The Making Of A Headmaster

The Making Of A Headmaster By Journeyman Harper (JourneymanHarper@yahoo.com)

Harry Potter and the relevant characters are property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Time-Warner Inc., and any of their owners. The work below is a work of fiction that is solely for entertainment purposes and has no relationship with any real or fictional trademarks, creations, etc.

Star Trek: The Next Generation is a trademark of Paramount Studios (you'll have to read to see why this matters).

And now, on with the tale.

He woke with a start. The gloom surrounded him in his stark room, or cell as a more apt description. He had been reliving the nightmare again, and had broken out in another dank sweat as he woke. All around him, doom and misery pervaded the air. In the distance he could hear the waves crash upon the rocky shores, and felt the tinge of Dementors around.

It was an odd justice. His family was broken and disgraced. Centuries of wealth, power and influence evaporated. Like a child, he knew the risks but the gains would be worth it. So his parents told him. They were dead or imprisoned likewise, by now. They had set him up and turned him in when they themselves were threatened. That seemed to be what hurt the most. Yet here he was, in Azkaban, paying the price for what had been allowed to happen.

He had failed the Dark Lord. He had been given a mission, accomplished the means, but when the final action came he could not dive into the horror that was deliberate, premeditated murder. The Dark Lord had not been happy, and he could still remember the agony of Voldemort's disappointment. Life had not been fair to him, or perhaps it had been fair and he had been truly na^Ëve. In any event, his capture and imprisonment with the Dark Lord had been short, as Harry Potter and Carvyn de Sernin had defeated and destroyed the Dark Lord. When the Ministry finally made it to the scene of ruins, he had been collected and treated with the other remaining Death Eaters to Azkaban, awaiting trials. That had been three weeks ago. One by one they left, and then returned forever.

Two burly wizards approached him with handcuffs. "Your turn," was all they said. He slowly stood up, eyes haunted and shuffled out with them. Prisoners never had a chance to be cleaned up. He was dirty, unkempt and very close to broken. Only deep in his heart was there a flicker of hope. People knew that he had been set up.

They made their way to the Apparition point, and with a resounding CRACK arrived in the courtroom holding area. They put him on the pedestal chair that would then rise into the courtroom cage, like a sacrificial animal. Without the Dementors around, a little bit of his mettle and pride began to return. They would not break him.

The pedestal rose into the courtroom. He looked around, seeing that it was half full of gawkers and judges. Rufus Scrimageour was leading the Wizengamot, and he called attention to the crowd.

"You are accused of complicity in the murder of Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore." An outcry from the crowd. "Draco Malfoy, how do you plead?"

He couldn't speak. Fortunately, he didn't have to. A voice rang out in a smooth cultured baritone, "He pleads not guilty. I will represent him in this case."

Scrimageour silenced the crowd. "For the record, please state your name."

"I am Le Marquis Carvyn de Sernin, of Kerinou, Bretagne in France."

Scrimageour winced. He remembered this one from the Potter incident at the Burrow. Oh well. "Very well, your Grace. Do you have witnesses to call?"

"I most certainly do. I would like to call Minerva McGonagall who is seated here, and while it is unusual, I would like to invoke as witness Albus Dumbledore."

Cries of shock and surprise. Scrimageour became curious. "Your second witness is dead, I am afraid to tell you."

"I realize that. However, as with tradition, his historical image and presence continue to serve Hogwarts from a gilded painting in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts. The truthfulness and knowledge that were his can be verified from that painting, and in fact have been done so to myself and Professor Minerva McGonagall."

Lots of discussion. Scrimageour had to calm the crowd again. "Is this true, Minerva?"

Professor McGonagall stood. "It is quite true."

Scrimageour considered for a moment. "Your Grace, please state your evidence."

"Your Honor, Draco Malfoy in the beginning of the year signed onto a mission for the Dark Lord. That mission was to kill Albus Dumbledore. Halfway through the year, he began to have misgivings. At that time, Draco Malfoy met with Dumbledore and confided in him the plan. Dumbledore was aware of both the tenuousness of Draco Malfoy's position as well as Severus Snape's Unbreakable Vow to help him do it. Both had begun to find ways to change this path, however Dumbledore was absolutely insistent that if the time came, it was more important to kill him and retain the trust of the Death Eaters than it was to lose our only links into their world."

Scrimageour looked at Minerva. "Is this true?"

"Yes. I did not know it at the time, but I have personally confirmed it with Albus's painting in the office."

"Your Honor, Draco Malfoy is guilty of being taken advantage of. He was not of age at the time that his only offense occurred: constructing a secret access method to Hogwarts. He was forced into the path of events that took place, including those that led to the ultimate death of Albus Dumbledore."

Pandemonium!! It took several minutes for the courtroom to settle. Finally, Scrimageour stood again and said, "Is there any other evidence to bring?"

There was a quiet silence, and then Minerva McGonagall stood. "Yes. I would introduce a discussion I had with Albus several months before his death. He had just returned from a trip in a horribly weakened state. Albus was very, very old and beginning to lose the focus of his magic." Gasps and mutterings from the crowd. "In fact, brilliant man that he was, he was beginning to rely on others for Apparition and other common spells. His magic was dying." She shook herself, and then put on her most stern expression. "He would never allow himself to become old and doddering. Knowing and training Harry Potter enabled him to transfer the responsibility of the Dark Lord to the most competent wizard to fight him. Thus he elected - should it take place - to follow that path, and informed me so specifically for this trial's purpose." She sat down.

Carvyn stood up. "Since the Ministry of Magic does not send underage wizards to Azkaban, I would ask that the court consider the crime only of the Violation of Hogwarts Perimeter, and sentence him to time served."

Scrimageour growled, "He carries the Dark Mark."

"And what if it were removed?"

More discussion took the crowd. Finally, Scrimageour brought it to a halt. "If his Dark Mark can be removed, this court will allow time served on that one charge. Know you of such a process?"

Carvyn nodded. "May I speak with you privately on that matter?" And he approached the bench.

"Well?"

"Yes. I will require him and myself and an unlit candle to be isolated in a room for about an hour. No witnesses. You may post any kind of magical wards, anti-apparition, etc that you desire, but no Dementors."

Scrimageour stared at him. "You think he is truly worthy of this?"

Carvyn looked him in the eye. "I know him relatively well. We searched for ways to remove the Dark Mark and avoid this path for months. Dumbledore knew what he was doing, and for all I know he actually may have helped it along."

"If I agree to this, I will make you responsible for him."

"That is acceptable, your Honor."

Carvyn returned to his place. Rufus Scrimageour stood, and proclaimed, "This court will stand in recess for two hours." He glanced at Carvyn. "If the Dark Mark has been removed by inspection, this court will release Draco Malfoy into the recognizance of the Marquis Carvyn de Sernin for a period of three months, after which time all restrictions will be dropped." He paused for a moment, then, "I realize that you live in France, and therefore Draco Malfoy is restricted to the British Isles and France for travel until the three month period is over." He sat down.

Draco couldn't believe his ears. So close, but the Dark Mark? How were they going to get rid of it? But Carvyn would know what he was doing. Hope sprung from within him as the pedestal descended. The two burly guards walked him to a room with no windows, and closed him in. He sat on the floor, waiting.

Carvyn arrived shortly thereafter with an unlit candle in a candlestick. Scrimageour had followed him down. "You know what you are going to do?"

"Yes, it has been done before, though not on something quite like the Dark Mark. Don't get your hopes up, though. It is intensely personal and I have never met anyone besides myself who could do this."

The two burly guards opened the door and closed it tightly behind him. It was just the two of them now.

"Draco?"

"Carvyn. I -"

"Don't. Lento Gente Scourgify. And drink this." He gave Draco a vial.

Draco didn't even hesitate. He quaffed the potion in one swallow, and an immense feeling of well-being flooded through him. Carvyn' spell had cleaned him up considerably, and he suddenly could feel himself again. Seeing this, Carvyn slowly folded him into his arms, and Draco cried, sobs racking his body. They just held each other until Draco had gotten the worst of it over.

Slowly the realization crept into Draco. "I'm going to have to go back there, aren't I?"

Carvyn shook his head. "Not if I can help it. You have to trust me, and you have to not fight me. This is going to get very personal, because I am going to mix you and me together in a way, and separate the Dark Mark from us. Then I have to separate you from me. I've only done this once before and we both came out nearly pure, but there is always going to be some crossover."

"Will it hurt?"

"No. In fact, it will exhaust me but you will come out fine." He took out a vial. "This is for me when I am done."

"What do I do?"

"Think of yourself, what makes you you. Try not to think of me. Don't be surprised at what happens. Are you ready?"

A typical Draco half-smile. "Why not?"

He held Draco close, and invoked the spell components for the fire-conversion. He had developed the theory and practice that spells were actually nicknames for combinations of raw magic called spell components. By assembling components correctly, one could invent new spells. This one was a matter to energy conversion - objects into fire, and back again. It had come in quite useful. And as the magic started, they became fire.

At once Carvyn found the Dark Mark impurities. Moving the fire elements around allowed him to filter them and collect them in one place. He searched and searched through the fire that was he and Draco, and finally he and Draco burned pure. Carvyn then separated the impure fire from them, and lit the candle with it. Though they weren't done, he knew they had succeeded.

Time to separate Draco from him. This was the more difficult task, but Draco was apparently doing his job in thinking about himself and his history because there were definite differences between the two. It took a while, but ultimately he and Draco were separate, and he cast the counterspell to restore Draco to himself.

Draco stood, looking incredulous at a ball of fire, which suddenly contracted and produced Carvyn, who immediately collapsed. Draco got the vial, removed the stopper and Carvyn drank it. His strength began to slowly restore itself. In doing so, Draco looked at his arm and to his amazement the Dark Mark was completely gone. All that was left was a candle that burned with a black flame. Carvyn leaned over and blew it out, and the magic dissipated into the air.

Draco fell into his Carvyn's arms, relief flooding over him. He was going to be out and free, and most importantly cleared of all but the simplest of the charges as an adult. And Carvyn had remembered him.

"So, it did work after all."

"Even after all those years of be being a total prat, you still did this for me."

"Draco, maybe you just had to wake up. But I could not let anyone I knew who was unjustly charged stay in Azkaban, and especially not you."

"Why?"

Carvyn was silent. He had already given his heart over to Harry this year, and that didn't work out. "Look, lets just leave it at that, OK? You are a Slytherin, you are a friend, and I care about you." The separated, and he continued, "Come with me to France. Your family assets are all frozen right now, and it will take some time to get what is left transferred to you. You have spent three weeks in Azkaban; you need to recouperate."

Draco nodded. Just the mention of Azkaban was enough to erode his stamina again, and together they made their way to the door. Several quick knocks, and the two burly guards escorted them back to the courtroom.

"Hold on, Draco. Just a few minutes more." And they entered, this time together at the door rather than through the pedestal chair.

"May it please the court, Draco Malfoy is freed from the Dark Mark and it has been eradicated from his body, mind and soul." And with that, Draco rolled up both sleeves and displayed his clear arms for inspection.

Scrimageour himself made his way down, looking, probing, and finally uttering, "Revelio," and when nothing happened, snorted and left the table. He made his way back up to his seat, and boomed, "Are there any others who wish to verify that the Dark Mark has been removed?"

Silence.

"Draco Malfoy, it is the court's decision that all charges except the Violation of Hogwarts Security have been dropped. You are sentenced to time served. You are placed under the responsibility of your benefactor, Marquis Carvyn de Sernin, for three months, with restricted travel to only within England and France."

Carvyn grinned. "Your Honor, our only remaining action of the court to request is the prompt release of the Malfoy family assets, since Draco Malfoy is now released sufficient to manage them."

Scrimageour turned purple, and growled, "The court will do so." He stood up. "Adjourned," and left the room.

Carvyn grabbed Draco and they walked quickly to the door. The reporters from the Daily Prophet and more would be waiting. Arthur Weasley had told Carvyn about a side staircase that would take them to the Apparition point. As they approached the big doors, Carvyn made a quick left and opened a smaller side door, pushed Draco in and closed it behind them. A narrow winding stair went up, and they slowly climbed.

"We just need one floor worth." Draco was panting from exertion. They finally emerged, only feet away from their goal. Seeing the crowd all watching and waiting at the main viewpoints, they nonchalantly walked the last short distance, and stepped up on the point. Carvyn held Draco close, filled his mind with the desire to be home, and with silent aplomb they Disapparated, and reappeared in Carvyn's house in France.

"Carvyn, I really need a bath."

Carvyn smiled at Draco. "Even though you are untidy, you still manage to look unruffled. There is a bath adjoining the bedroom. Take your time. You need bath, then food, then bed."

That is just what happened. Draco was finally feeling clean and almost normal when he went to lie down, naked on the large bed in the bedroom. He slowly realized that it was Carvyn's, and that that didn't bother him in the slightest. And so he closed his eyes.

Hours later, Carvyn found him in a troubled sleep. Grinning, he quickly removed his own clothes and slid next to him in the bed. Draco was long and slender, and obviously distressed by the dream. Carvyn just moved behind him, gently holding him close and placing his own arms around the whimpering young man. Almost at once, Draco settled and resumed a deep, deep sleep that was so needed. Soothing him with warmth, contact, and whatever he could do, Carvyn too finally slept.

They spent several days doing little. Draco had immediately received an amount of money from his estate the next day, until the lawyers could settle the remaining issues. They took a shopping trip to nearby Brest, which was not as sophisticated as Paris, but still well equipped. They got Draco fitted for robes, and some convenient clothes. Carvyn had noted the sizes and, unknown to Draco, had placed an order for some very stylish evening wear.

Draco was fascinated by Carvyn's automobile, and in fact by much of his muggle belongings. Explaining Star WarsT was a bit of an adventure. Explaining CharmedT had been even more so. But for Carvyn, raised a muggle and then turned wizard, the duality of the two worlds was natural, though there was so much about the wizarding world that he had had to learn.

Poor Draco. He had despised muggles for so long, it was hard for him to get around that. When visiting the Louvre Museum, he had been bored out of his skull because the paintings didn't move and talk. He could admire the splendor of Versailles, at least. Muggles just seemed to do everything the hard way. He had picked up on muggle money very quickly though, and the whole notion of credit, interest and more immediately appealed to him. Here was a way to create a special niche. Carvyn could tell from the moment that they had passed through the Paris financial district that Draco was hooked on finance. All the better to get him past his past. And with the resources available to him from his estates there was more than enough for Draco to keep busy.

A week had passed. Draco and Carvyn had continued to stay together at Carvyn's house. They had both continued to sleep together, naked, but innocent. Carvyn almost always woke first, and would take the time to study and dream about their next tryst? Lovemaking? Adventure? He was never sure what to call it. He did know that he was waiting for Draco to make the move. Every morning, though, Carvyn would watch the pale blond young man in his sleep, tracing with his eyes the sultry neck line down to good shoulders, down the slim back that was so smooth and flawless and into that exciting region where the cleft began and divided the two sides of a silky and firm butt. He always dwelled on Draco's butt. Their one encounter a few months ago had shown Carvyn a side of him he didn't know he had, and Draco's butt had been the focus of that amazing event. Slowly he would resume his visual trek down the well-shaped legs, and then back up again. And down again. And again, and again.

This morning as his eyes traveled along the curve of his butt, Draco was in a slightly different position and Carvyn was awarded the view of Draco's back entrance. Hairless, flawless, waiting and asking for attention. He had to do something. His own cock was raging hard and he could feel the surge of sex flowing through him. So he took one finger, and very lightly stroked slowly down from the nape of Draco's neck all the way down his waist, into the cleft and right over that tantalizing place.

Draco moaned in his sleep, and shifted, closing off the option.

Carvyn laid on his back. That had been fun but totally unsatisfying.

What he hadn't noticed was that Draco now lay such that his closed eyes were aimed and ready to see Carvyn's superb hardness straining skyward. Those eyes opened slowly, and took in the view. At some level, he had felt that single long stroke of his back and without a second thought Draco moved forward and engulfed Carvyn's hardness in his mouth, unleashing a torrent of feeling that swept through Carvyn and made him groan audibly. Draco threw himself into it, and in very short time he was rewarded by several gasps and the extra tightening as Carvyn's body gathered itself and unloaded in exquisite pleasure into the smirking young man's mouth.

Draco savored the taste of Carvyn for a few moments as the other young man regained himself. He hadn't done many blowjobs but he knew what was good, and what to do. Draco was the penultimate top, and top meant control, not necessarily receiver or giver. His mind wandered for a minute, realizing that he and Carvyn probably could have some interesting times role-playing. Draco was a schemer and a gamer. Deep love was hard to find, and hard for Draco to express.

Carvyn regarded Draco from his vantage point on the other side of a very satisfying orgasm. He had no idea where the two of them stood. They had dared to have sex once in the Slytherin common room, under very very intense circumstances, and had begun developing a mutual respect. Dumbledore's death had placed all that at risk, and now with the Azkaban sentence behind him he had hoped that they could traverse all the trouble and really see what they could be. A small part of Carvyn stated inside that no matter what, the sex in exploring this relationship would be worth it.

