew and several kinds of bread for all the students had been somewhat soured by the Headmaster's happy announcement of a foretaste of the next year's new highlight just in time for dessert. Elena had been horrified by the chilling green torch procession and the whispers of ghosts in the air, but Secessa had assured her it was nothing in comparison to what Gadko Khuditski could have been doing, had he but put his mind to it. After all, illegality was a relative word.

They had hoped that Secessa's Retaining Charm would get stronger, but, despite weeks of practice, the improvement was slow. They had had more luck with improving her Shield Charm, but then, that was less advanced magic. At least, Secessa had said acerbically, Khuditski had been slow on new, interesting discoveries, possibly due to his declining health. It was a small hope, but it kept them going. And whenever Secessa made a small improvement, there was a fierce, victorious look in her eyes that told Elena she was not beaten yet.

Aside from the dark conversational topics, their companionship over the last few weeks had been, well, bearable, Elena surmised. Secessa was not like any other woman she had ever met; in fact, she was very manly in her total disregard for small talk. Apparently, there was a time to practice charms and jinxes, there was a time for study, and everything outside of that was inconsequential. Like tonight, for instance: why talk, just because you were in the same room? Any Beauxbatons girl would have been outraged at the Apprentice Professor's lack of manners, and Elena mournfully withstood the silence, knowing that any attempt of hers to start a casual conversation would result in one of those fine eyebrows rising a notch. And that would be that.

Elena reproached herself. To be fair, she thought, her connection with Secessa had dramatically changed her situation for the better. Not only did she have someone who gave her teaching tips and had tea with her, Mr. Dolohov had completely let go of his interest in questioning her. In fact, she had hardly seen the caretaker at all these past weeks. Part of the explanation could be, though, that both he and Headmaster Karkaroff seemed to have had hectic schedules of late. Elena had noted their absence at mealtimes, and was not one to complain.

In contrast, Elena's relationship with Professor Linev had become more complicated after the corpse-incident. He was eyeing her like a worried hen, and constantly offered her his company in a way that was sweet, but not entirely appropriate for a man whose wife was seriously ill. Hopefully, it would end soon, she thought. If rumours started, however badly founded, the students could easily lose what little respect they had for her.

As if on cue, the door opened slightly and Sergei Linev's bulbous eyes and massive beard protruded from behind it. Secessa raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ah, Elena, there you are," he said huskily to Elena, and stepped into the room. "You were not in your quarters, so I wondered perhaps if you were here."

Elena smiled at him blandly. "Did you need something, Sergei Ivanov?"

His watery eyes regarded her abashedly. "Well, I thought, ehrm, since it is getting so late, that you might desire some company in the corridors. They ... are very dark at this hour."

The most embarrassing thing of all was that she was afraid to walk the corridors at night, Elena thought. Secessa's doubts on Vladimir's guilt had kindled a strong, almost irrational fear in her (for surely, the murderer would lie low now, to stay safe?), and although she tried to fight against it, it almost engulfed her sometimes. And it was that traitorous part of her that looked upon Linev's offer with a surge of gratitude. After all, the automated locking charms on the library were soon to bar the doors, and she would have to brave the lonely walk through the dark passageways to her rooms.

Nevertheless, she glanced at the old brass pendulum on the wall with elaborate casualness and gave a small sigh.

"I suppose it is getting rather late. It was kind of you to remind me."

The corner of Secessa's mouth twitched as Elena got up, but her eyes were not unkind when they exchanged their customary nod. They both suffered, in different ways, from their tutors' oddities.

*

Vladimir felt the ache in his legs penetrate through the numbing cold. The walk from an old witch's shack just outside the nearby village, which was the furthest possible stop on the underground Portkey travel network, had been long and arduous in the deep snow, and he was not dressed for it at all. On top of all, he had stepped through the ice of a small stream, which had almost incapacitated his heating charms for a good while. He did not dare try casting new ones, as he was bordering on exhaustion.

