The girl was obviously new to her trade.

Twittering had corrected her repeatedly as he wandered about the shop. Zane had to wonder how much she made working for the fellow. After the third comment of "slow cow" or "thick-fingered oaf," he had thought that his own hand would have been twitching to use those pins not on the midnight black silks but on a far more pale, wrinkled target.

Luckily, he did not need to. He didn't work for the rude fellow. Indeed, he had been called nothing but "Sir" and "Mister von Mecklenberg." That was as it should be.

Still...the girl must need the work, indeed.

His musings were interrupted by the callous fellow in question. He was indicating the shoulder, with its silver clasp.

"Is this what you were imagining, young sir? High? Here?"

Zane took a long while to consider the drape of the cloth...the gather...the overall impression...and then he shook his head. "Mister Twittering, the lovely thing that will wear that dress is wonderfully attractive. It would be a sin to cover that much. Slim the shoulders, hrm? Classic fit must answer to current fashion, yes?"

Twittering, to his credit, did not allow any annoyance to cross his features. Zane had asked for just the opposite not fifteen minutes ago. In another fifteen minutes, he would decide that he liked it better the way it was. Petty, yes, but.... The girl must truly need the work, and Twittering was in need of a visit from Karma's Hand.

His own fitting had taken only moments. His garments were simple and functional...plain, even.

That was fine, however. He really wouldn't be wearing them. That thought brought a low chuckle.

Twittering paused in the never-ending harangue he had aimed at the seamstress and glanced over his shoulder, a look of mild curiosity professionally spread across his features.

Zane blinked slowly and offered the man a likewise prepared response -- his face and bored wave told everyone that he desired nothing...carry on. Dances were only enjoyable to watch if both partners knew the steps, after all.

The silversmith had done good work. She had produced the buttons, thread, and accents on a short notice, and, even to Zane's critical eye, she had excelled. He was particularly impressed with the necklace. He glanced down at it. The wheel and the moons. It would hang wonderfully against her throat.



He shrugged lightly, and then stood taller, bringing his heels together with the slightest of clicks and offering an inclined nod to a pair of matronly witches who passed him. They returned the smile, one even going so far as to offer him an awkward little wave much more fitting to a girl of his own age than one capable of being his mother.

The grin widened. She would eat those Hausfrauen alive for daring to look at him so plainly.

She would have many things to tell these "pure blood" rabble rousers who stalked around the Alley so much of late. As she had told them all, there was mixed blood. There was pure blood. And then there was True Blood....

He blinked again, looking away from the pair, and turned back to the tailor and his unfortunate assistant. The changes were nearly finished. It was coming. Zane could feel the pressure building, and he concentrated carefully to keep the smile off his face. Minutes passed.

"There! I apologize for the girl's slow hands, Mister von Mecklenberg. Good help is so difficult to find. This should be more to what you desired, I think."

Twittering stepped away from the mannequin, displaying the carefully draped layers of midnight cloth, elements of argent glittering amongst the folds.

Zane smiled crookedly and walked closer, circling the dress and considering it carefully. He finished his circuit and took a pair of steps back, his face a mask of detailed thought.

He sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Es tut mir Leid, Herr Twittering. You and your lovely employee have done wonderfully. I fear, however, that I have misjudged. Take it back to the last if you would be so kind. This is more lovely, but...I fear society would not see it with the same eyes that I do, hrm? You do not mind, I hope?"

Twittering looked at the dress and then back at Zane. His nodded, offering Zane a smile. His annoyance was there to see. The forehead. The eyes. The set of the jaw and lips. It was there to see...if one knew where to look.

"Of course, sir. The gentleman knows best."

Zane's smile widened and he nodded. The gentleman did know best, and the servant did as he was told.

It was the way of things. Hunters and prey.

She would look lovely in the dress...once they had finished it.

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

These links will help with the music and German phrases used in this post.

"Der Erlkönig" by Goethe/Schubert
(Lyrics)
(Listen)

••••••••••••••••••••

In the inner darkness, it smelled like onions. Beyond the thin barrier of burlap it smelled .... Smelled? No. It looked ... Dark. Things moved there, shadowed and nebulous. They had form, without a doubt, but it was hidden. Just as on that night thirteen years before -- they were there. He knew it. They were always there.

He pressed his eye to the hole torn in the fabric, peering out ... searching beyond the confines of his prison. His hand opened and closed, and now, just as before, his wand was gone. His magic was gone. He was only human.