Draco was driven. That was the best way to put it. If you could assign a word to what level of motivation articulates how a person lives, or how they make their choices, for Draco the word would be driven. Carvyn was of a different sort; the word that most articulated his motivation was obligated. Many of his decisions were made because he felt he was obligated to decide that way. Looking back, Harry Potter could have been labeled as determined. Subtle differences, but key. And Draco was getting his drive back.

Draco watched, and Carvyn mused, just long enough for Draco to grin and state, "Well, you obviously enjoyed that."

"I certainly did, but not as much I think as I am going to enjoy this." And with that, he leaned over and began to tease Draco's hardening cock with his tongue, wrapping his fingers around the base and slowly surrounding the head with his hungry mouth. Draco crooned with delight and lay back with his arms behind his head, legs spread like the sexy creature he was, as Carvyn feasted upon him. Draco had rarely had a blowjob like what Carvyn could do, and it seemed that each pulse of his tongue against some new part of his cock would send him further into the pleasure zone. Finally, Carvyn relaxed his throat and took the entire length of Draco inside, his nose and lips nestled in the sparse blond hairs.

Draco cried out and came wildly, quivering and twitching as he poured his cum into Carvyn. Carvyn pulled back after the first spurt, collecting Draco's cum on his tongue and relishing the taste. He continued to bob his tongue around that cock well after Draco was done, and loved to watch Draco gasp at the sensitivity. Finally it was enough, and he pulled off to lie beside his bedmate.

Draco was totally sated. "Well?"

"About equal."

They laughed and got up. A new day. And a new night coming.

They spent the day visiting Beauxbatons. Both he and Draco had to finish schoolwork, and neither one really wanted to return to Hogwarts during the normal year. Madame Maxime had been quite accommodating, although somewhat nervous given Draco's history. But with Carvyn vouching for him, she accepted them as special students for the fall term. Draco was going to study wizarding and muggle finance. Carvyn was studying the Investigative Arts, somewhat of a parallel to Auror training in England.

Carvyn, being Head Boy at Hogwarts, did not want to throw away that education. Hogwarts had been very good to him, although not all the inhabitants had. He had sent an owl to Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress, requesting that he take his NEWTs over the summer. Draco had not felt at all prepared to do that, and hence he was content to finish a programme at Beauxbatons.

And so it was in the last week of July that Carvyn and Draco Apparated to Hogsmeade, and began the trek up to the castle. They were greeted by Professor McGonagall herself, who gave Draco the run of the castle while Carvyn executed his NEWTs.

This was a new freedom for Draco. The castle was largely uninhabited over the summer, and he could see why: the mosquitoes were terrible! But once inside it didn't seem to be a problem. He wandered through the classrooms from his previously simple life, remembering the trials and victories, and the challenges and the failures. He needed this; he needed to put the issues of this life behind him and move on.

Unexpectedly, he found himself in front of the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. He stood there a moment, and then grinned. Here was a room he had never been in.

The Fat Lady returned to her painting. "Password?"

Draco replied, "We are out of term now. There shouldn't be a password."

She looked at him. "Very well. Please be careful." And she opened up for him, and he climbed through.

The Gryffindor common room looked much like he had thought it would: overstuffed chairs, red and gold colorings. Fabric, not leather furniture. The carpet was textured with a fairly deep pile. He carefully sat down in one of the sofas, feeling just a bit like an outsider. Here was a room where Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley did their homework, where Harry Potter had done his. Intimate discussions, late night trips around the castle, the frantic studying for OWLs and then NEWTs. It was so strange a feeling that he, Slytherin of Slytherins, was there unmolested in the Gryffindor common room. But it was a room that inspired courage, and the need to go on, not the furtive and sly environment of Slytherin. Draco stayed up there, trying to absorb some of the courage and fortitude, as the sun made its way across the sky.

Carvyn found from the various paintings where Draco had gone. He had finished his NEWTs, and had already been told he scored Outstanding on all of them except History of Magic. He knew he would never get that one well, but he thought he could do better than Deplorable! Remembering history just wasn't his thing. Reading and enjoying it was one thing; memorizing was another. He realized part way to the Gryffindor tower that Draco had gone to check out that part of the castle, and made directly for it.

Carvyn had not been in the common room before either. As he approached the Fat Lady, she acknowledged him. "You have a friend in there. He has been there for a while. Please don't make a mess." And then she opened up for him.

Carvyn entered the room to find Draco sitting on the sofa, peacefully. "Well Draco, I was kind of curious myself. This room is famous because of its recent inhabitants."

Draco grinned. "I know. What it would have been like with the other students here. This place reeks courage; I have been trying to draw some of that into me. But I keep getting intimidated in a way."

Carvyn nodded. "It is an intimidating room. Then again, remember that our own common room nurtured and produced many of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord."

Draco shuddered. "You would have to bring that up."

"Well, you can substitute an alternate memory if you like. I seem to remember one most memorable event down there."

Draco's eyes went wide, and then he laughed uproariously. "The discontinuity of it all! That room saw all that horrid scheming and suffering, and at the same time probably the hottest sex in the entire castle!"

They laughed again. The laughter dispelled a little of the intimidation, and Carvyn flopped down on the sofa next to him. It occurred to both of them at the same time, a totally irrational little twist that would conquer the mystique for them. The length of their legs were touching, and what felt like a little electric charge passed through them. They each looked at each other, and Carvyn said, "You know, I've never had really good sex in the Gryffindor common room before."

"Me either."

They started by just stroking each other. Both weren't surprised to find that they were both hard already. Each grinned, and leaned into the beginnings of a prolonged deep kiss. Desire swept through them, plus the spice of the room around them. This was daring, this was risky, but it was oh so exciting!

Draco had moved somewhat into the top role. His kisses dominated Carvyn, his hands working exciting sensations. Carvyn surrendered to the rush, his hands kneading his lover's back and butt, fingernails gently dragging patterns underneath his robes. They broke apart, long enough to remove their robes and garments to stand naked on the Gryffindor throne. Carvyn then put on a wicked grin, and danced out of Draco's grasp. Draco chased him around the room, over furniture, laughing at the whole idea until he cornered Carvyn on the sofa. His face centimeters from Carvyn's, his eyes burned with lust.

Carvyn welcomed him. "Take me, Draco. I need to feel you within me."

Draco smoothly took control. He was going to fuck Carvyn well and thoroughly. They moved to the carpet as Draco lubricated and slowly drove one finger into Carvyn, and then a second. Carvyn felt so welcoming and he was so much more attractive than Crabbe or Goyle. With two fingers inside, Draco was able to gently stroke the prostate spot, which sent Carvyn writhing in pleasure.

Draco took in the view. Carvyn lying on his back, moaning and breathing deeply, his sleek legs spread wide and bent at the knee, bringing his feet almost even with his butt. His balls held close, his raging hardon bobbing slightly with his pulse, and Draco's two fingers well settled inside that hot little opening that so soon would be accepting his own hardon for a good hard-driving and intense fuck. It was all he could do just to stretch his fingers a little, and wait for Carvyn to beg for it.

And beg he did. "Oh please, Draco, do it now and do it hard! I need you soooo bad."

That was it. Draco removed the fingers, and said, "And now, you will be fucked." And he slowly pushed himself inside.

Carvyn gasped, and then began to groan as Draco slid home, fully engaged and buried until their brown and blond curly hairs were tightly intermingled. It was so magnificent and intense, Draco could not stop himself and began to piston slowly back and forth, not quite coming all the way out each time, but definitely pushing all the way down.

Carvyn was in another world. He could feel every bit of movement from Draco as he inexorably penetrated and then withdrew, over and over, slow at first and then with more speed and pressure, demanding entrance, and then commanding dominance over him. Carvyn was putty in his hands, clenching his own muscles inside to give Draco the ultimate experience.

Draco had never felt like this. He felt totally in control, almost to the point of punishing as his pace increased and he ravaged Carvyn's butt. He was so incredibly deep in, and he could feel the play of gripping muscles with each stabbing thrust. He didn't realize it but he had been chanting "Oh, oh, oh" with each pounding push that drove him closer and closer to climax.

Carvyn knew Draco was close. One look at his face and you could see the sexual fury in control. Timing it just right, Carvyn rolled onto his side and tucked his legs up just like he had read about. This was the ultimate deep penetration position.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Draco had seen the position change, and had driven his hardest slamming thrust yet only to penetrate another whole inch deeper into Carvyn, who took it with ultimate ecstasy and cried out in the most intense orgasm he had ever ever had. His butt clenched to incredible tightness around Draco, all his muscles involuntarily screaming tight as that moment of total sensation rocked through him, holding him rigid for several seconds, and then the heavenly moment of relaxation as the powerful spasms pounded through him, each one an ultimate peak of sensation. It went on for eternity, and Carvyn squeezed every bit he could out of them.

Draco was lost in Carvyn's grip as he too crossed the edge and, buried so deep that his hairs brushed Carvyn's tight little entrance. He poured his cum over and over deep inside Carvyn, the warm liquid coating the heaving and spasming muscles, massaging and milking his fully-engaged cock for what seemed like hours. He didn't even soften, although with the lube and still being inside he became incredibly sensitive, even to the point of not being able to breathe.

"Keep going, oh please keep going!" That was from Carvyn, who had realized what was happening and had felt the beginnings of another orgasm coming on. Draco knew he wouldn't last either, so he began viciously driving his cock mercilessly into him, full bottoming-out each time as Carvyn whimpered for each thrust, until within seconds they cried out together and shared a second planet-shattering orgasm so intense it was painfully exquisite in pleasure.

Struggling to get their breath, they slowly separated and lay naked on the Gryffindor carpet. The courage, the spice of the deed they had just finished in their opponents' stronghold flashed through them, and when they sat up, they high-fived each other and shouted, "YES!" just like two errant schoolboys. Realizing that, they each started to laugh, clean up and get dressed.

Carvyn was the first to notice a puddle of cum on the carpet. "Is that yours or mine?"

"Beats me."

They looked at each other, and grinned. "I don't know if it is a calling card, but certainly a trophy of sorts. Slytherin cum stains on the Gryffindor carpet." Carvyn felt a moment of wickedness. "Let's leave it."

Draco grinned even wider. "Perfect." And they exited out through the Fat Lady, and down through the castle. Draco had no need to see anyone there; he had buried his ghosts and was ready to move on. He would have been enormously entertained to know that the Gryffindors, when they returned in the fall, all noticed the crusty spot on the carpet but did not remove it. It was years until the House Elves agreed to clean it. And they didn't ask any questions after that.

They finished out the summer together, and prepared for student life again. Beauxbatons was a sophisticated though not combative school. Draco immediately flourished in his programme of finance and muggle studies. He had been captivated by the French financial system, and through the term at Beauxbatons he gained an insight into the global equities markets that mesmerized him. Carvyn could follow the basics, but once Draco got started manipulating margins and stuff Carvyn got lost.

Draco's principal teacher, Monsieur Donnero was thrilled to have such a pupil. Together they set Draco up with the Malfoy family fortune in a balance between Gringotts investments and muggle investments. Though sizably reduced it was still a hefty amount of money, and Draco began to carve out for himself a future as an investment broker that played both the muggle markets and the wizarding investments.

Carvyn focused on Investigative Arts. Madame Poirot (she had a real name, but insisted on being called by the famous character; she was a little odd) wasn't sure what to make of Carvyn. Carvyn, as she would say over and over again, had a post-analysis mind, not an inquisitive one. He didn't question enough. It wasn't that he wasn't curious, or innovative, but to succeed in IA you had to question and wonder and muse constantly about everything you saw. Pattern recognition - if you don't look for the pattern, you won't recognize it. This fundamentally challenged Carvyn. It was months before he eventually earned her respect, but once there he was solid on it.

It was early in the term when Carvyn and Draco had returned to the house this time. Carvyn had noticed the date, and Draco's three month restrictions were over. They had developed an easy relationship over those months. It was more than friends, but neither one had said the word "love" yet. Neither one was particularly good at what might be called romance - Draco had almost always ordered around his stooges and sex was commanded from them. Carvyn had always waited until it happened out of the blue. Neither of them really knew or was confident enough in their relationship to just say the simple words, "Lets fuck tonight." Carvyn felt he would be forcing it because of the fact that Draco was staying with him; Draco was afraid their friendship would be compromised if he asked in the wrong way. Both ignored or were oblivious to the notion that they each cared about the other.

But on this night the relationship would change. Carvyn was going to take Draco out dancing with his friends from Beauxbatons. Draco had made it through the three month period squeaky-clean, and he regained his complete freedom in a small administrative office in the Ministry. He also regained the hereditary Malfoy manor house and the estates of his parents. Almost completely unobserved, he and Carvyn returned to Carvyn's house, upon which Carvyn presented plans for the night.

"Dancing?"

"Yes, dancing. Not like at Hogwarts, but nightclub dancing. Paris has many establishments and a group of us had habitually gotten together to dance. They showed me a whole new world that I needed very badly." Carvyn paused, then, "I want to share it with you. I think you will enjoy it." He then tossed a parcel to Draco. "See, I have even purchased for you what should be just the right outfit."

Draco looked at it wonderingly. "This is quite a handsome garment." He took it and disappeared into the bedroom. When he emerged, it was very much the stylish and tantalizing blond god who stood preening just a bit. Carvyn took a deep breath, and whistled. Draco posed then, and laughed. "I wouldn't be caught dead in this in London, but France has its own culture. Ready?" And donning cloaks, they apparated to Paris to the meeting point.

Pierre was there, as were some of the regular Beauxbatons crowd. Whistles and applause greeted Carvyn and especially Draco, as the group set off to one of their favorite clubs. Staking out a table, most of the group moved onto the dance floor. Carvyn, Pierre, Draco and one or two others stayed behind to catch up on news.

Pierre leaned in closely to Carvyn. "Is he yours? I had thought you had found a brunette."

Carvyn winced. Harry would have never let him live it down if he knew he had been referred to as `the brunette.' "That one turned out to be more straight, I'm afraid."

"What about this one?"

"I don't know yet. He is really hot, and we have a unique friendship. Let's just say he is undeclared."

Pierre nodded, knowingly, tolerantly. "When he dances, I will let you know his true nature."

That set Carvyn laughing. Seeing Draco in conversation with the others, he slowly slipped away from the table and onto the dance floor. The music and the beat pervaded the air out on the floor, and Carvyn felt it slide into him and him into it. Slowly at first, and then rising in intensity he began his dance. All the cares and worries of the day melted from him as he moved to the primal rhythm. As it always was, it was him, eyes closed, and the music only.

Draco watched from the table, stunned and awed. He watched as three girls noticed Carvyn and slowly gathered around him, sharing his dance without him knowing. He felt a pang of jealousy, and then wry humor as he realized that they would be disappointed. It would take another drink and then he himself might try it. He had been to London clubs before, but this was just a bit more sensual than his normal fare.

Pierre also watched the exchange. Pride and happiness for his friend were paramount in him, but there was something else. He had never forgotten how they had danced together. It had been a unique experience and he had never felt so complete with anyone else. He glanced at Draco, who wasn't making any moves toward the floor, and before he really realized it he was moving towards the floor. Straight Pierre was gripped with the realization that he really wanted to dance with that hot gay guy out there. He took a position inside the ring of girls, smiling knowingly, and began his own erotic variations to the beat and to Carvyn.

Carvyn opened his eyes to find Pierre and seven girls dancing with him. He grinned, feeling the intensity of dancing partners with a real dancer like Pierre, and closed the distance between them. He was surprised that Pierre would do this, but perhaps last time they had really captured something. Well, he was going to capture a bit more of Pierre today. His eyes flashed to Draco who was in a rapturous hunger, and winked. And then he moved close enough to Pierre to stroke him tantalizingly.

The touch was an electric shock to Pierre, and he was instantly hard. He grinned widely at Carvyn, moving behind him and began imitating his movements closely. So closely, in fact that his hardness would brush Carvyn's butt on a regular basis. They both felt the charge of the sensation ripple through each other and it spurred on the dance. Pierre had begun whispering some suggestions to Carvyn, who complied and what resulted was probably the most provocative undulations and positions that had ever been executed. Not quite rude but definitely provocative.

The music ended and changed to a more bippity sound, and Carvyn grinned at Pierre (who had befriended several of the girls) and went back to the table. Draco was sitting there with a dazed look on his face.

"Was that for real?" Draco aroused from his reverie.

"It had better have been." Carvyn grinned widely. "That is only the second time Pierre and I have danced together. He is totally straight, but an excellent dancer. Yet when we dance, there is some synergistic connection that works so well for us."

"Would you dance with me?"

"You know I would. It's why I brought you here. To celebrate, to loosen up, and to get the blood moving again amongst friends. We'll go up when the music is right for you."

They were quiet for a bit. Then Draco asked, "From this group, does anyone ever end up going home with someone else from the group?"

"No. Pierre, for example, will end up with someone tonight, but someone he meets here."

The music changed again, back to a slower, moodier beat. Draco stood, and said, "I'd love to give it a try." And they went out on the dance floor.