He was beginning to wonder if he would ever reach the border, and then, suddenly, he could not take another step, there was no wind, and his hairs stood on end, as if electrified. For a moment, he thought the Border Barrier would reject him, but then, the invisible wall was gone. He had been accepted. Another step, and he was through the invisible Anti-Magical-Travel wards that covered the Durmstrang border, the ice-cold wind hitting his face with gusto again. He pulled his cloak tighter.

The remote valley that encased the stone castle of Durmstrang Institute should have been a welcome sight for his sore eyes, but the evening was dark despite the snow, and the new heating regulations made for few lights in the windows as firewood was scarce. From a distance, the school looked like a big, fat lump of black rock in a sea of white, with its four tiny turrets sitting perched on each corner like climbing bats. Only one or two fickle blue lights gleamed in the Headmaster's turret, and then again some in the Entrance Hall and in the first-floor corridors. The oppressive sight of ravens circling above the building made him shiver where he stood at the top of one of the mountain passes. It took a great deal of resolve for him to continue moving.

*

Secessa had just begun to gather her books when she heard the muffled sound of a door opening and closing, and she frowned. Carefully, she drew out her wand and walked quietly up to the door. She opened it fractionally and peered out, expecting a disobedient student, for Dolohov's dormitory counts had been rather lax of late.

It wasn't. A hooded, blue-eyed wizard stood just outside the door, meeting her gaze tiredly, and her stomach lurched. She gasped, more from seeing the haunted look in his eyes than from the surprise in itself.

"Oh, it's you," Vladimir said quietly.

"You're back," she said stupidly after a moment's pause.

"Yes."

Taking in his appearance, she saw that his robes were wet, muddy, and, incredibly, carried a trace of spittle.

"Surely, the Controllers didn't..." she said, staring at the stain.

"Pereiaslavich Connexion Point," he said distantly while eyeing the teacher's study over her shoulder. "Is the library empty?"

"Some stranger spat at you?"

"The guards; they wouldn't let me travel. Apparently, there's some sort of new legislation. Is it empty?" His haunted, tired eyes returned to her, and she felt uneasy.

"Of course it's empty. It's almost midnight. How did you get here if they wouldn't let you travel?"

He sighed. "Illegal Portkey to the nearest village. Then I walked. Look, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Feeling slightly on edge, she nearly ceded, but then remembered that they once had had an understanding. Even if Vladimir behaved suspiciously, she did not need to be subservient all of a sudden.

"Why?"

"There's something I need to do."

A thought struck her. "Does the Ministry know you're here?"

"Of course they do. They released me."

"And Karkaroff allowed you back?"

Vladmir reflexively touched a small pin attached to his collar, and then gave her a wry half-smile. She had not seen him wear anything like it before, but thought she could guess the crest. "No doubt someone reminded him of my good qualities, for he has promised he will clear my name. Well, that's what I heard from Dolohov, anyway. He answered my owl. Apparently, the Headmaster is off on school business."

Not returning his smile, Secessa eyed him up and down for a moment. She had had ample time to recollect his cold, distant manners during his absence, and she had pretty much made up her mind that he was probably well capable of casting a few curses, just as Ursus had said. But suddenly, on seeing him so haunted and tired, she couldn't believe the man in front of her to be guilty of even that.

"I'll go," she said. "But we need to talk. Tomorrow."

He looked at her hesitantly for a moment, and then sighed." Very well, then; meet me here at the usual time."

She nodded, and felt an unexpected tinge of pity. "I'll see you then."

*

Vladimir listened to Secessa's steps until they started ascending the staircase to the Entrance Hall. Then he quickly drew a symbol with his wand on the large, ornamental stone pillar in front of him. The rune flared up brightly and then sank into the stone; the pillar slid aside to reveal a small opening in the wall, in which a single scroll was placed. Vladimir cast a Tracing Charm, and his own protective wards gleamed back at him in indigo and silver. He exhaled slowly. Even if someone could hypothetically have read the scroll and reset the wards, their personalised colouring would be difficult to produce. Without further ado, he drew another rune on the pillar and it quietly slid back into position.