The shapes swirled about. Luminous forms ... women? ... danced lightly between the trees. Another ... made of velvet blackness with a pair of burning points of blue ... eyes! ... approached. The swirl of a cloak ... the dullest glimmer of moonlight upon metal that rested above those frozen lights. His own mind betrayed him, and the sounds of the piano threaded through his memories. The rapid alternating notes and short runs came and went, each sending bolts of electric terror through him.

The voice was smooth beyond mortal nature, dripping with promises of comfort and peace ... and hngers that were old before wzardkind uttered their first crude charms.

It was wrong. He spoke the wrong verse. He was not the Father.

"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?"

Zane ... yes, that was his name! Zane repled quietly.

"Den Erlkönig mit Kron und Schweif...."

Zane lunged, sceaming, at the thin cloth of the bag, fingers scraping helplessly against the weave.

"Das Kind war tot!"

The burning points of light blinked, and the thing laughed. When it stopped, the eyes reappeared. They were different. Wide and deep, they were human eyes the color of pale coffee. A face appeared around them. Pale skin and blond hair ... an expression that was something between glee and hunger .... Those eyes blazed as well. They dug and pressed, seeking their way into his mind. He flung up his shields, snapping them into place and seeking his place of calm. From there he could lay out the paths ... provide the images ... lead his attacker into HIS darkness. He did not need his wand for this magic!

Strawberries. He smelled them. Incense ... sandlewood and myrrh. Another shape appeared. A woman. The life thief. She stood to one side of Crest and offered him a cruel version of his own mockingly crooked grin. To her right, two more figured appoached. The first was lithe and thin without granting any impression of weakness. He had pale yellow hair worn in a horribly inappropriate mohawk, and he showed Zane a smile that bared pointed teeth that were too white ... too sharp. The third form was smiling as well. Her's was a mask of mocking joy - Banther.

The voice whispered again.

"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau: Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau...."

Zane threw himself at the figures again, all effort to defend lost beneath a wave of anger that demanded attack. He felt the tingle of magic thrill through his body, shuddering aches as things began to ... Change.

The blond girl blinked, and the eyes changed. Like drops of ink spilled into water, blackness swirled through the brown. The eyes became black as sin and sharp as flint. A face, sallow and bitter, framed by lank black hair, smiled. The eyes narrowed. The face twisted in the grip of horrible emotions. The mouth framed a word. It said a single word far more slowly than it seemed possible to do. It said just one word.

The world exploded. Plans and hopes fled before the horrible impact, and Zane flew away from the torn cloth. He ached and burned. There were no words for what he felt, and even if there were, he could not find them.

Somewhere in those moments, the bag tore. He fell from the heights and landed in a scrambling heap.

Four feet, clawed and heavy, dug into the damp soil of the Glade. He fled mindlessly, rebounding from trees and stones as he flew carelessly away. A snarling howl came from somewhere near him. It was a sound of fear and helpless anger.

Somewhere he heard a reply. Another cry of lost hope. The roar of a great cat....

Zane's eyes snapped open, moving rapidly from one side of the ceiling to the other. An elbow punched into his side, accompanied by a mumbled "Quit.". Several more moments passed before he relaxed back against the sheets with a shuddering sigh.

"Das Kind is nicht tot."

Her voice was still muffled.

"Sleep, Beast."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

The room...his "lair"...was cool and dark. Silence filled the chamber with only the rare noise filtering down the hallway from the first floor. From the whooping cries and babble, he assumed that a Defense Against the Dark Arts class was letting out. Muggle Studies rarely ever elicited such an enthusiastic response.

Zane sat quietly on the stone floor staring into a darkened corner. Several students had come to him recently asking for advice. Some were bold enough to actually seek training. Answering their questions had made him realize that he had allowed his own practice to lapse of late. That was an easily remedied problem, and it had led him to this moment.

Slowly shifting images. A deep breath. A push within.

The images stopped their growth and a pair of cracks appeared. Not bold or obvious, but visible enough to encourage pursuit. Doors. One was a portal to a story. Memories of a dinner date with the Headmaster. They had discussed the happenings about the school, the current power struggles amongst the students, and plans to manipulate those struggles to cement Snape's power over the environment. He could smell the food and feel the texture of his robes. The twitch in Snape's cheek had taken him half an hour to perfect.

It was all a lie. The dinner had never happened.

The second portal was different. It looked the same. "Felt" the same.... Behind that door, however, was danger to the traveler. His Fenris waited there in some form or another. It was also a lie. He was not sure what lived behind that door. It changed according to his need.

If his will was stronger, though.... If a tree falls in the wood but no one hears, did it really fall? If he could believe in his reality and they came into his dreams, were either of the visions actually lies?

Zane stopped. His eyes snapped open, intent and suddenly troubled.

"Are my thoughts my own? Are they my reality or one that is forced upon me?"