Draco was a good dancer. He moved with the rhythm expressively, with the perfect smile on his face and his eyes wide open. He was definitely a couple or group dancer, whereas Carvyn was definitely an introverted dancer. They both looked good, and soon a couple of girls had gathered around them as well. Draco settled into a lead-type position with Carvyn and the others following imitatively. When the selection was done, Carvyn noticed that the girls all pounced on Draco. Probably the blond magnetism. He went to the bar to get a drink and found Pierre there with a buxom beauty.

"What do you think?"

"You are going to have to watch that one. He's bisexual."

Carvyn's eyes widened. "Really?" The topic of hetero sex had never come up between them. Carvyn certainly wasn't interested. "We've never discussed it."

"You might want to try discussing it sometime. But he is good for you. You danced well together."

"Not as well as you and I. I can tell from the experience. I know you are straight, but how can it be explained?"

Pierre thought, then, "It is probably less about sex and more about philosophy. You and I dance to dance, for our own pleasure, and possibly to show off." Carvyn blushed a bit, but nodded. "That harmonizes well. Draco dances to lead, like a peacock, as long as there are followers."

"Pierre, you amaze me sometimes."

Pierre was very quiet, then: "Are you and Draco restricted to each other?"

"Not formally. We have not placed any restrictions on each other. But I would not want to hurt him."

Pierre smiled. "Well, I have been getting very curious about certain things, especially involving you. I would like to know more sometime."

"Anytime for you." And Carvyn gave him a pinch in the butt before going back to the table. Pierre had turned back to his girl of the moment, and for a moment wishing circumstances were different.

The evening ended. Carvyn and Draco returned to Carvyn's house. Draco had been very pensive that night after their dance. He usually had a barbed sense of humor, which if one knew it for what it was, it would be absolutely hilarious. But something was on his mind.

Carvyn knew him well enough to know that he was wrestling with something. They were sitting in the living room with a glass of water each, lights dim. Draco kept staring at the glass, swirling it. Carvyn suspected that what he was dealing with the notion of freedom, being of age, and having all his remaining family assets back under his control. He now had a manor house in St. Edmundsbury, a flat in London, and a villa in Cannes. The manor house was in somewhat disarray after being searched and cleared of Dark Magic, but the house elves had put it to rights. He had places to go and choices he could make. Carvyn realized that he had made a lot of the decisions for Draco, being his legal guardian of the courts technically, and that that was over. Carvyn just didn't know if Draco thought it was good or bad. He decided to try and break the ice.

"We could talk about it if you would like."

Draco looked up. "Hmmm?"

"You are struggling with something. I can see it, and your demeanor is totally different. I am your friend, and occasional lover. We can figure it out."

Draco got up and started pacing. "That's just it. You are probably the most of a friend I have. My other friends did not come and get me out of Azkaban. We are occasional lovers, and that experience has never been better." He ran his hands through his hair. "These three months with you have been amazing. I barely had to decide anything, have any kind of a plan. You made suggestions and they were just right. I can't even say you ordered me to do it - which you could have - but in a way you can't now and somehow that is different."

"Well, let me ground out a couple things. I suggested we go to France because it would get you away from all that has happened. You are always welcome here. I may not be rich but I get along in a comfortable sort of way for now. Remember too, I was brought up a muggle, and when my parents died I am all that is left of my family."

Draco's eyes widened. "That is a big part of it, you know. I have been hearing the words about carrying on the family name since I was born. The Malfoys go back for centuries; in a way, we have been princes in the wizarding world." He paced a bit more. "I guess now that I am back to a free wizard - no offense - all that and all the obligations hit me." He stopped, turned, and there was the steel of leadership restored to his grey eyes. "I probably have a heap of bills."

Carvyn regarded him. "You probably do." He had an idea, but was not going to volunteer it. If Draco couldn't figure it out on his own, he probably wasn't ready to.

Draco thought for a few moments. "I can apparate now; there is no reason I couldn't finish up my course of study at Beauxbatons and commute from the manor. There is going to be so much to do." He grinned wryly. "You can't leave House Elves alone too long, they start to redecorate. Could you imagine Dobby?" He shuddered.

"Draco, it is late tonight. You could be there first thing in the morning, refreshed and ready to deal with it. It is a weekend, but even Gringott's is open on Saturdays."

They were quiet for a moment. Then Draco said, "Carvyn, I have to say this, but it is going to come out wrong."

Carvyn guessed. "The first time you return is going to be very difficult for you. Malfoys are private with their problems. I wouldn't expect to be invited along for a while."

Draco nodded. "You understand so much. You have done so much for me. I am incredibly grateful. But I have no way to repay you."

"Friends don't need to repay each other, you know."

"And what about lovers?"

Carvyn regarded him seriously. "Not them either." He looked down for a bit, and then said, "Which are we?"

Draco looked away. "Friends and lovers, I think." He went on slowly, "You know of course that it is expected that I will marry within the wizarding world and attempt to carry on the family name with children."

Deadpan look. "I am aware of that as an obligation."

"Well, it has been drilled into me since I was born. Centuries of family history, and the projection of the Malfoy name with influence, yada yada yada." He turned back to Carvyn. "It is as much a part of me as anything else is." He hugged his shoulders at the thought. "Someday I am going to have to find a wife."

There it was. Carvyn half suspected it. But it was unmistakably in front of them now. He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. "Friends and lovers. At least until your wedding day."

"You are disappointed. How could you expect anything else, knowing who I am?"

"I had hoped . or maybe dreamed that somehow we could find a way. But you are changing in front of my eyes. Changing back to being a full and complete you, not a you dependent upon me. The Draco Malfoy I knew at Hogwarts depended on no one."

"Carvyn, I -"

"No, don't you see? It has to happen. You are restored to who you are. Cured. Healed. Empowered. Whatever it is, our three month time together has been wonderful. It doesn't have to become a problem, but it is going to be different." His voice shook for a moment. "Everyone I get to know closely sprouts wings and flies on to greater things. When is someone going to want to stay with me?" A tear, just one, slowly ran down his cheek. "I still love you, Draco. But it won't be the way that I had wanted." Just like Harry, all over again.

"I'm sorry."

"You aren't allowed to be sorry. You have plans, obligations. I can help when you need or want it. I'll be there rejoicing at your wedding." He stood up. "But right now I think I will take a walk. I need to figure this out for me." Draco nodded, and Carvyn went outside.

He walked down the terraces to the sea, crashing upon the rocks. The waves pounded the rocks relentlessly, and over centuries the rocks would be worn down. Each time it seemed to get harder. Harry had been a sudden blow. Draco had shown signs, but it didn't soften the impact when the realization hit. He could be happy for both of his friends on one level, but inside was a sobbing, hopeless child who had invested his heart again and had it broken.

He really thought that they would hold together, he and Draco. He and `Draco' might have. He and Mr. Malfoy, prince- like in heritage and influence with the towering name - he and that person could not. His analytical side chimed in that he needed to find someone self-sufficient enough to be an equal, but without all the trappings and heritage. Someone with brothers to carry on the family name. He sighed. Time go back in.

He reentered the house, went through the nighttime close-out rituals and habits, thanked God for Winky, and entered his bedroom. Draco was there, in a long flannel pair of sleeping pants, sitting on the bed. He looked very unsure of himself.

Cravyn sighed. "No, Draco, I am not so shallow to my friends that I am going to kick them out of a bed we have been sharing for three months. Wipe that noble look off of your face and make yourself at home, at least for this one last night. We can see how the rest plays out after that." Without waiting for a response, he went to the bathroom, finished his routine, and returned to the bedroom. Draco had made himself at home under the covers. There was a puddle of flannel on the floor.

Carvyn slipped out of his clothes, placing them where they belonged, and climbed into bed next to him. "Nox," he said, for the first time in a long time using a spell in the bedroom, and the lights went out.

"You look very good, Carvyn."

"Thanks. Get some sleep, because you are going to have a busy time."

"Thank you for defending me, and caring for me."

"You're welcome."

A hand reached across him and gently stroked his chest, slowly working its way downward. Carvyn really hadn't been much in the mood, but it felt too nice. Parts of him still snipped away about Draco's heritage and more, but they were quickly muzzled by the exquisite manipulation of his hardness by the blond young man. His own hands began their own exploration of the other warm, male body that was next to him and was rewarded by a gasp and some particularly intense moans. Well, he thought, even if we just wank each other off it would be worth it.

But Draco had other plans. He climbed up over and on top of Carvyn, facing him, letting Carvyn stare down the length of his cock, up his abdomen and chest to the driven-looking face above. Catching him off guard, Carvyn leaned forward and slurped the cock into his mouth, Draco hissed in surprise, and moving forward drove the cock further and deeper into Carvyn's mouth. It was obvious that Draco wanted to be in control, and Carvyn let him, mostly. Draco was very near his orgasm, and realizing that Carvyn was being neglected he muttered the lubrication spell, pulled off Carvyn and moved backwards until Carvyn's long manhood was resting right at Draco's opening. One push down, a little settling, and Draco was successfully impaled on Carvyn. They both cried out softly, in wonderful pain/pleasure, and Draco began to rock back and forth vehemently. He let the experience ravage his beautiful face.

It was an odd coupling. Friends, enjoying each other, each trying to put emotional turmoil behind them. Draco delighted in the feeling of being so deliciously full inside. Carvyn was able to focus solely on the sensations from his own cock. Together, they shared a prolonged release , one coating the insides of the other, the other coating the chest and mouth of his partner. The usual separation, clean up, and snuggle. For a while, things would be OK.

"I love you, Carvyn."

"I love you too, Draco." And they went to sleep.

The next morning Draco woke to a cold bed. Carvyn had gotten up and gone out. Draco got up, dressed as usual. He hadn't noticed last night, but there was a new piece of furniture in the bedroom. It was a dresser, smaller than the primary occupant's, and upon inspection found many of his clothes put away in it. All in his favorite colors, his size and also new. He grinned. While not his, at least there was one place that he could call a home.

He found Carvyn in the kitchen with Winky. It was a Saturday, and the more Draco stayed the more he fidgeted. Carvyn saw this, and sighed. "Winky, can you make Draco some breakfast, prepare him a lunch and a bottle with a lot of coffee in it, please?" Winky happily complied, and soon there was a small basket next to an attractive meal. Draco sat, and dug in.

They really didn't say anything during the meal. Shortly afterward, as he was preparing to go, he asked quietly, "I saw the dresser, and wanted to say thanks. At least for a little while it would be easier to handle Beauxbatons from here rather than England, so I would like to take advantage of your hospitality."

"Draco, feel free to make this your home in France. That's why the dresser his here, that's why I will continue your access to the wards." He paused, then, "If for some reason you find that the bedroom wards are up, it means that I am having wild, sadistic sex in there with someone other than you."

"Understood."

Carvyn gave him a big, big hug. "Good luck. I really hope things are in better order than you think. If you need assistance, you know you can always ask me."

"Thanks. Thanks for everything." And his mind filled with the view of the manor house, and Draco was gone with a CRACK.

The remainder of the term was very different from the beginning. Draco now had both practical experience as well as instructional experience in finance to deal with, and he and Monsieur Donnero spent a lot of time on all aspects of financial management and growth. Draco had found his inheritance to be sophisticated and also requiring constant attention during this time of turmoil. Unfortunately, Carvyn could only relate in the most basic sense, and slowly felt himself closed out of Draco's world.

He tried once to fight it. The problem was, he was so far behind that instead of recapturing lost ground with Draco, all that happened was that they got impatient with each other. After a few moments of quiet, as they realized what was happening, Draco apologized to Carvyn. Carvyn did not pursue it any further.

Instead, he dived into his own studies. Madame Poirot immediately noticed the difference, and took it as a good sign. When Carvyn seriously stopped and opened his ears and eyes, he realized that there were whole networks of relationships going on around him; you just had to recognize the signs. Where he excelled was in the use of magic for investigation. The spell components provided an unlimited palette of options when searching for particular chemicals, prints, residues and other phenomenon. Finally, near the end of term Madame Poirot called Carvyn into her office for a meeting.

Madame got right to the point. "Can you speak Russian?"

Carvyn was taken aback. "No, not without magic. I could probably dig up a Russian charm if needed."

"That would not work." She thought a moment. "Have you heard of Talent Sharing Potion?"

TSP? AGAIN?? He nodded. "Yes, I had the opportunity to share it once with someone to donate a critical skill."

Madame's eyes widened. "So it is real, then. Well, perhaps we can work this out. Madame Maxime will wish to speak with you later today."

Carvyn was surprised. "Of course. About what?"

"She will discuss it with you." And the meeting was over.

Truly enough, somewhat later in the day a prettily folded lace note made its way to Carvyn, asking him to join the Headmistress in her office late this afternoon. He did so.

Her office, like Madame Maxime, was huge. Everything towered over him, and for a few moments he felt like he was in elementary school again. But she welcomed him warmly, and had him sit down in a conventional-sized chair.

"Madame Poirot and I have been trying to decide your best plan for the future." She said this slowly in her deep voice. "Madame Poirot has essentially taught you everything she knows about Investigative Arts, as we here teach it from a passive analytical approach." In her native French, Madame Maxime was quite eloquent. "Would you consider a suggestion?"

Carvyn was somewhat taken aback. "Of course, Madame."

"Durmstrang has a program that involves the non-passive side of Investigative Arts. They teach skills that include proper ways to question witnesses, modus operandii, and a certain ruthlessness needed in this area." She looked at him directly. "You suffer from passivity. You cannot if you are to succeed in this area. Durmstrang would be able to get you the skills to be effective." She sat back.

Carvyn considered this. Durmstrang was always spoken of for its study of the Dark Arts. However, that had turned out somewhat useless as when the time to defend against them had come, they were unsubtle. Durmstrang students showed good army-like skills, but were not subtle in their actions.

"Would I have to know Russian?"

She nodded. "How you would learn that we will discuss in a bit." She looked at him kindly. "Durmstrang does not actually have the dark demeanor everyone thinks it does. It is a decent school with a different focus than either Hogwarts or Beauxbatons. Its students are somewhat competitive, though, in a more physical way. They enjoy wrestling, boxing, and other forms of prowess." She sighed. "Music and dancing would be out of place. And you would have to get to like vodka."

"Not insurmountable." He asked a few more routine questions. He would be living at Durmstrang, but could maintain his house during the day on weekends. He would need warm clothes as it was cold where Durmstrang was located. He decided that the education would be worth it for a term.

"Will you accept the plan, Carvyn?"

"Yes, assuming I can learn Russian in time."

She nodded. "Yes. That is where a Talent Sharing Potion comes in. Dumbledore had told me that you had prior experience with it. It is your most expedient way to Russian now."

Carvyn shifted slightly. "A one-way transfer is quite an experience."

Madame Maxime colored. "I was hoping for an exchange." She nodded at a side door, and in walked a burly young man. The haircut, the stance, all said that this was a militant type. "This is Alexei Baranov. He is a third year student at Durmstrang, who is here to study the Arithmancy program." Alexei bowed. "He is extremely fluent in Russian, and you are not."

"And what is he seeking in exchange?"

"Sophistication." Alexei had a harsh, deep voice. "Arithmancy is interesting to me, but I have trouble concentrating on the details of things and remembering them." He looked at Carvyn. "Madame has indicated that an exchange might be possible."

"Have you told Alexei about the details of TSP?"

Madame Maxime shook her head. "I don't know of any. It is darker magic than we usually allow."

Carvyn took a deep breath. "TSP requires intimate physical contact." Eyebrows raised all around. "It seems that most dark magic is either based upon sex, or high emotion. Anyway, the only time I have experienced it before, during the exchange we had to kiss." He put his hands up. "There was no choice in the matter. The moment we, uh, made contact all willpower was gone to stop until the exchange had taken place."

"How long a kiss?" That was from Alexei.

"Dumbledore said exactly seven minutes. I only remember the first couple of seconds."

There was silence. Then Madame Maxime asked, "It was a potion, yes? Can you make it?"

"Yes. It will take a couple of days but I can make some. I may have to borrow some ingredients."

"Are you willing to the exchange?"

Carvyn thought for a moment. "Yes, I am willing."

"Alexei?"

Alexei turned to Carvyn. "What did you exchange the last time?"

"Subtlety. Without that exchange, Harry Potter would not have been able to stay at Hogwarts."

"You did the exchange with Harry Potter? What did he offer?"

Carvyn smiled. "What every Slytherin dreams of. Parseltongue."

Madame Maxime grinned broadly. "Well, Alexei?"

"I will participate."

"Come to this office on Saturday morning." And they were dismissed.

Alexei stopped Carvyn in the hallway. Quietly, he said, "Thank you. But I do not know if I can kiss you."

Carvyn grinned. "Don't worry. Harry couldn't either. All I will ask you to do is close your eyes and hold still. TSP will take care of the rest. It will be no reflection on your manhood."

Alexei thanked him again, and then marched off. Carvyn watched him go. Militant, crisp, almost overly stomping his feet to sound authoritative. Carvyn hoped that Durmstrang was a little more flexible than Alexei was.