With Mirowski dead, Vladimir was the last one with knowledge of the scroll. It was unlikely, he thought, that they would consider putting an Imperius Curse on him. Manabilants didn't react very well to the Imperius, and were unmanageable. And the Cruciatus Curse had its drawbacks as well, as residual magic from the attacked mind tended to cause havoc. But there were more ways of torture, so many ...

He sighed, and, his eyes oddly unfocused, walked the few aching steps that led to his adjoining quarters. The door was still locked, and when he entered his room, his belongings seemed untouched except for the shelf of Dark Arts books, which had been confiscated by the Controllers, and which would have to be reclaimed through a very long and difficult process. He pushed the thought away, removed his robes, and climbed into his hard, but welcome, bed. Tomorrow he would consider these things. For now, he'd sleep.

His last thought was that his pillow was unusually cool.

***

Never had a day passed so slowly to Secessa. She droned on through class after class in her hectic schedule, her thoughts distracted. What would Vladimir tell her? Or had she just arranged a meeting with her own death? She very much doubted it; but could she be sure? She shook her head irritably at her confusion as she set the fifth-years on an essay after lunch to get some space for thinking.

Almost all her days were completely booked up now as she took on more and more classes due to Gadko Khuditski's refusal to teach. It seemed like his preparations for the Wednesday night experiments absorbed him completely, for she took over, in quick succession, all his Mondays, then his Tuesdays, and then suddenly all classes but the sixth- and seventh-years on Saturday mornings and Wednesday afternoons.

But however much energy Khuditski put into his research, it seemed like he had reached an unbreakable barrier in controlling the dead using the green flame. Wednesday after Wednesday, he tried laboriously long incantations on walking corpses trapped within pentagrams of fire, but they refused to heed him. At the end of each night, Khuditski mumbled and swore over his failure to 'improve the material', and wiped his brow before sitting down, exhausted. Was it her imagination, or had he become frailer of late?

It was as well, Secessa thought, as she had no intention of intensifying her relationship with his new 'friends', if she could help it. She had met one of them briefly outside the Headmaster's office the morning after the ritual, Mr Rosier, and she had rarely felt so frightened.

Compared to these people, how could she possibly be afraid of Vladimir? But the fact remained that Headmaster Gregorovitch had been killed before any of these newcomers had arrived. Even if they had sneaked in briefly at night to perform the deed they would have needed an accomplice - no one could cross the border to Durmstrang without an escort - and if they were the guest of someone the teacher in question would have made the connection between their visit and the death. Hence, unless Gregorovitch had invited his own killer by Portkey for a midnight snack, even if she wanted to blame an outsider, all traces went back to the school in the end. Who was their ally in the school, then? If Khuditski was to be observed secretly, he could not be the one. Who then? She went over all of the middle-aged to old bearded men that made up the old school staff and found no answer. Perhaps someone had sneaked into the school at night? If Vladimir knew which village to buy a Portkey to ...

Her thoughts nearly stopped her heart, and she stared out over the suddenly hazy, blood red mass of hardworking students. Vladimir could easily have let someone into the school! He knew all the secret routes, all the hidden passageways...

"Pardon me, Professor Laburova...?"

Secessa started as she only then noticed Janos Dragomir standing next to her, his essay outstretched.

"Thank you," she said distractedly and took it. "You may go."

His round face lit up. "Thank you, Professor," he said breathlessly, and suddenly, all the quills in the classroom scratched at double pace. He quickly grabbed his books and made a dash for it.

She realised it was still fifteen minutes till the class ended, and cursed to herself. Oh well, she then thought irritably, for once she'd let them go early, and without homework.