He felt a surge of emotion. First, it was fear. Anger...no...rage, followed quickly after. Then, he acknowledged his lack of control, a sense of amused shame sweeping across his thoughts. He had no reason to believe that either of them had breached his defenses. There was no evidence, either inferred or empirical. He really had no reason to worry.

He shook his head. It didn't matter. Would he even know if he had been affected? Was he giving himself far too much credit? It was possible. He would be the first to admit his arrogance. He did not think that she could do it...yet. The Headmaster, however, was a perilous opponent. What he could accomplish was an unknown factor that Zane had long since acknowledged.

This would not do. He would have no peace until he could find some sort of confidence. Faith. He understood Faith. He had to be certain. He knew how to do this, if he could manage it.

He rose from the cushions scattered about the floor and vanished them with a muttered word and a wave of his ever-present wand. The room would do. It was large enough. He had the materials to begin the magic. Whether or not he could complete it was a most interesting question. Arrogance. She would grow fangs that put his own to shame if she saw this.

He chuckled and shrugged, spinning his wand through his fingers. Beast, not Pet.

He summoned five candles forming the shape of a pentagram facing to the East. Three circles followed, each slightly larger than the other. The first formed a ring around the pentagram. The second framing a square that defined the Quarters. The last ring was unmarked. He moved about the room, gathering materials, and the smile on his face began to take on a brittle edge. He could feel the fear moving through his blood. This was Old Magic. He had not attempted it alone...ever. Arrogance. Failure was better than not knowing.

He walked slowly to the Easternmost point of the outer circle. He placed a small glass vial upon the imagined line and traced the rune Raido over it. The moan of the Banshee would represent Air and the rune called for protection upon his journey.


In the South, he placed a burning taper on the line, tracing Nauthiz over the flickering flame. Fire and a need to accomplish the impossible...to strive and fight.


At the Western point, he sat a small bowl, filling it with water taken from melted snow, covering it with the rune Laguz. Water and hope.


He paused as he reached the Northern aspect, staring at the floor. Nodding slowly, he bowed his head and knelt down, pouring a small pile of black dirt onto the flagstone and drew Berkano with slow, careful gestures. Earth and the rune of protection.


He rose and moved to the center of the pentagram, turning slowly to his right, following the deosil path and passing to the South...the West...the North...and back to the beginning, facing the rising of the Sun.

He paused again, having reached the point of commitment. There was no pause once he began the Calling of the Powers. Arrogance. Excellent.

He raised his wand and pointed it before him, the tip glowing with a warm amber light. He spoke in a slow, rhythmic cadence, letting the German words settle into the pace of his pulse.

"Erzengel Raphael, Engel der Reisende, mit mir und leite mich auf dieser Reise.
Schütze mich vor Krankheit und Gefahr und bewachen, die ich zurücklassen.
Lass deine Flügel umfangen mich, während ich weg bin und mich sicher nach Hause zurückkehren."

He bowed his head and touched the wand to his forehead. A Presence had arrived, powerful and horrible in its regard. It did not promise him harm, but neither did it rest quietly within tne strings of control that he had placed through his Summons.

"Amen."

He turned to the South and began again, the wand glowing scarlet.

"Erzengel Michael, verteidige uns in den Tag der Schlacht; werden unsere Gegen die Bosheit und die Nachstellungen des Teufels zu schützen. Möge Gott strafe ihn, wir demütig beten und du, o Fürst der himmlischen Heerscharen, die durch die Macht Gottes, in die Hölle geworfen, Satan und all die anderen bösen Geister, die Streifzug durch die Welt, sucht die Seelen der Ruin."

He bowed again, touching the wand to his chest. Another Presence, filled with an overwhelming strength and determination, joined the first. Their combined weight bowed his shoulders as he paused to reinforce the force of his will.

"Amen."

Facing the West, he brought forth a lambent blue glow.

"Prinz des Gerichts Himmel und die meisten ausgezeichneten Erzengel Gabriel, Ministerpräsident von Gott, ein Freund von Jesus Christus, und begünstigt durch die heilige Mutter, Verteidiger der Kirche und der Anwalt des Mannes. Sie erleichtern unsere Andachten und mir helfen, zu lieben und dir zu dienen. Gib mir, was ich wünsche und fragen Sie nach diesem Gebet, für den Ruhm, Ehre und Erfüllung meiner Seele."

Another bow with the wand touching his left shoulder. The third Presence descended upon him, blazing through his vision and setting his ears ringing with the sounds of clarion horns. He felt a new strength pass through him, but it was immediately followed with a crushing weight that buckled one knee, causing sweat to break from his pores as he forced his body slowly upright.