He began brewing TSP that evening. Draco was out at the manor again. TSP was a bit tricky, but at NEWT level it was not a problem. He had all the ingredients, as it turned out. By the time he was done, a gallon of material had been reduced to four ounces of a murky liquid, which needed to sit in the sun for three days or until clear.

Durmstrang. He wondered what that was like. Not a friendly place, but certainly it was going to be an interesting one. Over the next couple of days, he learned from Alexei what Durmstrang was all about. It was a school in the true military academy sense. Students had rank assigned to them, from zero to six, based upon physical challenges and magical challenges. There were three Houses: Romanov, the elite house, Luchev, the middle house, and Balansky, the low house. Sorting was done according to social caste (nobleman, townsperson/merchant, or farmer/serf), and relative strength of the wizard. Being a Marquis, and powerful, Carvyn could expect Romanov house. They all had to march, learn the martial arts routines and participate in the contests when challenged. Low ranking within the house was subject to scorn; high ranking was subject to constant challenge.

Duels were not uncommon. Deadly force was prohibited, but there often were a few injuries. Alexei had been skeptical about Carvyn's build, but a show of power had convinced him there would be no problems after the first duel.

And then there was the Machine. The Machine was the pride and joy of Durmstrang, as it truthfully measured the strength of a wizard who tested himself on it. It twisted and churned and slid through mental exercises until the wizard could not keep up or passed out trying. Alexei was very proud of his 58 score on the Machine. The highest known score was 88, which had gone to Igor Karkaroff himself.

Saturday morning arrived, and Carvyn brought the two vials of TSP with him to Madame Maxime's office. Alexei was waiting there. They entered together and Carvyn closed the door tightly. Receiving permission, he set several very thorough and complex wards to keep others out.

"Now that we are ready, please describe how to effect the change."

"First, take a vial. Then, point your wand and state with your words and mind the talent you wish to donate. I used words like `Full Talent of' such-and-such. Then tap the vial with your wand, and it will change color. We then exchange vials, drink the contents, and execute our intimate contact."

Alexei looked down. "You will do it?"

"Yes. After you have drank, just stand still and close your eyes. It will be over before you know it."

Madame Maxime stood back. "Ready?" They both nodded. "Proceed then."

Carvyn took his vial, and gave one to Alexei. He lifted his wand, and said, "Full Talent of Sophistication, Intuition, and Analytics." He tapped his vial, and it turned a clear blue.

Alexei lifted his own wand, and said, "Full Talent of Communications in Russian Language and derivatives," and tapped his vial, which in turn became crystal red with gold flakes.

They exchanged vials, and Carvyn drank his down. Bitter taste. He saw that Alexei had done so as well, and stood there for a short moment, and then sealed his eyes shut. Not wasting any time, Carvyn moved right up to him and brushed his lips against Alexei's.

As expected, the charge was there and at the touch of their lips the sensual pull hurled him into the other's mouth, and passion exploded around them as they launched into this most sensual and intimate experience. Carvyn found he had more awareness this time, and was able to see the exchange. Sure enough, after exactly seven minutes, the kiss broke and the two separated.

Alexei turned bright red. "Uh, that was . remarkable." He looked around the room. "It is as if I had never seen this room before. The detail!"

Carvyn smiled wryly, and said, in perfect Russian, "It appears that that worked."

Alexei' eyes widened. "Perfectly said, intonation and all. You will do well. It is permanent?"

"Yes." And Alexei took his leave.

Madame Maxime smiled. "That was very, very sexy. You do know that Durmstrang is an all-boys school?"

Carvyn nodded, and left.

Surely enough, as soon as he got home that afternoon there were four owls waiting for him. Two from Durmstrang itself (that was quick!), a parcel from Hogwarts, and a note from Draco. He opened Draco's first, which extended an invitation to the manor for dinner and then dancing in a London club.

It was irrational, but he envied Draco's beautiful handwriting, obviously the work of a cultured elite nobleman. Carvyn's own writing tended toward what was called "chicken scratch" but ever since seeing the calligraphy from Draco first years ago, he had tried to imitate it. However, he scrawled on the note an acceptance and sent the owl on its way. He had really been wanting to see the manor house, and his time was running out.

The first owl from Durmstrang had a list of items he would need for the spring term. Scanning the list, he would need some special clothing that could be had in Diagon Alley, but he also had to obtain a staff. He would try Ollivander's first at least for advice. Durmstrang only needed a formal uniform; regular clothes would suffice under everyday terms. Madam Malkin might know, otherwise it would be a trip to Moscow.

The second letter from Durmstrang was from its Headmaster, Rochenko. The letter stated that since he was coming in as an outsider and an upperclassman, he would need a catch-up course in daily life at Durmstrang in order to function. He would need to report to the school on December 26th for a one week session with a few of the resident upperclassmen. That meant that Carvyn had five days to get there. The letter closed by saying that the letter itself was a portkey that would take him to Durmstrang when invoked formally. Carvyn pocketed that letter carefully.

The last parcel was from Hogwarts. Carvyn carefully opened it to find a note and another small velvet box. He read the note:

Dear Marquis Carvyn de Sernin,

Congratulations on your Head Boy award and your completion of NEWTs, and your ultimate graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since you were unable to attend the conference ceremony, we are enclosing for you the emblems to which you are entitled: Your school ring and clasp. As of your receipt of these items, you have graduated Hogwarts and your records have been updated.

On a personal note, ALL of the faculty and staff at Hogwarts want to acknowledge your skill and strength, and your contributions during the War with the Dark Lord and his followers. Well done!

Regards,

Minerva McGonagall Headmistress

Carvyn grinned. He opened the box and there, nestled side by side were a solid gold ring with emerald accents highlighting the eye of the Serpent of Slytherin, and a cloak clasp of the same design. Tears formed in his eyes. All that he had worked for, the end result was sitting in his hand. His parents would have been proud at the accomplishment, though not understood the price. Or would they? He had not thought about his parents in a long time. But he needed someone to be proud of his accomplishment.

He put the ring on, and it automatically sized itself. The clasp he left in the box and he took that to his bedroom. He only had a couple of hours before Draco. Enough time to see Madam Malkin.

Two hours later, his eyes were still slightly dazed. Madam Malkin positively cheered with delight when she had seen the order. She had asked him his title, and that was when she went into overdrive. Several dozen boxes appeared as she sorted through the pieces she would need. She only asked him one question.

"Green, dear, or brown? I know you like brown, but green would be much more appropriate."

"For what?"

"The rope fringe here."

Carvyn gave her a blank look. His ring flashed in the light quickly, and he on impulse said, "Green."

She bustled about. "These will be ready in a few days."

"If I prepay, can you have them sent to my house in France?"

She nodded, and he paid over a hundred galleons. But her eyes were shining. Carvyn wanted to know why.

"Madam, you seem particularly excited over these. Why is that?"

She snorted. "Well, Hogwarts has such boring robes, to be sure. These have to be warm, durable, and fit a uniform style. But, it is very rare for anyone with a title to come through." And she explained that at Durmstrang, the uniform indicated your rank in society. A Marquis was well up there, and with that the uniform was suitably ornate. She did get so little Durmstrang work, as it was so far away. And she had made him some nice snuggly daily wear uniforms in correct style too. She then shooed him out.

Just enough time for Ollivander's. He stopped in there to ask about a staff. Mr. Ollivander quietly informed him that he didn't make staves, but that his next best option was one from Gregoravich in Moscow. That would have to wait for another day.

Hurrying slightly to get out of the crowd, Carvyn made it past most of the Diagon Alley shoppers. He had forgotten the crowds because Christmas was approaching and that Hogwarts was out of session. There were kids all over the place of all ages, and he began to recognize some.

No time for that. He put his distant demeanor on and began to walk smartly back to the Leaky Cauldron to one of the Apparition points. No one would have noticed except that someone wasn't looking and bumped prominently into him. When Carvyn saw who it was, he dropped his stiffness. This person didn't need that.

Bill Weasley regarded Carvyn in surprise. "Well hello, Carvyn! Sorry to have bumped into you. I'm almost late for dinner with Fleur."

"Bill, it is good to see you. I am sorry that I missed your wedding, but I had my hands full in the courts."

Bill nodded. "I heard. I assume you applied the same technique to him that you did to me?"

"Yes, although I don't know which was more difficult."

"Come on in, I'll buy you one and we can chat for a few minutes."

They did, and over a butterbeer (Carvyn) and firewhiskey (Bill) he heard about the weddings. Bill could tell things were happening for Carvyn, and decided to turn the conversation.

"So what brought you to Diagon Alley? You were obviously on a mission."

"Well, I had to get some robes and other stuff for school."

Bill looked down at the Slytherin's school ring. "You graduated Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I took all my NEWTs this past July." He was quiet, then, "I couldn't go back after Voldemort. Did Harry finish?"

"Nearly. Harry is finishing this year. He's already been accepted for Auror training. Ron too."

"Ron and Hermione married yet?"

"I'd say about 30 seconds after graduation. Followed by Harry and Ginny."

Carvyn sighed. "I did love Harry. And I liked the rest of them."

Bill looked at him quizzically. "You are still alone?"

Carvyn laughed. "Yes, my latest paramour felt his prince- like family obligations take over once he regained title and control. He will finish Beauxbatons this year, and probably become a financial tycoon. Draco has great talent with finance, both wizarding and on the muggle side."

"What about you?"

"I just graduated Beauxbatons today. I am taking the more aggressive side of Investigative Arts elsewhere."

Bill's eyes went wide. "Durmstrang? Wow! Didn't figure you for that type."

"Why?"

"Well, they are all rough, burly types. They won't start a fight, but when it's over they have won. The best are very capable leaders; the worst are big bullies."

"I got kinda used to bullies at Hogwarts."

Bill shook his head, smiling. "Most of us had such different experiences." They finished their drinks. Bill stood, his eyes grazing the room. "You might visit Charlie. He often goes to Romania, and he still is by himself." He chuckled. "The two of you at least could make fun of the other dancers."

"Say hi to everyone, if you remember. I have a fond spot for the Weasley family."

"Will do." And they departed.

Carvyn moved to the Apparition spot, did the deed, and was home to change into clothes for dinner. He decided on something that made him look good and sexy, but not quite as far as a night in Paris would need. Black with a subtle green weave for the casual sweater, black pants and shoes. The deep brown cloak again. Draco had chosen his path; Carvyn could make him regret it at least a little bit.

Right on time, he appeared at the manor. Even in winter, with the hard ground and the lifeless trees and grey clouds scudding across the darkening sky, the manor was a bit of a conundrum. One could tell that it had been imposing and coldly superior, sneering at the world in its superiority. There were breaks in the veneer, though. Warm light glowed from within, the curtains were somewhat less harsh, and a Christmas wreath adorned the main door. It was a house in transition, a transition to the light.

The door opened, and one of the house elves let him in. She then proceeded to run off and find Master. Carvyn looked around the great hall. He could see Lucius and Narcissa gliding through the place, dignity and serenity incarnate. He grinned as he thought of a four or five year old Draco skidding along the shiny floors. Did he have a life like that?

"Carvyn, finally I can welcome you to my manor house!" Draco appeared, well dressed, looking more perfect than in months.

"Draco, I am glad to here with you. I suspect that you have softened up the place a bit."

"Trying to, anyway. The house itself seems to resist warmth and sincerity."

His cloak taken, Draco gave him the house tour. A number of bedrooms, several galleries with famous paintings, and ultimately a music room with a Bosendorfer extra grand ninety-seven key piano. It took Carvyn's breath away.

"That's what I was hoping for. Play something, please. There are only six like it left on the planet."

Carvyn sat, cracked his knuckles because all pianists were expected to do that, and plowed through a Liszt piece with its jagged chromatics. It sounded heavenly on the grand piano. He followed that up with Clair de Lune. It was gorgeous. And on a whim, the Maple Leaf Rag. The piano laughed along with him.

"You know, I could play that all day and keep going for more."

"It sounds truly wonderful when you play it." He rose from a chair. "But dinner will be ready soon." And they made their way to the dining room.

The dining room had been set up in a not-quite-intimate atmosphere, but the table in one corner was set for two attractively. The long banquet table remained covered and empty. They took their places, and proceeded to have a good dinner that was well prepared. The house was large and empty around them. They chatted about finance and Beauxbatons. Finally, Carvyn had an opportunity to bring things up.

"How has the commute been back and forth from here? You haven't been by the Kerinou house in a week or more."

"Actually, it isn't bad except on those really late nights. There is something perpetually warming and welcoming about your Kerinou house."

"Maybe it is that someone is there waiting for you. Have you started looking for a wife?"

"Only very casually. There are some potentials, but I have to get to know them a bit better. But I think you are right about the other part."

"Unfortunately, I am going to be away from Kerinou for a while."

"How long?"

"A whole term."

"Wow, OK. What about Beauxbatons and Madame Poirot?"

Carvyn struggled a little. "Well, it appears that I graduated yesterday. There is a continuing course of study at another school, and I am going to be attending there for a term."

"Back to Hogwarts, eh?"

"No, actually. I will be at Durmstrang."

Draco's jaw dropped. He stood up and began pacing, looking back at Carvyn in half incredulity and half amusement. "Well, you don't go halfway, do you?"

"It will be an invaluable education."

"Do you know about the duels?" Nod. "The machine?" Nod. "The three houses?" Nod. "Then tell me, do you know about the mentoring custom?"

Mentoring? "No, now that is a new one for me. What can you tell me?"

"It's simple. Upperclassmen get underclassmen to mentor for a term. It is like a big slave auction. They put everyone in a room, and upperclassmen go through and pick out the boy they want. The boy is nicknamed a squire. When all squires are chosen, they are allowed to leave."

"So far, so good."

"Well, sort of. The mentor relationship is meant to define and refine leadership skills over individuals. The mentor can do anything to his squire. ANYTHING. Except kill him or permanently injure or disfigure him. Humiliation, sex, harassment, all legal. It is supposed to make the squire stronger."

Carvyn was taken aback. "There must be some positive aspect to this."

"Responsibility is taught to the mentor. He can do whatever he wants, but he is responsible for his squire and defending his squire when needed. Kind of like a pre-parenting experience. The system works. But whatever else they learn, and they learn a lot, the mentor learns to give discipline, and the squire has to take it."

"Great. Just what I need; a babysitting job."

Draco's eyes went wide. "I think you are in for more than you think. Look at Viktor Krum. He was somebody's squire once. He had squires until he came here for the Tri-Wizard Cup." He looked back down at his plate, and then up again, his eyes somewhat wary, and his tone tainted with earnest concern. "People change at Durmstrang. I will be curious to see how you change."

The evening ended at the manor house, and they went into a London club. Good music, but the dancing was just not up to Paris sophistication. But it was still fun. He and Draco did not dance more than one or two together, and they were interesting enough. But Draco took center stage and gathered the ladies to his attention, and was soon the center of attention. Carvyn danced on the side in a corner, eyes closed, and let himself go to the pulse of the music.

Several dances later, Draco came over to him. He looked a bit uncomfortable. And Carvyn could see why. He was followed by a very attractive young lady whose eyes were smoldering and, well, lets just say she was aroused and probably going to give Draco the straight night of his life. It bit right into Carvyn. When would he have his person, his masculine beauty to take home and fuck like bunnies? The wallowing self-pity jarred him to his senses in less than a second, and he cracked up laughing.

Draco was totally confused. "Carvyn, what's with you?"

"Nothing really. You are coming to tell me I have to find my own way to my own home, right?"

A wolfish grin split Draco's face. "You wouldn't rob me of my straight urges for pleasure and debauchery, would you?"

"Yes, I want to, but I won't. Now shoo."

Draco and the lady melted into the crowd, although both cast a wistful look back at Carvyn. Carvyn withdrew from the dance floor and made his way back to a quiet empty street and, ducking in shadow, he Apparated back to his home.

The next day, he cornered Alexei. "We need to discuss something about Durmstrang."

Alexei nodded, and they moved to a quiet corner of one of the common areas. "Let me guess. You heard about the mentor and squire system."

"Some of it. How did you guess?"

"It was the only thing of import I didn't tell you. I also didn't think you would get one, being an outsider. You've never been a squire. Anyway, I knew it would take a separate conversation. What do you want to know?"

"Everything." Alexei chuckled at that one. "Well, limits, expectations, and how to choose one, and what my responsibilities are."

Alexei explained the system to him. Draco had been right on. "My mentor and I used to wrestle a lot. I was a good squire. I remember though that the others were picking on me at one point, and it was bad enough I was really scared. My mentor came through and thrashed them so badly that they never bothered me again. Then their own mentors thrashed them for causing trouble."

"How can you keep watch over them outside of the class schedule?"

"Well, for one thing you share a room with them. And a bed."

"A bed??"

"Yes. It gets cold at night, and two in bed is warmer than one."

"Is that all?"

Alexei laughed again. "Don't be such a prude. He is your squire, your property, and your slave, only excluding injury. As a squire, I made my mentor very happy. As a mentor, I saw to it that my squire was well trained and practiced."

"This is going to take some getting used to."