Three hours later, at the end of her last class, after having disinterestedly watched her third-years successfully identifying and dealing with a Pogrebin that she had hidden in the classroom, her thoughts had carried her no further in her question whether to trust Vladimir or not. She would have to let him do the talking, she decided, and hope for the best.

When she locked the classroom door after the last students had left, she glanced down past the open study area next to the Main Staircase, towards the door outside the private turret staircase leading to the Headmaster's waiting room, office and quarters. No torch was lit outside, which meant he was still away. Light seeped out from underneath the door to Dolohov's office, however, meaning that the caretaker, at least, was there.

This was the Headmaster's third trip to England, and it seemed extended. He always travelled by evening, using the school Granians, probably to reach the illegal Portkey network outside the border. She had followed him once to the stables, thinking his late night walks in the freezing cold suspicious. The only sign of him leaving had been a few hoofprints in the snow and a faint breeze on her face. The Disillusionment Charm could be a sign of him being a wanted man, or of him being paranoid. Either way, it was interesting. His dealings with the English had been intense of late, and she had even been introduced to a 'business contact' of his, Mr. Malfoy, in what she believed an effort on his part to involve her more in his Dark affairs (which seemed to include not only the killing of Muggles, but also the smuggling of Dark items). It seemed like Dolohov's absences often correlated with those of the Headmaster's.

On their last meeting, Karkaroff had even asked her to come with him and be introduced to some more 'contacts' of his, in the beast business, who were interested in widening their network, but she had managed to persuade him out of it, blaming her concern for the children's Dark Arts education. He had been pleased with her dedication, and let her off, for now.

Soon it would be Christmas, however, and she would have the interesting choice between staying at the school and probably receiving another invite, or Apparating home and being vulnerable to Pawn Warlocks. Even though she now paid her debts monthly, she still feared their continuous threats and demands for more, and she would not be allowed a bank loan until she reached Professor status. She had put away her pension in a separate account in the Goblin Bank, just in case she might become stranded one day. That day might well arrive at Christmas, if Karkaroff meant business.

Realising she had been standing staring into nothing for ridiculously long, she shook her head to disperse her thoughts and started walking down the main staircase. It was almost five p.m. Time for tea.

*

When Secessa arrived at the library, the door swung open at her arrival, indicating she was expected, and slammed firmly shut behind her. She raised her eyebrows slightly at Vladimir's unexpectedly open and refined use of Charms, which indicated he had had the Limiting Charm on his wand removed very quickly after his imprisonment. Perhaps he had decided to really be honest with her? Or did he wish to scare her?

There would be no one disturbing her talk with Vladimir, at least, as the library was open to students between 9 a.m. and 1 p.m., and then between 6 p.m. and 10 p.m. None of the teachers bothered to go there after their classes finished; instead, they met up in the staff room for black coffee and mumbles before dinner. She had tried it once and never returned. Apparently, Ursus still went, and she imagined him standing there, simpering before Headmaster Karkaroff whenever he deigned to be present. She shuddered slightly.

Secessa walked through the deserted library and knocked on the door to Vladimir's quarters. It opened. Inside, in a chair behind a small table carrying a tea tray, sat Vladimir, his robes clean and his hood covering his hair in his usual manner. He held his wand casually in his right hand, and his eyes betrayed nothing as he put it away. If it had not been for the obvious display of the wand, she would have wondered if yesterday, or indeed the previous weeks, had not happened at all. She sat down in the chair opposite him, briefly taking in the familiar sight of his tastefully furnished quarters: the comfortable, black leather chairs, the matching tables and the bookshelves made from black-polished wood. There were books missing, she noted.

"I forgot to say 'welcome back'."

"Better late than never." His tone was breezy, but not unkind. "Tea?"

She held out her cup and let him fill it. The familiar ritual was calming, but not calming enough. When she looked up at him after her first sip of black tea with lemon in weeks, she found him regarding her intently. She tried to relax, but couldn't.

"So," she said.

"So." His face was impassive, and his blue eyes very sharp.