"Amen."

He returned to the North and inhaled deeply. The wand rose, casting a verdant green glow across the room.

"Uriel, der Erzengel Gottes göttliche Gerechtigkeit, wie Sie die himmlische Skalen, die unser Leben auf der Erde wiegen zu halten, bitten wir Sie, für uns Fürsprache, daß Gott uns alle unsere Sünden zu vergeben. Erhalten Sie für uns die Gnade der wahre Reue und Bekehrung des Herzens, dass wir von der Strafe verschont werden wir verdienen. Bieten Sie unsere Gebete zu Gott in unserer Suche nach wahrem Frieden und Glück auf Wahrheit und Gerechtigkeit gegründet. Present zu Gott dem Vater alle unsere Bitten durch Jesus Christus, unseren Herrn zusammen mit dem Heiligen Geist für immer und ewig."

He made a slower bow and brought his wand to touch his right shoulder finishing the Signum Crucis. The last Presence approached. Dark and all-encompassing, it shrouded him with a sense of inevitable loss. It carried an infinite Mercy, yes, but with it came an implacable resolution. The final Guardian was one that all would face eventually, and He needed no theatrics to drive the strength from Zane's body.

"Amen."

The combined Presences moved about the room, their shadowed wings seeming to stir the air. Zane closed his eyes, letting his control of the magic solidify, asking for protection and guidance. The Forces seemed to consider his pleas, and then, with a release that was almost palpable, there was an agreement, the weight sliding from him and grounding into the circles surrounding him.

Zane raised his gaze and smiled, his joy shining from his eyes as he intoned the final incantation, sealing the power to his will.

"In principio creavit Deus caelum et terram
Terra autem erat inanis et vacua et tenebrae super faciem abyssi et spiritus Dei ferebatur super aquas
Dixitque Deus fiat lux et facta est lux
Et vidit Deus lucem quod esset bona et divisit lucem ac tenebras."

A light more felt than seen, rose from the floor, surrounding him. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed, letting his shaking legs collapse and settling onto the floor in a pool of black robes. Arrogance.

He stared at the floor before him and let his mind ease. The familiar pathways rose to meet him. His magic surrounded him, and his worries failed. His thoughts were his own.

Time passed silently in the room, broken only by the crackling of the flames. Minutes or days later, he heard the click of the bookcase opening and the sound of impatient steps moving toward him.

"Do not cross the wards, my dear."

Her voice echoed hollowly in the room moments later. "I hadn't planned on it."

He rose and reversed the Calling of the Guardians. Releasing them was far easier than binding the magic to his desire. A handful of minutes later, the wards disappeared with a pop that was more felt than seen. Zane turned and found Joki leaning against the pillar, a look of wry amusement on her face.

"What's up with the religious sh...stuff?"

....Arrogance.

***********************
Translations for the various prayers/incantations used above:

Raphael, Angel of Travelers, be with me and guide me on this journey.
Protect me from sickness and danger and guard those I leave behind.
Let your wings enfold me while I am away and return me safely home.
Amen.

Glorious Prince of the Court of Heaven and most excellent Saint Gabriel, first minister of God, friend of Jesus Christ, and favored by the Holy Mother, Defender of the Church and lawyer of man. You favor our devotions and help me to love and serve you. Grant me what I desire and ask for with this prayer, for the honor, glory and fulfillment of my soul.
Amen.

Michael the Archangel, defend us in the day of battle; be our safeguard against the wickedness and the snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast into hell, Satan and all the other evil spirits, who prowl through the world, seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen.

Uriel, the Archangel of God’s Divine Justice, as you hold the heavenly scales that weigh our lives on earth, we ask you to intercede for us, that God may forgive us all our sins. Obtain for us the grace of true repentance and conversion of heart that we may be spared of the punishment we deserve. Offer our prayers to God in our search for true peace and happiness founded on truth and justice. We pray for those who are suffering of inhumanities, dying because of injustice and the oppressed due to manipulation and exploitation. We also pray for our less fortunate brothers and ourselves. Present to God the Father all our petitions through Jesus Christ our Lord together with the Holy Spirit forever and ever.
Amen.

In the beginning God created Heaven, and Earth.
And the Earth was void and empty, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the spirit of God moved over the waters.
And God said: Be light made. And light was made.
And God saw the light that it was good; and he divided the light from the darkness.

Note: The spell created here is simply a personalized warding circle. Pick "Protection from Spells, Globe of Invulnerability, Spell Mantle....etc. It is simply a ritualized version as Zane was taught it as a child. His own faith and Catholic upbringing define the ritual, and his methods of drawing the circle.