"You don't have much time. Three days?"

"Yes." Carvyn was quiet for a while. "Anything else I need to know?"

"One, really. You are slight of build. That isn't impressive, and that means that most of those squires looking for mentors will try to find someone who can protect them: big burly types. If you get one, you and your squire will be picked on. Being an outsider won't help, although being a Marquis will a little bit. Hold back on that revelation. Is your magic strong?"

"Yes, very much actually."

"You will need it. Don't be afraid to use it." He paused. "To prove yourself, you are going to have to be a mean, aggressive asshole. Don't hold back."

"Thanks, that is SO encouraging." Carvyn winced.

Alexei watched him walk away. He would either last the entire term, or be washed up in a week.

Madame Maxime was next. She ushered him to her office, bade him farewell, good luck and if he ever needed a job that she would consider him if he was old enough. With proper formality, she gave him his graduation papers and the Beauxbatons equivalent of a class ring: a class earring. He blushed at that.

"Thank you Madame, I will wear it with pride." He pulled his hair back and inserted the ring on the left ear as her eyebrows rose. "Yes, I know my hair is long enough that no one would ever see it, but that doesn't mean that it isn't there."

"Even though our earring is customary for the men, I did not know you were pierced for it."

"I have a few rebellious muggle habits. That was one of them."

She eyed him speculatively, and correctly concluded he was brooding over the different nature of Durmstrang. "I have one more thing for you." She got up, reached up very high to pull down an old tattered textbook, very thin. "There are a few special purpose spells in here that may help you. They are all wandless nonverbal ones aimed at reflexive self- defense. You may return it to me when your time at Durmstrang is over." And after his grateful thanks, she ushered him out.

Carvyn returned home, to find that his clothes had arrived. He quickly repacked them in his trunk, and found a long package with a note attached. It was from Draco.

Dear Carvyn,

This staff has been in the Malfoy family for a hundred years or more. Much more stable than a new one. Please have it as my gift to you in gratitude for all you have done for me. When used in combat, the word "Activate" will charge it with magic, making it unbreakable. On the color scheme, it goes from blue to green to yellow to orange to red, depending upon the power applied. Its balance is exquisite. There have been hints that it is capable of much more, but we recent Malfoys have not been able to control it.

Good luck and love,

Draco

Carvyn opened the package to reveal a four foot long staff of a very hard but smooth wood. Holding it, he felt its magic inside - more than just a little bit dark. He thought the wandless nonverbal command to activate it, and it immediately began glow bright green through small traces in the wood. He fed it more power, and the staff glowed orange, and then red. A little more power and the traces settled into a light-sucking black glow that laced the staff with a sinister ornate look. Cool. He gave the command to deactivate, and the staff slipped back through the colors until the traces were clear again.

He had his books and stuff, clothes, staff. Tomorrow was Christmas, and then the day after he would use the portkey to arrive. What that experience was going to be made him very nervous. Alexei had indicated that Carvyn was not supposed to get a squire, but there was no guarantee.

Thoughts plagued him all during Christmas. He had gone to Notre Dame in Paris for church for Christmas, and had enjoyed the experience thoroughly. But once back home, everything that he remembered seem to crash down on him. Squires, marching and drill, the cold, the competitiveness and aggressiveness, and most of all, Draco's comment about being changed reverberated in his mind. People change all the time, but it was the wariness that had been in Draco's undertone.

Eight days later Carvyn's world had been strategically turned upside down.

His arrival at Durmstrang had been smooth. Durmstrang was a fortress, with turrets and a watch wall. He learned that there were games sometimes when they actually manned the watch wall, and a competing team would try to gain entry. He had met with Rochenko, the Headmaster at Durmstrang, and gotten his course schedule, room assignment, and time to study the layout of the fortress. And the food was good.

Then the problems came up. Rochenko was obviously dismayed at Carvyn's slight build and lack of any military training. The next six days would be a crash course in basic battle, tactics, and drill. Carvyn had anticipated each of these, and was thus not caught off guard.

Six days of intensive study had enabled Carvyn to be conversant with battle terminology, though he had no practical experience. Everyone seemed to forget about Voldemort. Then again, so few knew of his role that it wasn't surprising. During the studies of conflict, Carvyn had seen alternatives to the strong-force combat roles that were being taught.

Drill started off a problem. Three other students who were inadequate at drill had joined him in his crash course in marching, moving with a cohort of wizards, and use of his staff. They did not use them magically, but in true fighting formation, spinning, flipping, rotating, using as a vault, and ultimately combined with that spark-flying march that so defined the Durmstrang students. It wasn't until Carvyn began to think of drill as if it was a dance that he caught on. Once on, he could keep with the rest of them on the motions.

Fighting was another problem. After drill came staff-to- staff combat, and while he was quick enough to adequately defend himself, he rarely went offensive. Carvyn ended up on the mat a lot. Once again, it wasn't until the fifth day that he found a workaround for this. He would use magic to aid some of his more gymnastic attempts. He did this quite unconsciously the first time after being trapped into a corner with an unavoidable blow coming. He had leapt into the air, and pushed back with his magic instinctively. This action had flipped him in the air and landed him on the balcony above the corner. He jumped back into the fray, astonished, and ultimately lost anyway.

His Russian was flawless. At least that wasn't a problem. He had found that Durmstrang indeed was cold. It had taken him a long time in bed to warm up. He decided to start the days as the first one up again, and was surprised at how many were up early. The others were all up pumping iron in the weight room. Unlike Hogwarts, where you could leave the castle and go out on the grounds, Durmstrang didn't have much acreage. So Carvyn had taken to running around the watch wall. His clothes from Madam Malkin were excellent, and he had brought a grey cloak that - quite usefully - blended him in with the fortress's stone walls. By the fourth day he had adjusted to the cold and the running felt so good in the morning.

There was vodka at every meal. Carvyn knew he would have to gradually work up his tolerance, but the initial hit still threw him. The couple of students around him grinned as they realized he had no tolerance.

It was on the sixth day that someone challenged him. Some of the other students began to arrive back, and they noticed the newcomer. Easy pickings. Two of the big burly seniors brushed by him on purpose too closely and knocked him completely to the ground. Snickering, they walked on by.

Everyone was watching Carvyn at this point. He got up, brushed himself off, and stated, "Apology accepted." And started on his way.

The challenge came as the two guys stopped, turned, sneered and said, "We didn't apologize."

"Oh, you didn't say the words, but your body language inadvertently showed your regret. It's OK. Don't worry about it."

They stared at him. "Maybe you should be taught a real lesson." The distance closed between them.

Great. No staff, and these guys obviously didn't use wands. It was either going to be physical or nonverbal. He looked around. A number of people watching. He was in the middle, and the two on either side, forming a triangle. He had one more chance. "Back off, gentlemen. Or else."

They grinned, and were only a handful of feet away from him.. Suddenly, an irrational fury grabbed Carvyn. Six days of learning this world, and it came down to this. Who the hell were these guys, anyway? Carvyn dug in to his magic, said, "Fine." He pushed his arms outward, using a nonverbal version of the Shield Charm, and flung his magic out with physical force from his hands. He hoped it would be a good show.

It was. The two were slammed back fifteen feet into a solid stone wall, where they slumped, dazed. There was silence in the courtyard as Carvyn, still furious and able for the drama now, walked over to the slumped forms and said in a clear, deadly voice that would have made Severus Snape quake, "Apologies accepted." And he walked away to the mutterings of the crowd. Far above, Rochenko observed the exchange and came to a decision.

Carvyn had been going to the library, but instead returned to his room. He warded the door, and lay down on the bed. What had just happened? He had gotten pissed off because some guys knocked him down, and had to make a spectacle to educate the rest. They were all right. Draco, Madame Maxime, Alexei, and the others he had gotten advice from. His physical body, although attractive enough, was of a form that was an object of ridicule. Magic would help him overcome that, plus competence though not excellence in the drill and combat. But he was going to have to be a fearsome monster to the muscle-heads. He opened his closet and looked at all the clothes. Not scary. Some serious thinking and he had remembered how to transfigure them so they were all black now. He would need some help from his footwear, and so he transfigured the toes and heels of his boots into steel. He looked at his formal uniform, as a Marquis, and changed the whole thing to total matte black with the exception of the green accents. He looked in the mirror. Quite a different view. He scowled, and the figure in the mirror turned deadly and frightening. Satisfied, he released the wards and made his way back to the library.

The two were gone. People stayed out of his way for now, and he settled into a corner of the library and finished the history of the fortress. Durmstrang had been constructed a thousand years after Hogwarts, during the Dark Ages when in Russia armies of muggles wrestled with the smaller armies of wizards. The muggles had dashed themselves against the fortress time and time again until they finally gave up and went home. There were no secret passages in or out of the castle, but there were a number of efficient and redundant routes that were concealed. In other words, opportunities.

One of the pleasant surprises had been the fortress chapel. It was small, with smoothed stone walls and tall slotted windows that had been closed in with stained glass. There were some kneelers, and the usual accoutrements, but the place was totally ignored by the student body. When Carvyn found it, he immediately saw it as a place of mental refuge. It was here that he could play his music, and the room would warm the sound and send it dancing across the walls. As long as he wasn't too loud, he could play and no one would know.

He was departing the chapel some time later, when Rochenko found him and led him to his office, where he closed the door. He got immediately to the point.

"I have come to a decision. You are going to help me in one way, and a young student named Antonin in another." He paused, then, "I saw your handling of Vladimir and Igor. Frankly, I was concerned for your safety this early on but I see by your actions that you can handle challenges by placing them on your own terms. Antonin needs to learn that." He leaned forward. "I was not going to assign you a squire. However, Antonin was unable to find a mentor, and he is an easy victim. You need to learn to stand up for him, and he needs to learn from you how."

"In other words, you are assigning me a problem child."

"To the other students here, yes. To you, that remains to be seen. I am assigning you a squire who does not fare well with traditional methods."

"Why could he not find a mentor?"

"He is a high maintenance student. He, like you, is slight of build. He resents the mentoring system because his mentors weren't able to stand up for him, and abandoned him. He used to set up his mentors and get them to get involved in his personal fights." He leaned forward. "He will have to leave Durmstrang if he can not make the adjustment."

"Sir, I have heard a lot of things about squires."

"They are all probably true. You own the squire like it is your property. The only things you can't do to him is kill or injure him significantly."

"Is he a friend, a servant, or something else?"

"You and he will be different things to each other. Some of each aspect is always in play." He sighed. "We hope to build a bond of respect for authority, and command of authority. Usually squires and mentors choose each other. This time there is no choice."

"When will I meet him?"

"Upon return to your room. Remember, soft and tactful isn't going to work here. Many squires spend their first week bruised." He smiled. "Being a mentor on our terms provides invaluable experience in command and ruthlessness. You need that. And now, Antonin is waiting." And Carvyn found himself outside the office. "One more thing. Antonin belongs to Luchev house. His rating is zero. So, although you qualify for Romanov, you need to be in Luchev."

A squire. His very own squire. A problem that needs his additional attention. And he was obligated to reign over him. And defend him. And he was a problem child too. He felt so alien for a moment he wondered if he could do this. The chapel and his music were suddenly very far away. Somehow, he would have to.

As he walked down the halls, his scowl deepened. His heels clicked loudly on the stone, and people tended to get out of his way. As he approached his room (their room), he heard loud discussion and, upon taking a deep breath, entered their room.

It really was a suite. It was semicircle shaped, had private bathroom near the center. The bed and dressers were all to the right through an archway, and the work area was open on the left. It was sparsely furnished, though adequate. A big burly type was arguing loudly with a slender young man with blond hair. Carvyn took one look a the situation in HIS room, and said, "You may leave now."

The blond looked somewhat agitated. "Sir, I am sorry, but ."

Carvyn ignored him. A part of him deep inside was horrified at what was going on, but the dominant part in play now just glared at the other one. He knew the blond would be Antonin. Best to be sure, though.

He glanced at the blond. "You are Antonin?" The blond nodded. "Good, we have much to discuss." He looked again at the other guy. "Get out. I won't tell you again."

The other guy folded his arms. "Make me."

SLAM!! Whoever he was, Carvyn reapplied the wandless nonverbal Shield Charm, and whomever it was skidded out into the hall and into the wall on the other side, where he slumped briefly, his eyes wide. Carvyn slammed the door behind him.

Antonin's eyes were wide. "I . uh . thanks."

"Who was that?"

Antonin took a deep breath, and said, "My former mentor. He somehow thought that he could have two since no one had chosen me, and I couldn't find anyone who would take me."

"If he causes you further trouble, tell me and I will make an example of him."

Antonin nodded. Then, slowly, he said, "And sir, if I may ask, who are you?"

"You don't know?" Antonin shook is head. "Think, and then answer your question."

Carvyn moved to the work area, and removed some of his extra materials back to his own desk. He laid out the schedules and quills, and looked up at Antonin. "Well?"

"Are you my new mentor?" This kid was either a great actor or really too soft.

"Yes." And with the door closed, he let the scowl off his face, and slowly resumed some of his former self. "I am Carvyn de Sernin. I am only here for a term or so to complete a study in the Investigative Arts. And while I have been here at Durmstrang now for nearly seven days, I am still new to parts of the routine here." He grinned suddenly. "It is up to you to make sure that we don't make any mistakes that can be avoided."

Antonin considered this. This young man was older than the average student. He had used the `we' which meant that he understood the squire-mentor relationship. "All right."

"Have you moved your stuff in?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now tell me all about yourself."

Antonin sat down. This was a little weird. His first several mentors had had him doing menial labor within minutes of meeting anyone. The one after that had him naked and on the bed before he could announce his name. The last one had beaten him up a little bit. He knew he was slight, and would never win a fight. Why buck the system?

"Well?"

So Antonin began. Born of a merchant family in Poland, they were well off enough though not rich. Two brothers, both graduates of Durmstrang. The family had been concerned that he would survive at all, and he had although he took near constant abuse. His strong point was math, and potions. As he talked, he eased up a little. This mentor might be different.

Carvyn watched him relax and the tone of the conversation changed. He was not soft. He was an enduring type. He needed confidence. Carvyn did his best not to react to the prior mentor's actions, although it said a lot about the mentor- squire relationship.

Silence prevailed as Carvyn mused through these things. Antonin hadn't quite bared his soul, but it had come close. When Antonin looked at his mentor, he realized that this one was very deep, and very intelligent wizard. A wizard who was not hesitant in using practical magic. A chill washed over him. What lengths would he go to in order to get his way? The dark, brooding face that filled the doorway when they had first seen each other resurfaced in his mind, and the chill extended into a shudder.

"Would you tell me some of yourself, sir?"

Carvyn considered this. If he withheld, it would keep the squire off balance. There were some things that he was not ready to share. "I am your mentor. I was born in England and raised there, although I have spent more time recently in France on some property I inherited from my maternal grandmother. I too am especially adept at potions, as well as some other things that are beyond scope now." He looked at Antonin. "I have faced death in combat a number of times and survived." He looked downwards. "I too am more slight of build than the brawny types that seem to attend Durmstrang, but after a week of intense training I think I can hold my own."

"Why did you come to Durmstrang?"

Carvyn furrowed his eyes. "To complete a course of study in the Investigative Arts. Durmstrang takes a more active and aggressive approach than elsewhere, and I need that to be effective."

Silence. Then, Carvyn looked at Antonin and said, "I do not mind questions; if they are asked politely I will always respond with some kind of an answer, equally politely."

Antonin grinned just a little bit. "What is your favorite sexual position?"

Carvyn blinked. "Top, and quite intense. I particularly enjoy when the bottom partner is very much enjoying himself."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

A sly look crossed Antonin's face. "What happens when I get in trouble?"

"You will be corrected and receive a consequence."

"What kind of a consequence?"

Carvyn chilled his face. "I have a long list of ideas ready. And I've just been waiting for the chance to try one of the Unforgivables on someone." Antonin went totally white . "I don't use sex as a punishment. It has so many other variants."

Antonin looked somewhat relieved. "One of my prior mentors did not believe so. It was a difficult time."

"Which leads me to one more concept. There is bound to be a time when something happens that is outside the mentor- squire relationship. When we are standing in front of that window, and you need to talk, invite me over and we will stop being mentor and squire, and can discuss anything freely without consequence."

Antonin's eyes went wide. "Thank you, that is really an honorable thing to do."

"As long as you don't abuse it."

They separated and continued their own tasks. Antonin was settling in. He had half of everything, except each had their own desk. Carvyn had loaded his bookcase with his more common books of reference. Madam Pince had shown him how to spell a book closed with access only to him, and he had enjoyed that knowledge.

Soon it was dinner time, and Carvyn and Antonin went down to the tables. He could see that their eating hall was organized by Durmstrang's three houses, and he and Antonin went and sat down with Luchev. Carvyn had eaten enough meals now that he knew the etiquette. Antonin did too. The head of Luchev house passed an announcement through the residence that there would be a house meeting that night in the Luchev Strategy Room.