"I realise that my demands for explanations might not have come at the right time," she continued.

"And yet you came."

There was a small pause, and she sipped at her tea with forced casualness, trying to meet his calm gaze with one of her own.

"I will need some sort of explanation," she said quietly when the silence became unbearable. "If I can't trust you..." Realising she was walking a fine line, she bit her lip and waited.

He sighed, and again, that brief, haunted look flickered in his eyes. I made her feel unsettled.

"They took me in because Gregor Ursus found me practicing curses one night. For a man of my background, that is enough for murder intent. But they failed to get any confession out of me at the Ministry, and in the end they let me go, and they even allowed me to purchase a new wand. Because of my name, I believe. They cast a new Limiting Charm on the wand, of course. It cost me a fortune to remove it."

She had so expected him to lie that the concession shocked her. She put down her teacup.

Vladimir looked away from her and sighed. "I know it is not something you would expect of me. It's a long story and I'd better start from the beginning. I'll tell you what I can of it, and I hope that will be enough for you. It will have to be, because I need you to trust me."

She nodded.

"Very well, then," he said, and topped up her hardly touched tea before leaning back with his elbows on the armrests, his hands clutched tightly together as if straining against something.

"I started serving as a librarian at this school in forties. As you well know, it was a dreadful time for us all. Grindelwald expanded his activities to central Europe and Russia, and my parents sent me here to be safe and away from the Dark activities.

"The Headmaster back then, Mironov, was a fairly good man considering the time; even though he was a bit of a purist himself, he did not believe in the killings of opposing wizards, or of Muggles for that matter. Furthermore, he believed in keeping from Grindelwald the ancient knowledge of the Dark Arts that is stored here in various hidden places, as he believed a lot of the knowledge would be very unwise to use, under any circumstances.

"You took Advanced Runes, I believe?"

Secessa nodded. It was the subject that had brought her so often into Vladimir's company during her seventh year.

"Then you are familiar with the Runes of Power?"

"That enhance the properties of items? Of course."

"But I don't think Professor Mirowski ever mentioned the tale of the Master Rune to you?"

Seeing her perplexed expression, Vladimir sighed.

"Most magical runes, as you know, enhance the status of objects; others, can curse them. Some can even mark an object for use and ownership by one sole wizard, although wands are a notable exception. Magical runes were popular during the Dark Ages, when village sorcerers made good business on putting them onto Muggle battle gear and such. This was, of course, in the time before the wizarding population began to withdraw, and long before the Statue of Secrecy."

Secessa nodded.

"There were also cursed objects in abundance," he continued, "and some time during the Dark Age the Master Rune was rediscovered from the study of old Egyptian Lore. It was a rune that could control human beings.

At his words, Secessa started. Vladimir gave her a thin, stony smile in understanding.

"I will not go into detail how this rune was recovered from the hands of Dark wizards, as the story is lengthy and full of uncertainties, but in the end it fell into the hands of some worthy wizards who decided to erase all traces of its existence. They revered knowledge too much to destroy the last scroll that carried its depiction, so instead they went far up North, and hid it in an old ruin in the Ural Mountains. Little did they know, of course, that this almost completely inaccessible ruin only a few hundred years later became the foundation for Durmstrang Institute. The building was, by the time of the Rune's hiding, half-buried in gravel and moss, and only the top floor, were the Rune was hidden, was deemed suitable for reuse.

"The teachers of Durmstrang found it, as all secrets are found out eventually. They researched into the history of the Rune, and it became clear to them that it should remain hidden. The knowledge of its hiding-place was passed down from Headmaster to Headmaster."

He stopped, and for a moment he seemed weary. Secessa noticed that he still had dark circles underneath his eyes, and bent forwards to top up his tea. He seemed not to notice.

Vladimir took a deep breath. "And so, it remained here, sheltered in its hiding place, but gradually, rumours of it began to seep out. The rune became a school legend; it was told it was a rune that mastered all living beings, but of course, there is no such thing - blood and flesh can be inscribed and the slavery inherited, but not the soul."