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

He stood silently, staring at the medical diagram that he had painstakingly copied from the Gray's Anatomy book on the desk. Black pen strokes had laid bare a portrait of the human jaw and throat for the world to see.



A pair of drawings filled the space below the first. His gaze roamed over them, gray eyes locking first to one location and then another. Two larynx diagrams...similar, but vastly different....





Zane nodded slowly, glancing down to the floor at his feet in consideration. When he raised his gaze to the easel again, his face held a look of pure, undisguised anger. With a snarl, he slashed his wand through the air, and the carefully drawn images were torn...shredded into pieces that flew across the room like wounded birds.

"Eine ... verdammt ... Krähe ...."

He inhaled deeply and lowered his arm, blinking slowly. Turning on his heel, he walked to the door behind the bookcase.

It was time to go home and ... talk.

********************
Translation: "A....damned....crow...."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

Explosions. Fire and ice. Bodies...those fallen...those not yet fallen. They would fall, though. Some part of him knew that. It was a matter of time.

He knew it. He had been this way before. But that was ... before? Now?

The scene changed, and the bodies wavered like the shimmer of heat above a hot summer street. Like the shimmer of a shielding charm....

More bodies stood before him. Some were the same, and some were new ... or different. Harder in some cases...calmer in others. Some still showed fear - it seemed to drip from them.

From somewhere, he heard a single word. It was a command...a barked sound that contained equal amounts of desperation and excitement.

"Shield!"

And they did. Each of the forms before him suddenly glowed as their shields appeared. Some were whisper-silent, the protective magics nothing more than the slightest waver in the air. Others brought their defenses to bear with screams, their Protego charms luminescent and near-opaque. The eyes of each figure blazed. Scattered amongst the forms, glowing red points began to appear. Hexes were readied and set to rip free.

He felt as much as heard a wordless scream of anger. It struck like a physcial blow, and each of the figures before him rocked back. They, too, had felt it. One voice...two...three. A thousand. He did not know how many voices. They were behind him, and he could not turn. The ones before him could see only too well. The looks of determination, anger, and fear redoubled. They screamed back.

There was a moment...pregnant with tension. All the noise stopped. He could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, and he tasted something like metal as the hot bile threatened to rise. It was so very still.

The bubble burst.

The air caught fire with flashes of red, green, and gold.

His eyes snapped open and flew quickly around the room. Stone. Bookshelves and the flickering of a fire. His room.

Zane rose from his bed and stood silently, staring out the windows into the night skies. It had been a dream. It may have been a nightmare. Had he believed in divination, he might have believed that the dream had been a foretelling of what was to come. He did not believe in divination. Still ... that dream was a future. He glanced at the clock hanging from the wall. It was just past three o'clock.

Zane dressed, his fingers moving quickly and silently over buttons and hooks. His thoughts were already far away, and sleep was not likely to return. He stepped through the door and walked down the dark hallways. This far up in the castle, the creaks and moans were very different form the ones he had listened to nightly in the dungeons. He added the staccato click of his heels and the rustle of his cloak.

A handful of minutes later, he stood in the Dueling Hall, staring across the room to where a rough simiraculum of a man stood. Zane flowed forward, and his wand arm whipped out.

"Mutare!"

The magic, like most of the Changing Arts, did not fly with any brilliant colors or echoing sounds. It flew across the room, and the mannequin shuddered, losing form and cohesion, simultaneously falling in upon itself and swelling into a rough, nightmarish shape.

Zane still heard screams and saw the flash of red, green, and gold.

Silence. The target had lost coherence. Reality, for it, had buckled, leaving behind a twisted mockery of what had been. Zane stared at it, his wand still extended toward his fallen "foe."

"Damn you, Headmaster. Damn every one of you. I do not fight for you."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

The sound of chalk upon a blackboard filled the darkened room. Pale light came through the windows above, but, in the rapidly darkening Autumn nights of Scotland, it seemed do nothing but cast shadows.



A checklist of items was written on the board. Written in a hodgepodge of English and German, the items were equally checked and left blank. Several had been underlined, and one reading "Clean my workspace" bore the obvious signs of displeasure, the letters thicker and several areas where the pressure of the writing had left behind shattered pieces of chalk.

As of yet, that one was unchecked.

Zane stood back from the list, his eyes wandering over each line. From time to time, he would add notes or draw arrows from one item to another. Several items were erased completely and replaced.

Promises made and kept. Some teeth pulled and others sharpened. He had fulfilled the instructions given to him by the Headmaster ... the new "old" Headmaster. Snape had been remarkably unavailable, but he could understand the why of that. He shrugged and leaned in to underline the words "Collect my fee" again.