Some of the Luchev house students were amicable. Not quite friendly, but at least interested and talkative. Carvyn was introduced by some of the other students, and while not exactly welcomed, he was received without issue. They had asked him two questions he didn't have answers to. Boris, one of the younger mentors asked him about his rating.

"I actually don't know yet, so I guess I am un-rated. When does it take place?"

Boris replied, "Usually soon after combat exercises. Student ratings are all posted on that wall. Baransky usually gets slightly lower than we do, although Romanov varies a lot. We have some zeros." and he looked at Antonin, " . and we have one six. I myself am a five."

"Well, we'll see what happens. I've a few hidden talents in the combat area now."

The other question was his score on the Machine. The Machine was a magical device that assessed your mental and magical integration. In other words, how powerful a wizard you were. All you had to do was step up to it, hold the handle, and the test would begin. The longer you stayed on, the higher your score. Karkaroff held the all-time highest score of 88. Carvyn had not visited the Machine yet, although he had seen enough boys go up to it and use it. Most scores were in the 40 to 50 range.

After dinner was free time until bed. Carvyn went out on to the watch wall, to look at the countryside and get some fresh air. Antonin had followed him curiously

"What is it that you see out there?"

"Nothing really. I am more used to open spaces than closed ones, and some times I need to come out and have no roof over my head."

"Sounds cold to me."

"Oh no, you'll find out what cold tomorrow. We are going running at 6AM tomorrow."

"We are?"

"Yup."

Antonin looked longingly back at the fortress. "It figures. I knew I would suffer."

"It will give you stamina, flexibility, and good reflexes. All things that help defend." He looked squarely at Antonin. "There are two ways to defeat someone who is stronger than you. One is to use them against themselves. The other is to be stronger in a different way, and put the battle on your terms. You want to survive? Watch me next time. You are going to have to either get another hundred pounds of muscle, or do it my way."

"Yes, sir."

"Good answer." And they went back inside.

The evening wrapped up without incident. The house meeting went fine, and now at least his own house knew that he belonged there. A number of the squires were looking uncomfortable, and Antonin was quiet and well behaved.

As the evening was ending, Rochenko stood up. "My students, tonight we welcome as a senior in Luchev a visitor who will be with us all term. I would like to introduce Carvyn de Sernin, Head Boy graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and most recently First Wizard of Beauxbatons." A round of polite applause. "He is here to grow his education in the only way that is meaningful, here! At Durmstrang!" A roar of applause and cheering, in which Carvyn participated. Antonin stared at him.

Then the bombshell hit. "He has been studying combat and drill with us for a week now; let us all see how he has progressed. Tonight he shall combat with a challenger of my choice. Who will test him??"

Many hands went up, and while that took place Carvyn leaned over to Antonin. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Go up front and do your best with hand to hand combat." So Carvyn got up and made his way to the front of the hall. Rochenko grinned at him. Carvyn gave him a short bow in acknowledgement. The opponent was a big burly type. Some tricks would go easy.

Five minutes later, Mr. Big and Burly was on the ground and Carvyn was still standing. He had been lithe and quick enough that he could avoid the opponent's actions and inflict his own damage. True, his opponent had gotten back up a few seconds later, but that wasn't the point. The point was to get him down again. And so, sweating slightly and aware of the polite applause again, he returned to his seat.

Antonin gulped. What he had seen had been his way to freedom. His mentor had literally used his opponent's mass against him, and relied on speed rather than strength. He had to learn how to do that, no matter what it took. And Head Boy, and First Wizard, and . what else? Carvyn had said he had faced death a number of times .

Carvyn finished a drink and saw Antonin's eyes lock onto him, with a look like hunger on his face. In fact, a number of the smaller stature students were now in active discussion. Now what, he wondered. The event was over, he stood and received some congratulations on his actions. Antonin followed slowly.

Carvyn headed for the Luchev Strategy Room. This seemed to be the hub for the Luchev house, and was filled with all kinds of combat material for armies. Here it would be when they ran the combat exercises between houses that the planning, the execution and the movements were coordinated. It was a room that epitomized Durmstrang, and while he was a student there he wanted the most he could experience.

Antonin had followed him slowly, still wondering why he got this over-achiever as a mentor. Maybe it was so that he could learn how to function with his slight build. He was proud of his body; it was nice, tight and smooth, with carefully defined muscles. He just wasn't a sumo wrestler like the rest of the students. Carvyn was the same way, and he had defeated the guy. Antonin had to learn how.

They made their way back to the room, Carvyn walking absently, Antonin following like a puppy. Like a squire. They entered the room without incident. Antonin began to get uncomfortable, as he hadn't been given any commands yet. Finally, Carvyn noticed.

"What is it now?"

"Well, I don't know what you want me to do."

"Do I have to tell you how to get ready for bed?"

That sniped a little bit. "Are you going to fuck me tonight?"

That caught Carvyn off guard. "No."

"Why not? Every squire gets fucked mercilessly the first night by a new mentor."

"Do you want me to fuck you mercilessly?"

A moment of silence, then: "Tonight, not really, sir."

"I am glad you remembered the `sir', squire." The chill of command had touched both of them. "Get ready for bed. I will be along shortly. And for your information, I always sleep naked in bed." A moment's devilry struck him. "You will sleep naked in bed as well. I do expect us to sleep together in close physical contact for warmth purposes if needed by either of us."

A totally sensual shiver went through Antonin. Sleeping naked with his naked mentor! All he said was, "Yes, sir." With his prior mentor, last time he had slept on a mat on the floor. Naked but for a blanket.

They performed their routine, packed their books and stuff, and then Carvyn pulled out two glasses and a small bottle of Heaven Hills. He poured one for him and one for Antonin. "Here, this is American whiskey. Just enough to help you get to sleep tonight." And he downed his in one bolt.

Antonin sniffed the amber liquid. Rich and strong. He drank his down, and the fire burned down his throat in a soothing kind of way. He settled the candles, and went into the bedroom where Carvyn stood, naked.

Naked. Carvyn was gorgeous, and he was hung too. So different from the pale white Russian, Carvyn had that perfectly proportioned look. Somewhat broad shoulders, long legs from a trim and tight butt. Good definition in the chest and abdomen. Sleek. Darker skinned, with bronze eyes. And his hair, long enough past his shoulders. Taller than himself, he could just imagine being locked in his vice-like grip as his mentor plunged deep inside ..ooops, deal with that later! Blushing, he approached the bed from the other side.

Carvyn watched the naked young man with him covertly. Pale skin, very slender, all knees and elbows in a way. Short blond hair looked right on him. He would mature nice. Hell, he was nice already. And he was hard. He got into bed with him.

It was cold. They shivered for a moment. Who would cave in first? Carvyn did, sliding over to bring himself and Antonin in long, close, physical skin to skin contact. Antonin didn't even jump, but pushed back until they were very close, with Antonin's butt pressing nice and deep just above Carvyn's cock. Antonin apparently was good with this, and was already asleep. Carvyn stayed awake for a while, remembering the day and how much life had changed.

In the morning, they were still in those positions when Carvyn roused and got Antonin up. Grumbling mightily, he pushed Antonin along until they were out for the morning run. Breakfast was as expected, and classwork continued. Lunch, classwork, dinner, homework, bed. An entire week went by.

Two weeks later, Rochenko met Carvyn in the hall and directed him to his office. He closed the door and bade him sit.

"Carvyn, you are doing well?"

"As well as I can, sir."

"Tell me about Antonin."

And Carvyn related how in general, he seemed to be doing well. His grades were good, his endurance was up. Carvyn had shown him some basic tricks to employ with combat, and they had worked.

Rochenko frowned. "He gives you no trouble with command?"

"No, sir."

"How often do you command him?"

Carvyn thought for a moment. "Once or twice a day."

Rochenko shook his head. "Not enough. Understand this: He must learn subservience from you. And you must learn to command his obedience. There is a time for guidance. This is not it. He doesn't need a friend. He needs a master. He needs to learn how to function with a master. You need to be that master." He began to pace. "Perhaps this will help: he has been telling his friends that you are soft. One of them has goaded Vladimir into a challenge with you." He looked straight at Carvyn. "Use that opportunity to establish your dominance with Antonin, regardless of the outcome with Vladimir."

Carvyn stared at the floor, then at Rochenko. "Yes, sir, I will. I apologize for not being more thorough."

Rochenko smiled. "Very good. I know you have it in you. I know from you that it is difficult to bring out. Friday, if you meet me in the Luchev Strategy room near midnight I will give you a very valuable skill that will certainly help." He stood up. "I have plans for you, Carvyn. You are dismissed."

And Carvyn found himself out of the office again. Amazing how that happened. But he was very confused. Antonin was calling him soft? Vladimir challenging again? These Russians needed constant maintenance. A cold anger began to build in him. Back to the room to put on boots instead of soft shoes, and then to class.

Taking his seat, he noticed that Vladimir stood up and approached him. No teacher in sight, just twenty or so of the big burly types. His anger grew stronger. Antonin was going to have a lot to answer for.

Vladimir reached him. "All right, weasel, get up and fight. I've heard you're soft and I so long for a good piece of soft ass."

Carvyn stood, and a hush fell over the room. "You really don't want to challenge me. I fight dirty."

"Sure you do."

The conflict was short. Even amongst the desks, Carvyn was able to use Vladimir's mass against him and avoid all the attacks. He finally spun short, gripping a desk and landed his two feet on Vladimir's chest, which pushed him back to the wall. Vladimir had to regain his breath, but Carvyn was so furious he decided to end it there.

"Vladimir, you never learn. Students who never learn need to punished like children, or maybe like adults." He pulled out his wand, the first time anyone had seen Carvyn do this. "Some punishments are so unforgivable, they require a wand and can not be cast nonverbally. CRUCIO!" And he cast the Cruciatus Curse, one of the three Unforgiveable Curses in England, onto him.

Vladimir screamed and fell to the ground, thrashing and twitching, his breath coming in dry, hoarse rasps amid the inadvertent shrieking. Twenty seconds later, tears flowing down his face and blood oozing from his lips where he had bit them through, Carvyn released him. "I am not soft, though apparently I have been negligent to my squire. Challenge me again and I won't let up until you are permanently disfigured." He put his wand away and sat down. Internally, he was shaking from the experience. He was almost as bad as the Dark Lord was. And that curse would have earned him a life sentence in Azkaban if he were in England.

The classroom was silent except for the wheezing from Vladimir, who got up and grabbed a seat. The room was full of stunned students until the teacher came in, in which everyone sprang into action and took their seat. The teacher, who had been forewarned, took note of the state of Vladimir and Carvyn for future reference. And the class continued.

Upon exit from class, Carvyn went for a walk on the watch wall. It was cold, still, and the wind whistled through the stone cracks. What would he do to Antonin to get through to him? An endless list of menial commands was a start. No, he had to come up with something so awful, so maddeningly frustrating that it would eat him alive that it was happening. An idea sprang into his head. Why not? If he left the door to their room wide open, and did the deed right in front of it so that anyone could see, and hear, a nice thorough spanking would help Carvyn vent as much as it would humiliate and chastise Antonin. He went back to the room for the itinerant squire, after stopping in the recreation area to borrow a paddle.

And he waited. Antonin didn't show up. The waiting gave Carvyn time to devise an entire strategy. He would break Antonin once and for all. And when the dinner time arrived, he went down to the dining hall. And there was Antonin, in the usual spot with a pocket of friends.

Carvyn marched over to Antonin, his face dark with rage he let himself feel. Conversation fell off at that table as the clicking of Carvyn's boots approached. Antonin had gone white in dread. Carvyn stood behind him, and said quietly to the student to his right, "Take care of his dishes, Antonin will not be joining you for the rest of the evening." The other student nodded. Carvyn turned toward Antonin. "Get . up . now, and come with me."

"But I haven't-"

CRACK! Carvyn backhanded Antonin across the face, and a small red welt appeared where the ring from Hogwarts had made contact. "I did not ask you to speak." He waited a moment, and then CRACK did it again. "I told you to get up."

"I will not until-"

Carvyn grabbed his shoulders and threw him onto the ground. "You may now crawl to our room where you will receive a correction you will never, ever, forget." He didn't even wait for him. "IMPERIO!" And Antonin began crawling quickly across the floor towards the door.

One could have heard a pin drop at the opposite end of the room. He watched for a moment, and then addressed the crowd. "So sorry about the unpleasantness, but my puppy needs a whipping." He then turned and followed Antonin out, keeping the Imperious Curse on him. It took a while, but when the stairs came into view, he released the curse, and Antonin immediately stood up.

"What is with-"

CRACK. Another backhand across the face. "You didn't get it the first, or second times. Shut up and go to the room." Finally Antonin got it and trotted to their room.

Antonin tried one more time. "I can't believe you used the Imperious Curse on me." Then he caught sight of the chair, and the paddle. Comprehension dawned on him. "You ." and his eyes went a little wild.

"Strip. Naked. Now." Antonin went red, then white. He closed the door, went to the bedroom and removed his clothes slowly. Carvyn waited, and when he returned he stood there, naked. All color drained from Antonin as Carvyn went to the door, opened it, and propped it open. The whole hall could see and hear what was going on; fortunately it was empty now. But in a few minutes, dinner would be over and it would be filled with students.

Carvyn sat down in the chair. "Lay across my lap." Very slowly Antonin moved that way, but he couldn't do it. "IMPERIO!" And Carvyn laid him across his lap before releasing him. There was his ass, pure and clear. When he was done it would be very different. And as he began, Carvyn held nothing back. He was so incredibly frustrated that Antonin would not accept the commands. One hand holding him down, and one beating a fast and hard rhythm on the squire's tender butt. Antonin held out for less than a minute before howling in pain and humiliation.

Carvyn kept right on going. After fifteen minutes, he stopped and pushed the boy off his lap. Antonin stood there, bright red all over, breathing very hard. Carvyn reached over and picked up the paddle, and studied it briefly, as Antonin watched in horror.

"Let's see if you learned anything. Face the chair, legs straight, bend over and hold the sides of the seat of the chair with your hands."

Antonin moved into that position, albeit somewhat slowly. But he didn't say a word. He couldn't believe what was happening. He could hear the people out in the hall, although they were all pretty quiet, listening, aware of what was happening. He was in a lot of pain. And judging by this position, it was about to get much, much worse.

And it did. Carvyn surveyed the upturned butt and began methodically laying on with the paddle. The skin jumped slightly with each impact, flattening, and doubling the friction on the release. This wouldn't last fifteen minutes, but it might last ten. And he did, each skin-stinging impact forcing a cry or a sob out of Antonin, each one reinforcing the notion that Carvyn truly was man, master and monster all at once, and that Antonin's fate lay in Carvyn's hands.

The last minute was the worst. Antonin was continuously sobbing and crying out in the pain of his suffering, and Carvyn knew that meant he was at the surrender point. The last bit of fury at the whole situation flashed through Carvyn, and for that last minute he delivered an incredible round of hard paddle strokes as fast and as hard as he dared.

"I am done, for now. Go lie down on the bed for a few moments." Antonin stood up, blotchy and red-eyed and made his way to the bed, carefully laying down. Carvyn was able to observe his handiwork - no blood, no blisters, but a very soundly spanked and painful butt from waist to mid thigh.

Carvyn got up and closed the door. He put the chair back, and went back to his homework. The fury was gone, and he felt a deep pang of regret from very far within. He hadn't been that rough with Draco Malfoy, last year. But Snape had put him up to it. He, Carvyn, would never have suggested it. Yet he chose it here for Antonin. Durmstrang does indeed change people.

"May I put my clothes back on?" was uttered from the bedroom.

"Yes, you may. Then we will talk."

"Thanks."

A few moments later, Antonin appeared. All appeared normal, except that he walked somewhat slowly and his eyes were very red. Carvyn started first. "A couple ground rules from now on. You may address me as Sir or Master. Nothing else. I will bring you dinner each night and breakfast each morning. For lunch you are on your own. You may not leave these rooms except to run with me, go to class, and go to lunch. Any questions so far?"

"No."

"No what?"

"No, sir."

"There is one more thing. Any slip-ups will receive immediate correction."

"Yes, sir."

Dinner appeared. Water and an assortment of breads arrived for Antonin, and a soup/stew for Carvyn. They ate in silence. When they were done, Antonin fidgeted a bit, and then very softly asked, "Master, may I do my homework now?"

"Yes. In addition, I want you to read the school's mentor/squire program documentation and write twelve inches of parchment on what the model squire is supposed to be, and how you are going to become one."

Resigned, Antonin nodded. "I will, sir." And he moved off to his desk to begin.

They said nothing the remainder of the evening. They prepared for bed on schedule, and climbed into bed as usual. Carvyn, with the endurance of the day gone, watched his squire lose himself in sleep. He longed to ruffle his hair, trace patterns on his back. But not tonight. He hoped this would work.

Morning came, and Carvyn was awake first. He got up and pulled the covers back off Antonin, who grumbled slightly as he woke up. His butt was still very tender.

"Epidio restorii." The spell swept over Antonin's backside, nearly healing the skin. "I did that so you could run effectively. Time to get up."