Secessa still remembered the old school legend passed on from older students to younger. Warlock Wilhelm Durmstrang's son. Guntram, it was said, was born a coward and a humiliation to his father. Soon after his seventeenth birthday, unable to bear his father's despise no longer, he searched through the family's vast library for days until he found, in an old, crumbling book, the notation for the Master Rune. He thought it was his salvation, for one who could master everything had nothing to fear. He carefully extracted the page, covered his traces, and then he disappeared. After seven months, he suddenly turned up on his father's doorstep, and claimed that he now was a great wizard, and that he had used the Master Rune to visit the other side, and come back. Since Death itself could not withstand his mastery, Guntram demanded that his father should bow down to his son's superiority. Wilhelm Durmstrang refused, a duel broke out, and the son killed the father. However, standing by his father's corpse, in the grief of never having received his approval, Guntram then turned his wand on himself. But, he could not die, and his death throes were horrible to withhold. Then, Death himself came to him, and laughingly asked for Guntram's permission to end his life, which he granted, and so Guntram died in ignominy. On finding the notation for the Rune in his pocket, his grieving mother hid it from sight, and it was lost to the world.

Probably, the story had been born out of some Ancient Runes teacher's vivid imagination, Secessa thought, who had not been able to resist waking his students up during a particularly boring grammar session with a gory story of the terror of immortality and the evil of patricide. The possibility that mastering of one's own flesh would lead to trapping of one's soul in one' body was interesting, but probably not correct. Rather, the Master Rune was very likely a Rune of Ownership. Especially if it was...

Secessa looked up at Vladimir, who had quietly been sipping at his tea with a closed expression. "Inherited? Then, you mean that the elves...?"

"Our house elves today are most likely descendants of the elves originally branded by the rune, yes."

Secessa saw before her inner eye an ancestor of hers branding a struggling elf with a fiery rune, and shuddered.

"Yes," said Vladimir, still studying her intently, "it is easy to forget that those comfortable things we take for granted must originate from somewhere.

"And now we come to my part of the tale, which I confess I am not very proud of." Vladimir's face suddenly paled, accentuating the tiny lines that were otherwise almost invisible. "To the old Headmaster's defence, he thought expelling Grindelwald for endangering his fellow students was severe enough; never once did he consider that the cheeky, charming young man was aiming at world dominion and thought enslaving all Muggles was a feasible idea. The rune remained hidden, but it was hidden underneath protection charms that could be traced and broken by any skilled enough wizard."

"He came back?"

"That he did. Some years later, Grindelwald set out on retrieving not only the Rune, but also many other Dark scrolls as well. I was in the library when he came, and unable to cast even the simplest curse, I watched him set off the wards, obtain the scrolls and kill the Headmaster, who rushed in on his way out. Just like that. Believing me a supporter, he even gave me a nod on the way out. I have rarely felt so cowardly."

There was a brief pause as he looked at her, pained, as if waiting for her to say something. She could think of nothing. When she remained silent, he winced, and continued.

"After Grindelwald was defeated some years later, Albus Dumbledore, the famous British wizard who is now Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, called the new Headmaster of Durmstrang, Ilya Gregorovitch, for a meeting concerning 'some scrolls'. I came along secretly, being the only witness to the Grindelwald incident.

"It was an embarrassing meeting, and I will spare you the details. The result of Grindelwald and his followers using the runes on Muggles was, of course, devastating, and it took many years before the Controllers managed to get them all released, as the release requires consent of the rune-inscriber, or an heir.

"Albus Dumbledore gave the scroll back to us, along with the others, and he warned us most severely to keep them hidden if we wished to keep them. We returned them to the school in secret and Gregorovitch spent some time delving into various protective enchantments before deciding to hide them by a slightly more arcane branch of magic than before. The usual protective charms, he decided, would not be used, and he hoped this would give better protection for the scrolls. I believe it has.