They were likely not ready. Dumbledore's return, heralded by so many as wonderous, still concerned him. Where there had been one obvious enemy, now there were two. Pride goeth before the fall, and the old man had such hubris in plenty. Comment after comment concerning "Let them see"...."We will not leave again" ... "We will force their hand" ....

Zane shook his head and set the chalk onto the empty desk behind him.

Unfortunate that he was unwilling to play God as much as Dumbledore seemed to be. It was one thing to volunteer your life when it was long and distinguished...when your days had been filled and your dreams either realized or attempted.

These were children. Stupid, foolish, hopeful children. He was all the more stupid. He had accepted the responsibility.

His father's words came back to him, and Zane understood them far better than ever before.

"They are ours, boy. We rule them. They serve us at our pleasure and thank us for our mercies. And in return? They are ours. We do not suffer others to take what is ours. Remember this. You are a von Mecklenberg. This is your due."

Zane hated that man. He hated him even more when he spoke true.

Gazing up toward the dimly-lit windows, he repeated the words that had brought him to his defiled workroom. That would be fixed soon, but....for now.... Let them take their pleasure where they could. For a very short now....

Sankt Jude, schützen uns vor unserer schrecklichen verursachen. Sankt Thomas von Aquinas, schutz dieser Schule und uns armen Narren, die in ihr leben."

He paused and nodded.

"Heilige Sophia, im Namen der Pistis, Elpis und Agape ... Fürsprache für uns und bringt uns nach Hause."

He looked back at the chalkboard and nodded. House elves. Filthy little creatures. They were next. Stores needed to be placed.

**************

Translations:
"Saint Jude, protect us from our dreadful cause. Saint Thomas Aquinas, shelter this school and the poor fools who live in it."

"Saint Sophia, in the names of Pistis, Elpis and Agape ... intercede for us and bring us home."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

Hogwarts was finally quiet. Apparently, the danger was gone following the raid into the Academy. How would it all settle out in the end? That was an unknown. There were injured and dead. Destruction of property.... Assaulted law enforcement officers.... Even within the Halls of Hogwarts, things had been seen that would not likely be forgotten. Stress brings out things in people. Extreme stress makes those things extremely visible.

Blake's legacy was assured. As for the rest? Even in the time of flying hexes and hot blood, some things would remain. Could they ever look upon each other and not remember seeing the flashing eyes that hungered to destroy other living creatures? The crimson stain on the blade of a bloody knife? The screamed curses and shrieks of pain?

The badge sat on top of his potions table. It glittered in the light of candle and cauldron fire. So small.... Intricate, yes, but tiny. Light. Easily picked up but hard to carry. And...to set aside?

Zane sat against the far wall, an open book sitting across his lap. His gaze was fixed upon the tiny metal object across the room. Unblinking, he focused on it, calculating costs and benefits. Reasons and why's....

Almost of its own will, Zane's finger slid back and forth across the page. The book's title, "Kritik der praktischen Vernunft," along with the words were written in German. A single line had been underlined. Someone had translated it in the margin.

"Convictions are more dangerous enemies of truth than lies."

He closed the book, setting it on his chair, and walked out of the room. The candles still flickered, and the cauldrons still bubbled.

The badge remained on the table.

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

Zane walked from the Great Hall, thoughts buzzing rapidly behind the forced expression of calm that he showed to the world. It could not have been over, could it? Of course not. They knew now, and every prefect was needed to ensure the "stability" of the school.

He chuckled lightly at the thought of that word. Stability.



"Ah, Mister von Mecklenberg, welcome! Come in, come in. Care for a toffee?"

The Headmaster extended a brightly colored Christmas tin filled with paper-wrapped candies toward him.

"Danke, Headmaster, but no. I am quite fine."

"Of course you are, Zane." Dumbledore's eyes moved over the younger man, searching his face for expression. "But then, you always say that, don't you?"

"Life is full of those who feel entitlement, Headmaster. Success and happiness are not things we are promised. I am content with my situation."

"Such a negative view, Zane! We have accomplished great things of late. Surely you can see that good things do indeed happen. Were we not meant to succeed?"

"I am not God, sir, and I do not believe overly much in prophecy. I cannot say what we were or were not meant to do. We did, however, win. If nothing else, it proves that we were the stronger in the confrontation. This is a form of fate, ja?"

Dumbledore sighed dramatically and shook his head, his silvery beard wagging from side to side. His smile was tired.

"I wish I could offer you a well deserved break, Zane. I wish I could give any of you that. Things are not done, though. You shall have to carry a burden a while longer, I think. It is for the stability of the school."