"Yes, sir." And he rolled out of bed. "Thank you, sir." And they dressed and proceeded with their scheduled run, and the remainder of the day. Breakfast in the room, classwork in the room except for class.

Ultimately the only free time was lunch. Antonin went to the dining hall for that meal, and sat with his friends. Carvyn was nearby but not next to him. Furtive whispers and quiet discussion related the tale of woe. Antonin was allowed to complain to his friends. And after the afternoon classes, and the homework, as all the other students were slowly filing back to their rooms for homework, Carvyn dropped the bombshell again.

"Antonin, strip off your clothes and return here."

He hesitated just a moment, and then said, "Yes, master." He did so, and once again naked, he stood in front of Carvyn. Carvyn opened the door again, and Antonin felt the shame flood through him.

"Lay down across my lap." As he did, Antonin noticed that the paddle was on the table again. And again, his Master started with his hand, and then switched to the paddle. Antonin's butt felt like it was on fire and uncontrollable wretched sounds were extracted from him. Then it was over, and the evening resumed.

The next day was the same, only worse. As was the next.

After his class on the fifth day, before dinner, as Antonin worked his way across the yard, four seniors grabbed him and carried him off. They roughed him up a bit, and it might have gone further had Carvyn not come for him. His master had noticed that he was overdue, and was working into an angry frustration. When he found them, Antonin was scared and rumpled, but otherwise unhurt.

Carvyn stepped into the otherwise empty room. "What exactly is going on here?"

One of the seniors sneered. "You've been making him suffer quite a bit. We just wanted our share."

Carvyn went totally into his rage. "Antonin is MY squire, to do with how I please. He is MINE and mine only." Carvyn went on in a growing fierce determination. "It is not your place nor your right nor your privilege to give him any reason to be afraid." And his voice went deadly quiet. "And it is my job to see to it you learn that lesson."

"And just how are you going to do that?"

Carvyn raised one hand, and gripped his fist. "Constricto Leviosa." And the four seniors grabbed their throats, unable to breathe as they were pushed back and slowly up the wall. He held them there, his bronze eyes on fire with determination, and then with a sweep of his arm he flung them out the door and into the hallway, where they impacted the stone wall, and then slid down three feet sharply. Despite the ordeal, the four got up and bolted down the hallway.

Carvyn turned to look at Antonin. "Are you all right?"

"I think so, master."

"You are late."

"I'm sorry, master."

"Go back to the room. I will follow at a short distance." And Antonin trudged to their rooms. He knew what was coming. It had been that way for the past five days. It was time for another round of screaming, crying and intense pain that he had encountered each day.

He got back to the room. He opened the door, and propped it open. The hallway grew more quiet. He stripped off all his clothes, folded them, and stood near the chair to wait. The paddle, that hated paddle was on the table.

He thought about the words his master had said to the seniors. He was very clearly Carvyn's squire, and Carvyn felt very strongly about that responsibility. He cared very much about what happened to Antonin. Several times his master had bailed him out of a problem, sometimes that was his own fault, and he paid the price. But his master had never commanded him to do something stupid or pointless. He knew what he was doing. And suddenly, Antonin realized that his prior mentors had not taken that action seriously. Carvyn was different, he put himself on the line for his squire, and he deserved the unthinking obedience that a squire was supposed to offer. He remembered his essay. The job of a squire is to learn to accept command and authority. The job of a mentor is to learn to command with authority and responsibility. Carvyn had been doing his part. Antonin had not. Well, that was going to change. If his master wanted to spank him, then his master had the authority to do so, and his job was to accept it. Period. No matter how horrible it might be. It was an odd philosophy, but he could see now how it worked.

Carvyn reentered the room. There was Antonin, ready to be spanked and paddled again. Clothes folded. Paddle still on the table. He came to a decision. "Why are you ready to be spanked?"

"Master, it is because it has been that way for the past five days."

"Put your clothes on, and do your homework."

"Yes, sir! Master, part of my homework is a team project with one other wizard. May I meet with him?"

"You may invite him over."

Carvyn put the paddle away. "I am going out for a while. You may go to bed when you are ready."

"Thank you, sir."

Carvyn wandered through the fortress. He finally came to rest at one end of the athletic hall, where the Machine stood. A number of the student wizards had asked him what his Machine score was, and as long as he didn't know it could be anything.

The Machine's operation is simple. Grab the handle and deal with the mental strains. None of the current wizard class broke 62 on the Machine. The all-time high was Igor Karkaroff at 88. Once used, the Machine recognized the prior user and merely reported the score. No one was around, it was dark, and so perversely Carvyn grabbed the handle.

A series of puzzles washed over him. Easy ones. Then harder ones. He felt a little sweat break on his body. He shook as raw power jolted out of him. He then perceived that the stream of puzzles was a lure, and he brushed them off answerless and dove in to the source. He found himself standing in front of an onyx wall, from which a tantalizing message seemed to emanate from behind. He pushed at the wall, and it gave easily. Another wall, of diamond. Pushed and easily went through. A wall of granite. This gave some resistance, but he found a fissure and cracked it wide open. A wall of ruby, which resisted mightily until he tapped it with a piece of the granite. A wall of rubbery-like substance, which parted when he cut it with the ruby. And then an invisible wall.

Not really, though. It was a wall of magic. He pulled in his power with the spell components, and the wall dissolved. He noticed that the tantalizing message inside was getting a bit tense and anxious. He nevertheless pursued deeper. A wall of blood, washed away. A wall of fire, to which he walked through. A wall of spikes, which crumbled to the touch. Finally, a door with no knob, which opened with a kiss. And inside was the answer.

It floated, suspended over a pedestal, giving off an eerie gray light. Carvyn approached the floating sphere, the size of a pebble, and saw in it the echo of the soul of the man whom had founded Durmstrang. His hopes, his dreams of a school that would give its students the confidence and skills to survive in a world full of turmoil. His powerful mental mandate: Guard and defend the school and its ways. It then seemed like the presence smiled at him, acknowledging his power, and all faded. Carvyn found himself standing on the floor, shaking, looking at the Machine.

The Machine read 101.

Carvyn's jaw dropped. That score was well beyond Karkaroff, well beyond anyone who had used the Machine to date. Maybe he was misinterpreting it. He would research it in the future. Maybe his Russian from the TSP wasn't as perfect as he thought.

Deep down, though, it made sense. He had overpowered Dumbledore and Snape combined. He had overpowered an army of Death Eaters and the snake Nagini. What would he do with so much power? Be quiet, listen, and learn.

He found himself back at his room. He had been chanting "quiet, listen, learn" over and over again. As he undressed, he realized that he was chanting and stopped. Naked again, he slid through the sheets and brushed up against the sleeping Antonin, who was blessedly clueless about the evening's activities. As long as he stayed away from the Machine, no one would need to know.

Carvyn and Antonin woke up that Friday morning, and went for their run. Antonin was shaping up nicely. He had never felt quite so good, so alive. His master, however was preoccupied. Something had happened last night after he went to sleep. They returned, ready to shower. When Antonin remembered the spot by the window, that was the place for non-mentor discussion, he went over to it, stood there with a little nervousness, and said, "Master, I would like to discuss something with you as equals."

Carvyn's eyebrows went up several notches. "Very well. Have a seat and we can be just peers."

Antonin sat. "This is weird. But Carvyn, something happened last night. I can tell from your demeanor. What is it?"

"I appreciate your concern. But I really don't want to talk about it."

"There is another thing. You don't have any friends."

"I beg your pardon?"

Antonin pushed on. "No, really. I'm your squire, I'm not a friend on equal footing. Even I have friends and people I talk with. I've seen you, been with you and you have no one. That isn't right."

"Actually, it is for me. I have had very few friends in my lifetime. I can count them on my hand. But you are right, in that there isn't anyone here I can call a friend." He looked thoughtfully at Antonin. "I had thought that the mentor/squire relationship would encompass that, but it isn't that way at all."

"I know several other Luchevs that you would get along with. Some of my friends' mentors are actually interested in meeting you; but they are a little nervous. I've told them that you are actually a reasonable person when you aren't paddling me."

"I am a reasonable person to anyone who isn't trying to attack me or attack my squire."

Antonin winced. "You also are going to have to play along. They will want to know your Machine score. It is like comparing your cock length."

Carvyn was silent, then said, "Eight inches."

"Eight and a half. I measured it while you were sleeping once."

Carvyn rolled his eyes. "They warned me you would be trouble."

"Have you done the Machine yet?"

Carvyn sighed. "What difference does it make what I scored? I must be misinterpreting it somehow."

"So you DID do it?" A moment's realization hit Antonin. "You did it last night, didn't you? What did you get?"

"What did YOU get?"

"Forty-nine. Respectable, but not exemplary."

"How did you know what the score was?"

"It flashes across the black onyx panel, and floats there for a few minutes or until someone else grabs the handle. What did you get?"

"It must have been wrong."

"Not likely. What was it?"

"How would we know if the Machine was working?"

"It has never broken. The score?"

"It was a good one."

"WHAT SCORE?"

"Take a guess."

Antonin realized he didn't want to tell him. Something had happened all right. "Fifty-one."

"Too low."

"Sixty-one."

"Too low."

"By how much?"

Carvyn gave up. "By forty."

Antonin's eyes grew so wide his eyelids almost split. "You scored one hundred and one on the Machine?"

Carvyn raised his eyes to Antonin's. "Yes."

Antonin gulped. "How . how . uh, how did you do that?"

"What does it matter? You can't tell anyone, though."

"Too late. Rochenko knows. He always asks for an interview after you try it. He is looking for something in each of the people who use it."

"Terrific. Rochenko is going to come looking for me to find out why I broke all the records on his machine by thirteen points."

"It's because you are incredibly powerful. Sir." Antonin grinned impishly. "As for friends, I will introduce you to the tactics club. We practice battle tactics together, and we are kind of stuck right now. A fresh perspective would help." He stepped away, and immediately his demeanor changed. "Thank you, master."

"Thank you." He then had a sudden wicked afterthought. "And Antonin, tonight I will have sex with you. Be at our room around nine o'clock. I have a number of things to show you."

Antonin blushed to the roots of his hair. "Oh yes, master. I anticipate that event most eagerly."

"We'll see if you share that sentiment afterward."

The rest of the day went on. Rochenko did stop by to speak to Carvyn, but only to remind him of their midnight appointment. At lunch, Antonin led his master to a table of Luchevs who were all discussing tactics. He was politely welcomed, and given a copy of the battle they were trying to solve. Some of the students were in the tactics class with Carvyn. They were applying themselves to assault a defended castle. This number of men, this placement, these front lines, etc. They spent several hours resolving these problems, until one problem stumped them.

Carvyn had contributed a little, making minor improvements on the basic plans that existed. But this last one, the castle was on a cliff. A siege seemed the only option, and the assaulting forces didn't have enough people for that. No matter what they tried, it failed. Then Carvyn had an idea.

"Look, the objective is do what? Capture the castle? Or annihilate the enemy?"

They thought a moment. Then one of the more friendly ones, Gregor, answered, "Technically, the objective is to overcome the enemy. The castle is secondary."

"Well, then, try this plan." And he outlined a plan on a piece of parchment.

The way the battles were evaluated was through a small wooden box. Plans would be dropped onto the box, and the plan would be executed for effectiveness. It usually took about one minute to know. Carvyn dropped his plan on the box, and it seeped in. There the story began to unfold.

The assaulting army of wizards battled the defenders back into the castle. The drawbridge was closed, and the castle impregnable. The assaulters, however, spread over a line across the cliff, and suddenly a fissure opened. The castle shook to its very foundations, and slowly slid into the canyon below. The spectacle was awful. The box glowed green, briefly. He had won.

The group turned to him. "My God, the castle is gone."

"So is the enemy. I wondered on the context of winning, and whether that would work."

They started asking him a dozen questions. Antonin sat back and watched. They wanted him involved, that was for sure. The group later agreed to discuss and meet over the weekend, as the Spring Battle was coming and they needed plans and to pick a general.

Dinner came and went, and homework. Carvyn had gone out for a walk on the watch wall again, and Antonin took the time to shower and make himself as attractive as possible. He had not been fucked now in almost five weeks. And his master wanted him. Enough to give him warning. Just that alone sent a warmth down to his butt. Maybe that was foreshadowing. He put on a light robe. All was ready.

Carvyn returned after his walk. He had decided that he was going to be the top, and give Antonin a taste for everything that he himself enjoyed. He had no idea what his experience was. But when he closed the door to the room, and went to the bedroom there was Antonin, waiting for him, with a big smile on his face.

"Master, you must be tired. Let me wash you." And he helped Carvyn undress, silently marveling at the cock he hoped he would know so much better soon. He got him into the shower, helped with his hair, helped him wash all over, making even that a sensual experience, and then helped him towel off. Antonin did not even offer any clothes, just guided him to the bed. They lay down together, and Antonin immediately presented his butt. Carvyn rolled him over.

"I told you, I have things to show you. First, a mentor likes to be desired, not worshipped quite, but the more you communicate how much you want to be involved, the better. I will demonstrate, on you." And laying Antonin on his back, he began to gently caress the younger man's chest and developing abdomen.

Antonin began to shudder with pleasure. "Oh master, no one has ever paid attention to me before."

"Then you are going to like this." And Carvyn continued his rubbing massage, slowly working down to the Antonin's waist, and the space below. His hands began stroking the young man's cock, slowly moving from base to tip, gently with fingers tracing the underside. Antonin was shaking in pleasure, and actually cried out as Carvyn engulfed his manhood in his mouth.

Antonin just whimpered as Carvyn swirled his tongue around, tasting everything, everywhere, up and down the shaft, and with slow deliberate motion relaxed his throat and drove the entire length in until his lips were buried in the soft blond curls. The younger man had never, ever felt anything like this before. There was no pain, no rasping, just smooth, hot, wet and exquisite sensation. It couldn't get any better.

But it did. Carvyn began to pick up the pace, and his mouth and tongue now lashed instead of swirled, and his head moved faster up and down. One hand on his balls, which were so ready, and one hand holding him down, together they felt his desperate need fill and come crashing down with those spasms of pleasure and release. Antonin emptied himself into Carvyn's mouth, all thought gone, just primal need being satisfied.

"That, my squire, is called a blowjob. Neat, can be done quickly, and gives a great experience."

"That was absolutely incredible. But why do that for me?"

"Two reasons: So you can learn to do it yourself, and so you can teach your own squire someday." Carvyn grinned suddenly. "Besides, I liked doing that to you."

"Master, what does it taste like?"

"Somewhat weird. Most things taste like their odor. Cum doesn't. It is kind of a gooey, hot sticky substance that tastes most like paste or bleach."

"So, master, how can I be of service to you?"

Carvyn grinned again. "I was hoping you would ask that. I am going to fuck you, nice and long and hard. And you will feel such pleasure."

Carvyn rolled him onto his stomach, his abdomen propped up by a pillow. There was the glorious butt, in perfect formation: butt cheeks rounded, relaxed, but parted to expose the all-important entrance. He began by massaging his back, working down to his waist and then to the actual butt itself. It got a lot of attention, and then he said quietly, "I am going to stretch you a bit so it won't hurt later. It will feel cool and slippery. And there is a very sensitive spot I want to show you."

"Master, I am yours."

Carvyn whispered a spell, and the lube spread carefully on and through Antonin's entrance. Gently Carvyn worked it, slowly stretching the opening that had gone all tight after all those weeks of abstinence. When one finger was all the way in, he adjusted slightly and he came to caress the prostate. Antonin gasped and writhed on the bed. "Oh master, that is sooooooo good!"

Another finger went in, and the moaning continued. Finally, Carvyn said, "Now, you are ready. Push out slightly when I say so." Receiving the nod, he positioned himself behind Antonin, and slowly slid his own long hard cock up and down around his entrance. He then pointed himself at the spot, and began to press inwards.

"Now, Antonin." And he felt Antonin relax just at the moment that he pushed inward and it surged forward as Antonin cried, "Oh God yes!!" They were hot, they were into it, and Carvyn began the nice, long and hard fuck he had promised, and had been waiting for.

It went on. Antonin kept pushing back, clenching his muscles on every move in or out, and Carvyn kept driving home into that delicious butt. When orgasm came, they slammed together and held on while Carvyn emptied his essence into his squire, his willing sex partner, his reward.

They lay together for a while afterwards. Antonin was totally satisfied. That had been better than any prior experience he had ever had. If only they could do it more often! And he realized that he did need to be educated in how to properly provide sexual relief, and how to take sexual relief as best it could be in the future. All the other times, the other mentors paled compared to this.

Carvyn stroked him gently. It had been almost as good as Draco. But Antonin was different, and he had his own spice and flavor in sex. He glanced at the time, and saw it was an hour to midnight. He slowly got up, and Antonin heard him mutter "Lento Gente Scourgify". That certainly wasn't Russian. But he suddenly realized that he was clean. And Carvyn had left the room.

Carvyn returned shortly, wearing a black outfit and shoes that were silent on the stone floor. "I have to go out. Go to sleep, Antonin. I enjoyed you very much. And I still have much to show you." And sleep stole over Antonin.