"I think that someone threw the Imperius Curse on Mirowski, trying to get hold of the Master Rune through him, and, on the way to the library, he started fighting it. Unable to throw it off, and realising where he was heading, he then tried to kill himself several times and was thwarted by the strength of the Curse, which required him to be alive to finish his instructions.

"He managed, in the end, to cause enough damage to himself to bleed to death; probably, he managed to hit a main artery while walking down the dungeon stairs. This would explain the extensive but shallow spell-damage to his chest and gut, the location of the body, and the blood. This would have to be confirmed by Healers, of course. Knowing me to be near, Mirowski wrote a warning for me in his blood on the corridor floor. I found it, and erased it."

There was a brief pause, and he looked searchingly into her eyes. In the end, she gave in.

"Elena saw it," she said. "She told me about it. She hasn't told anyone else, though."

Vladimir nodded. "I surmised as much. If she had told the wrong person, I would already have been attacked, I think. However, the location of my workplace and rooms so near where the corpse was found, has made my position very dangerous. Whoever cast the Imperius on Mirowski will very likely keep a close eye on me. My reputation as a half-squib is probably what has kept me safe up until now.

"It is unfortunate that Apprentice Professor Ursus caught me practicing curses, because anyone with the right knowledge and even a slight power of deduction will realise why I'm doing it. I seems I must watch my back on a 24-hour basis, starting today. And I cannot afford being outmanoeuvred in this."

He grew silent and Secessa nodded. "You're the last one with the knowledge."

He smiled vaguely. "Incorrect. I was the last one with the knowledge. I have now amended that fact. You have probably been associated with me already. It is only fair, after all."

Secessa swallowed hard. "Yes," she said. "I suppose it is."

Vladimir regarded her intently. "You have been targeted already?"

"Not ... exactly," she said. But his avid gaze suddenly unleashed a flood of suppressed emotion, and she felt an urge to stretch out a hand to him, to get something to hold on to. She bit her lip angrily. "It was Khuditski, He started it all."

And of course, she could not stop there. The whole story came out there and then, and Vladimir's luminous blue eyes were fixed on her as she forced herself to linger on every gruesome detail of her apprenticeship. His attentiveness made the whole ordeal even more embarrassing to her.

"What if they're after the rune as well?" she asked him finally, faintly. "I wouldn't put it past them."

"It seems likely," he said, still gazing at her, engrossed. "You seem to have been more involved in this than I ever expected. You will have to forgive me for not warning you earlier."

"I still would have been able to do nothing," she replied bitterly. "And the question is, can we do anything, even now?"

"Of course we can," Vladimir said. "Now that we have proof of their illicit activities, we can send an owl to the English Ministry. Both Karkaroff and Dolohov are British citizens, Death Eaters, and probably sought after. Durmstrang might lie within Nation-Free boundaries, but that does not make us entirely helpless. If the English Aurors make it to the border, we could escort them across it, since the magical barrier automatically lifts when a teacher approaches. They would have to come at night, obviously, because if anyone found out, the International Confederation of Wizards would have our heads. The arrest will have to be as quiet as possible, but I'm sure they'll happily give us suggestions on how to go about it. Then, they will have to modify Karkaroff's and Dolohov's memories, and claim to have made the arrest somewhere else entirely. We will make sure some Granians are missing, and our backs will be covered."

"Isn't there a better way? What if the owl is intercepted?"

"We will have to risk it. There is a fireplace in the Headmaster's office that can be opened to a secret, emergency Floo-channel leading to the same office at Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore managed to set it up. But going there is too risky, even with Karkaroff gone. Neither of us would survive a chance encounter with Mr Dolohov, I fear. The location of his office is unfortunate."

Secessa smiled wryly. "And no doubt planned. A late night owl it is, then." Her insides tightened. "And I'm the most logical sender."

Vladimir nodded. The air between them was almost electric.

"I will go after midnight," she said.

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