The conspiracy had failed. Hogwarts had been defended, and the invaders had been set to rout. They had followed Redwake and his cronies back to the Academy. Dumbledore had performed a most-impressive bit of transfiguration at the main gate, and then...then they were inside. It had been almost laughable. No discipline. No thought. Simply a mad dash down into the pits, wands flashing and hexes flying. They had truly gotten lucky to only lose a single person.

And now? Dumbledore had told him that many of the professors would be gone still. Three Heads of House and the Headmaster were included in this number. "Much work yet to be done," Dumbledore had said. He had turned down the position as Minister of Magic. They had pushed that to Moody afterwards.

"With Alastor there, any remaining conspirators will be found or hide very deeply. His enjoyment of hunting down Dark Wizards is well known. We will miss having him here, but this is for the better good."

The Ministry, in general, appeared to have been turned on its ear. The Academy professors had been arrested, and numerous Ministry officials would likely join them in Azkaban. Their trials would undoubtedly be the material for countless pages of news over the coming months.

He shrugged to himself as he walked up the stairs. The Prophet claimed to be free again, at the very least. Claimed. Zane personally doubted it. It had just traded one set of masters for another. He nodded to a passing third year and spoke, knowing that the girl would have no idea how to respond.

"Nietzsche said that 'Extreme positions are not succeeded by moderate ones, but by contrary extreme positions.'"

He smiled and continued on his way. True to his expectations, the young Gryffindor stood still on the stairs, a look of confusion on her face.

Ignorant peasants.



"With the professors gone, Zane, we will need to ask great things of you all. The Teaching Assistants must carry on the classwork. Luckily, some of you have had experience in doing this already."

The bright blue eyes peered at him over the top of the half-moon spectacles.

"And, of course, you will all be needed to continue your watch over the others. Discipline must be upheld. It will probably be worse than normal. Everyone expects that things will return to normal immediately, but, alas, we know better. The disappointment may lead them to foolishness."

Zane considered the Headmaster's words and then nodded.

"I will ask that you all remember to be kind. Consistent. Fair. I am asking much, but you can see, Zane. We cannot blame them."

"I disagree, Headmaster, but I shall hope to be pleasantly surprised. We shall keep them under control."

"And yourselves, Zane?"

Dumbledore gazed at Zane again, and Zane felt the subtle edge of the old man's mind again. He did not dare resist. He had nothing to hide at the moment. All who considered Dumbledore to be kinder than Snape were misguided. At least Snape would admit to his actions.

Zane blinked slowly and inclined his head. After several moments, the elder wizard nodded.

"After this is over, Zane, we need to talk."

"But of course, mein Herr."



Zane winced.

Talk. Always talk.

There was so much to do. He had not expected that he could lay down ... or throw away ... his burden. Indeed, Dumbledore had even gone on to suggest the benefits of his duties. The future successes.... The prestige.... Why, Dumbledore himself had been the Head Boy! Zane had listened and made the appropriate noises when the discussion called for them. Dumbledore had not been satisified, he could tell. The Headmaster knew. He always knew. Had the old boy simply dropped that veneer of doddering kindness that he wore like a cloak, their conversation might have gone better. As it was, Zane was certain that his impatience to be gone ... to be about his new responsibilities ... had been obvious.

Years of avoiding those eyes ... wasted.



The Transfiguration Classroom was well lit. Second years were crowded into their seats, and each was staring toward the front of the room. Two wizarding photographs were attached to the chalk board. In the first, Professor McGonagall shifted quickly back and forth between her human and cat shapes.

The figure in the second photograph also moved. Horribly. It was difficult to identify what ... it ... was. The features were a confused mixture of human and ... something else. Parts meant to be inside were ... not.

"Guten Morgen, class. Today we shall speak of Cross-Species transfigurations." His accent became sharper as he spoke. It always did when he assumed what Joki called the "know-it-all" attitude.

He smiled.

"Professor McGonagall would tell you that the Changing Arts are one of the most incredible and dangerous schools of magic that you will learn while you are here. I rather doubt that I need to cover such. You see what shall happen if you fail to respect Reality, hrm?" He tapped the second photograph with his wand.

Zane waited for several moments as every eye returned to the twitching thing that had once been a human.

"Now then ... who can tell me what a Cross-Species change is, hrm?"

The Gebrochen Straße went on.

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

The glowing runes hung eerily in the still air of the chamber. Kenaz, Nauthiz, Algiz, Fehu, Thurisaz, Jera, and Hagalaz ... some present and some merkstave.

Zane sat in a chair against the wall, eyes moving from one rune to the next as he drew.

"Ones. Threes. Nine. Beginnings and ends. Links and barriers. All seen through the eye of the Change and bound by silver and copper...."

After several minutes, he set aside his quill and looked down at the parchment on his lap.



"He did say to use my strengths."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

The sound of paper sliding over paper....

Two quiet impacts.

A fluttering, staccato noise as each piece of pasteboard comes to rest against its kin.

The boy's fingers smoothed the edges of the deck, bringing the cards into alignment before setting them upon the table's surface. A lump of stone, seemingly melted away, sat before him, the blade of dull steel drawing his eyes.

~*Flick*~

The card was drawn, considered, and placed upon the table.



"Die Frage. Hope. Aggression and battle."

~*Flick*~

Another card, this one placed perpendicularly atop the first.



He stared at the card for several moments and then laughed quietly.

"Mother always did say that one could win too often. My success. My obstacle. Wunderbar."

~*Flick*~

He sat the card to the right of the others and nodded.

"I have won. Excellent. What rubbish."

~*Flick*~

The fourth card came to rest closest toward him, settling against the wood with only a whisper of sound.



He chuckled again and shook his head.

"Subtle and crafty…a fierce nature and a calm exterior…drawn to evil and wisdom. Hrm. Such a fellow must grow to become a force to be reckoned with."

~*Flick*~

Zane stared at the image. The proud woman holding the baton. Victory and reward through decisiveness and a willingness to lead. He glanced back to the card of opposition. His leading had become his own enemy, but to win, he must do more of the same.

He snorted, one eyebrow raising, and tapped the woman's face with his fingertip.

~*Flick*~

He placed the card to the farthest left, his fingertips tracing slowly around the edge. Plans completed. The stage set...the near future readied.



"Und eine Warnung an nie in Betracht, etwas getan."

~*Flick*~

The Emperor decorated the face of the card. Zane smiled crookedly as he saw the image and shook his head, setting the card far to the right at the bottom.

"Me. I am the influence. The leader ... or the despot. Ha. Meine Flügel will appreciate this. And yet ... again. My influence."

The smile faded as he considered the card and then reached for another.

~*Flick*~

"External Influences."

He sat the next card above the last.



"Hidden enemies. Deception. Illusion." He placed his hand upon his chest, his face twisting in an almost comic display of disdain. "Mein Gott, sag mir, das ist nicht wahr! Idiot cards."

~*Flick*~

"Hopes and fears. Too much focus. Too much fear. Optimism is needed. Bah."

~*Flick*~

The last card. The final outcome. Zane sat it above the last, face downward. He stared at it for seconds that became minutes. A serpent amongst them. A wolf lurking with the sheep.

He tapped the card and then flipped it upward.



The card ... did not fit. Credit for work done for its own sake. Mastery for the sake of the effort. Not praise but advancement.

Zane leaned back in his seat and considered the card.

"A success in learning, but .... Victory? Perhaps not. Wunden beizubringen sowie Lob. Verdammt card...."

He looked over the spread again and then reached for the hilt of the dull gray blade.

"Incendio"

A sudden flare of flame lit the darkness of the room. The blade, now silently burning, approached the cards, touching each in turn. One after the next, they curled upon themselves, black ash taking the place of painted images.

"Fools hope. Emperors rule."

He slapped the remaining cards off the table. They settled to the floor with a chorus of flicking sounds.

********************************

Translations:

"Die Frage. - "The issue."

"Und eine Warnung an nie in Betracht, etwas getan." - "And a warning to never consider a thing done."

"Meine Flügel" - "My Wing"

"Mein Gott, sag mir, das ist nicht wahr!" - "My God, tell me this is not true!"

"Wunden beizubringen sowie Lob." - "Wounds teach as well as praise."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too

The results of his work sat on the tabletop. As bright as it was dark, the object reflected as much light as it drank.

"Just as it should be," he thought, watching the motionless piece of metal. "Hard to soft, light to dark. One becomes the other on the way to the truth."

All of the work from before had only been practice. Runes and swords...blood and flames. Grenfell had set the stage for this, but Zane had cast aside the other man's goals. Babbling had tried to hide. Flaming swords be damned, and secrets along with them.

Zane was a wizard.

Kenaz meant so much more than fire. Kenaz also meant "light."

"Lumos."

A sudden light, argent and sharp, filled the room. Wincing, Zane could understand Joki's feelings. This was not a peaceful glow. It was not kind. Doubts rose in his mind. Shameful thoughts and plots laid bare. This glow dispelled shadows and showed things as they were.

This was the light of reality, tied to the Changing Art. The cross resting on the table screamed with it.



"Veritas vos liberabit."

_________________
You go your way
I'll go your way too