Carvyn moved down the hall, his eyes adjusted to the night. He knew the way in the daytime, but Durmstrang had a defensive watchfulness about it at night. Hogwarts had been spooky at times. He made his way to the Luchev Strategy Room, and sat down in a corner facing the entrance. He should have a little time left. Rochenko said midnight, and he knew he was early.

He had enjoyed the tactics club. They seemed to enjoy his company. Perhaps there was room for friendship there. It was good to deal with peers again as peers. They had told him that the Spring Battle was coming, and they wanted him to be active on their command side. He had agreed to be a part of it, though he really didn't know what was entailed other than a multi-day outdoor exercise to take a run-down piece of stone building from defenders. Whether they defended or not would depend upon chance.

Rochenko appeared in the entrance. "On time. Very good. Come with me." And Carvyn followed him out of the room, outside into the night, and down to the game pens. A variety of animals wandered about, being perfectly normal. The choice of animals was quite unusual, in that they were all aggressive, noble or otherwise proud. No cows, no chickens, not even a mouse. Most were intelligent. Carvyn watched them curiously.

"Do you know why you are here?"

"No, sir, though I expect the animals play a role."

"More than you are aware, you have had a freshening impact on our student body. For that I am grateful. We usually offer this opportunity to interested seniors, but it is a very rare one that it works for. Something tells me it will for you, and thus the opportunity is a reward of sorts."

"Thank you, I think."

Rochenko laughed. "Oh yes. This is Animorph Potion, a very powerful potion that falls somewhat into Dark Magic." He pulled out a vial of a purple liquid. "It configures the drinker to become an Animagus. Its effect lasts for about half an hour, during which time the candidate searches for the animal that resonates with him. Once that animal is found, the two of you bond and the animal will transfer its awareness of what it is to you. At that time you will for the first time become the animal, and the transfer will continue. When it releases you, the process is complete and you can change at will."

"I will be an Animagus?"

"Yes, if an animal will consent to you."

"If one doesn't?"

"It wears off and nothing happens."

"So I have nothing to lose?"

"And everything to gain."

"Watch me get a dungbeetle."

Rochenko laughed hard on that one. "Oh, I don't think so, my young friend. I've got an idea."

Carvyn looked at him quizzically. "Is it related to the Machine score?"

Rochenko stopped laughing. All business, he looked at Carvyn. "You have used the Machine?"

"Yes, last night actually. I really didn't want anyone around, in case the score was really low. But it gave me a score I don't understand."

"What score?"

"One hundred and one."

Rochenko grinned suddenly. "Of course, so you are the one. I had received notice that someone had scored very high, but it was so dark when you did it that that person could not be recognized. I was more afraid that one of the underclassmen had done it." He held out his hand. "Congratulations!"

Carvyn gave a short little bow. "Thank you, Headmaster." And he took the potion, drank it, and returned the bottle. Warmth spread through him as its magic dovetailed with his own. And the Bull looked at him, and looked away.

Carvyn walked among the animals, petting them, talking to them. They seemed happy to see him, but each one kept hinting, "Not I." There was something on the fringe of his mind, though, elusive. He slowly felt each animal weigh itself against him, and then step back. The fox had shown some interest, but moved away as well. The badger, the swan, all the animals he met. He had finally come to the end of the pen, looking back, they had all turned and were watching him.

Well, not exactly. He turned, and they were watching a lone brown figure winging its way across the ground. He marveled at it, automatically extending his arm. The hawk alighted on his wrist, stared into his eyes, and he was absorbed into its vortex of knowledge. And then Carvyn spread his wings, flung himself into the air with a shrieking cry, and flew high.

A hawk. Noble bird of prey, incredible eyesight and highly intelligent. A surge flew through Carvyn as the fierce joy of his first transformation streaked through him. A priceless gift! He circled, and then slowly fell through the air down to the pen of animals and alighted on the fence. The other hawk alighted with him, and with a jolt he understood the hawk's lifestyle and presence.

The potion began to fade. As Carvyn slowly dwindled back to himself, he realized that the hawk he had become was a bit bigger than the one he learned from. Conservation of mass, perhaps? He got off the fence and went back to where Rochenko was standing with tears in his eyes.

"I missed most of it. Tell me, what animal?"

"Headmaster, I bonded with and became a hawk."

"Very very good, very noble. I was hoping for you, but a hawk is more than we could have dreamed."

"How do I switch back and forth?"

"You just have to want to. I usually use a focusing phrase such as Go Fox' and Go Man'."

They returned to the fortress. Rochenko bade him good night, and they would talk in the morning. And so Carvyn, standing in the hallway, muttered to himself, "Go Hawk" and he felt the liquid state take, reform and release him. He flew back through the fortress to his room, at which point he thought, "Go Man" and changed back to himself. He closed the door, stripped and climbed in next to Antonin.

In the morning he woke. Could the last night have been real? His adventure with Antonin, his adventure in being an Animagus. He wasn't sure if it was actually real. But the more he woke, the more real it became. He got Antonin up.

"Time for our run."

"Mmmph .. Sir." And a little sluggishly he got ready and followed Carvyn out for the run.

It was a glorious morning for a run. Faster and faster he felt himself go, with Antonin keeping up with some difficulty. They arrived at their usual stopping point, a cliff overlooking a long valley. Carvyn turned to Antonin. "I can't resist. Don't tell anyone what you are about to see." And he stepped off the cliff.

Antonin rushed to stop him, but instead a large jet-black hawk streaked through the air into the valley. There was no sign of Carvyn. He stood there, not sure what to do.

Carvyn swept the cliff, changing in midair and swooped out through the air. It felt so good! He soared higher and lower, banking, until his sharp eyes and instincts saw a little tidbit on the ground. Before he knew it, he dove, killed and flew off with his meal. By the time he realized what had happened, he had finished the small rodent. Rising on a spiral of air, he flew back to Antonin, and alighted on a rock. Antonin just stared. So Carvyn then flew up and behind a tree, and changed back before returning to Antonin.

Antonin stared at him. "What have you done?"

Carvyn laughed, the good feeling still pulsing in his veins. "I flew." Grinning still, he started running back to the fortress.

Antonin didn't quite know what to make of this, but he resumed his run too. His master was positively giddy. This could be the beginning of some interesting times.

The next few weeks continued. Carvyn established himself as a non-conventional tactician in the tactics club and class. His drill was tolerable. The sex with Antonin was incredible. Antonin was a very vocal and exciting bottom, who when given the opportunity was a firm but sensitive top. They were both in excellent shape from the running, and the respect mounted for them. Carvyn's score on the Machine did not leak out, but his rating went from a two to a six, and even Antonin scratched out a rating of five. And Carvyn flew every day for the pleasure and joy, and the learning experience of being an Animagus.

The Spring Battle was finally announced. Luchev against Balansky. Luchev was attacking the Balanskys, who were defending the castle ruins. Immediately, Carvyn was suggested as general and leader of the Luchev house, but he turned it down. Instead he recommended his friend Gregor, who would be a more visible leader. Carvyn suggested slyly that he might be better as the head of Intelligence. He would use the hawk thing to his advantage.

They won. The selected strategy had a fragment of the Luchev army attack the castle, which drew the proud Balansky army out. Rather than hit a final stand, Carvyn had suggested they strategically retreat and let the remainder of the Luchev army move out of the surrounding forest and cut the Balansky army off from its castle. Carvyn had flown high over the scene to watch the battle unfold and report when to move. It was very effective. He had told Gregor about his unique skill, which had cracked a grin a mile wide on Gregor.

Rochenko had told the entire student body to dress formally tonight, as they would be entertaining guests from the local wizarding town. The town had a community of witches in training, and this `mixer' was a reward for battle and bravery. Rochenko had been very pleased at the outcome.

Carvyn and Antonin had returned, exhausted. It had been two days of slogging through grass, forest and mud. But it was worth it! They each took long showers. Antonin went first, and when they switched Antonin laid out a brilliant royal blue set of robes with brass buttons. It was quite colorful, but with his blue eyes and blond short hair, the effect was stunning.

Carvyn finished in the shower and came out. A deep black set of robes were on the bed. Antonin grinned.

"Looks like you are back in black today. I laid it out for you, master."

"Thank you, Antonin, but I am supposed to wear another one." He went to the closet, and all the way in back was a special clothes bag. "You might be in for a surprise." He pulled it out and undid the fasteners. Out came his formal outfit, matte black with the black on black serpentine design, black brocade around the collar, and the green roping on the trim. Out came the black boots. He put the Beauxbatons earring in his ear, his Hogwarts ring on his finger, and the bright green sash with the gold trim and all that brocade across his shoulder left to right. Yes, that was the way it should be done.

He turned to Antonin, who stood there with his mouth open. A prince was standing in front of him, or maybe a god. Definitely a god. The immaculate formal wear only accentuated both the confidence and authority that his master projected, but also the absolute sexual fantasy that lay beneath. "What are you? You belong in Romanov!"

Carvyn grinned at him. "Antonin, I am a Marquis; I probably belong in Romanov, but you were in Luchev and Rochenko gave you to me." He posed briefly, realizing that Madam Malkin had somehow included his long hair in the design. He really did look like a wild sex god tamed by the aristocracy.

Antonin grinned. "What do I call you then? Master? Your Grace?" He took a chance. "Wart on my butt?"

Carvyn rolled his eyes, then put his stern face on. "I am afraid I missed the last one." He began to look at his right hand in detail. So did Antonin, who gulped in renewed memory and had felt his butt begin to tingle. And in that moment, Carvyn looked totally the aristocrat, and Antonin felt the sensuality flood through him in torrents. He felt like he could spend the rest of his life with him.

They took their staves and went down into the fortress. The strategy rooms had been redecorated to a softer motif. Carvyn had made sure that Antonin had gone first, and he followed behind closely. Everyone looked very well-dressed and attractive, with some dancing erratically punctuated by laughter. They made their way to Luchev students, whose eyes grew wide at Carvyn's regalia.

It was one of the girls who actually put it right. Her name was Pavlova. She was attractive, though not as frilly or buxom as most. It was obvious that the big burly guys all went after the frilly girls with the bodacious cleavage. They both had gravitated towards a corner, more to watch, and had engaged in conversation. Pavlova had noticed him, and commented on his formality.

"Your army did very well to win, Your Grace. There has been nothing but praise for your execution."

"Thank you. Gregor was a wonderful general. And my name is Carvyn, please?"

She curtsied deeply, a wicked smile on her face. "I am Pavlova." She paused a moment, then continued, "How is it that you are in Luchev house? For as I look around the room, you obviously look and are more noble and sophisticated than any of those in Romanov."

"Really? I don't feel particularly noble."

"That must be it. You carry it unconsciously. All the others are posturing." She leaned up against him. "I also sense a lot of power in you. A great deal."

"That is probably true." He looked around the floor of young witches and wizards. "I hope they are enjoying themselves."

Pavlova smiled. "And what about you?"

"I am enjoying your company."

"You don't dance, do you?"

"I do and do very well, but not in that style. I learned to dance in Paris."

She sighed. "Good. That isn't my style either." And they chatted on. But the noise was significant from the rest of the crowd as they grew rowdier, and finally he had to call a halt.

"Pavlova, would you like to go somewhere more quiet?" He shouted in her direction.

A vigorous nod, and the two stepped out of the bustle. His study of the fortress would finally pay off. He took her behind a tapestry which covered a door, and down a short hallway to a hidden balcony. It was formed by the junction of two arches, and had a distinct V shape to it, but it was cool and quiet, and had a bench that was clean and dry.

"I found this place a week ago. It hadn't been used in decades. You are the first person I have brought here."

She laughed tightly. "I am honored. Is this what you would call a love nest?"

He gave her a blank look. "No, nothing of the sort." Then it dawned on him, and he turned bright red. "Were you expecting to be carried off to my `love nest'? It had not yet occurred to me but-"

"No, no. Although I think everyone else will end up in bed together tonight, you don't seem that type." She giggled. "Although I think you and I just became the pride and envy of the group, because that is what they are going to think!"

"Well, there isn't much I can say to that! Have a seat, please, and tell me about yourself."

She did. She was eighteen, and had been raised with the hopes that she would marry a nobleman. She was versed in how to make a manor feel like a house, and she had been doing so for the past eight years for her uncle. When her uncle died, the family title had gone to a distant family member, but she was still asked - and compensated - to keep the manor house up. They did say it would be sold within a year or two.

She had paused in her story, then, "Russia has not been easy for us. I think I would like to find someone far away in a gentler country." She stood up and walked to the edge. "I want so much to make an environment, a house, a place, and raise a family, but I don't want to do it in a shack. Every girl hopes for something, but every time we come up to Durmstrang there are more muscleheads." She smiled. "You are so different from them."

"And yet I am one of them. Believe me, I have my muscle- headed days." He looked at her straight on. "But, I believe that there is a person out there who was made for you, and I might know who he is."

She gaped at him. "No, not me. He is in England. He comes from a noble family that was decimated in the War. He is trying to rebuild the family name. And he is looking for someone who he can love, help him build a home and family, and yet still be the elegant lady at his side." And he described Draco Malfoy to her.

She all but fell in love with Draco right then and there. "I've got to meet him."

"I will send him an owl."

"Do that." She was grinning sloppily. "You've told me everything I think I could ask, except his endowment."

"Eight inches."

She gaped. "How do you know?"

He looked straight at her, and said softly, "Because I have had repeated and very intimate sexual contact with him, before he ended it to find a wife he could love."

She closed her mouth. "Really?"

"Yes. That should tell you more about me than him."

Her face split wide open with glee. "I never would have guessed, but you haven't even tried a move on me and we have been alone for hours!" They laughed. "Too bad for you. But I like him even more now."

"I will set something up." He looked at the sky. "But we should be getting back, right?"

She nodded. "But I will help you." She smiled secretly. "You'll see." And they slowly walked back to the crowd. On the return trip, she asked him quietly, "Would you dance once with me? If I could get the musicians to do something formal?"

Carvyn nodded. "Thinking of a little ballroom-type stuff?"

"Absolutely."

They moved towards the dance floor. Pavlova had a word with the musicians, and the next dance found them alone on the floor, moving to a formal stately allemande. Each of them, he the ornamented image of a young nobleman, she the elegant, simple and crisp young lady, together moving in formal precise steps with the music, presented a beauty and grace far beyond the other students of Durmstrang. It was an image that Romanov students strive to emulate. The village witches collapsed in universal despair, and then clung to their partners for comfort. When they were done, universal applause scattered through the room.

The noise assaulted them. As they exited the dance floor, she turned to him, and pulled his face down to hers and brushed his lips with hers gently. Not to be out-done, Carvyn enfolded her in his arms and pressed the kiss deeper, longer, and they clung together for a minute before separating. Her eyes were shining and breath heaving as they separated, and she made her way through the crowd.

Carvyn leaned over the bar, surveying the crowd. Nice kiss, but thank God he didn't have to deal with breasts and stuff! Reassured that he still was gay, and that no one else would know, he moved towards the punch bowl.

A totally wasted Antonin stumbled over with a frilly buxom girl. "Massser, can we have - I mean, can I have the - oh, what I really mean is -"

Caryvn leaned forward. "What you want is to use our room so you can fuck like rabbits?"

Antonin grinned. "Something like that, sir."

"Go ahead. I'll see you in the morning."

"You got yours already then! Wow! Fast mover." And they almost ran off.

So Antonin wasn't gay. He wondered if anyone at Durmstrang was. He went back to the balcony behind the tapestry, and stared out at the sky. Two words came to mind, and he was free. Go Hawk. And he flew his loneliness and frustration away.

The next morning most of the school was hung over. The girls had left, most of the boys had stumbled back to their beds, either to pass out from success or use their hands to relieve the pressure of defeat. Carvyn had flown back and landed on the same balcony, became man again and returned to the room to find Antonin totally hung over.

Carvyn had a cruel moment. "Get up; time for our run."

A groan so miserable emanated from the bed.

"All right, we'll skip today. Drink as much water as you can and it will help."

He changed into regular clothes, and was one of a few people who made breakfast. The rest of the day was spent recovering for most. The infirmary ran out of pain relievers, and so Carvyn jumped in with the head Medic and made vial after vial of headache reliever. Within three days, everyone was back to normal.

Several more weeks passed. Carvyn had written Draco several times, and this time he included his experience with Pavlova. Draco had responded to each; he was doing well, he hadn't found anyone yet, and tell him more about Pavlova.

He had finished all his work for the classes in Investigative Arts. The hardest part had been an actual interrogation of a prisoner. He was a known criminal murderer. They wanted to know where the body was. Apparating to Moscow with Rochenko for the final exam, Carvyn and a Kremlin investigator had entered the interrogation room. The investigator was there for Carvyn's safety, but Carvyn had to supply the body location to pass the class.

The prisoner had been resistive at first. But through careful leading and some intense Legilimency, he learned the location of the body. It was then that he caught a glimmer of an identity. The prisoner knew whom he had killed, and he had had help.

Rochenko and several others watched Carvyn work. Rochenko was beaming with pride. He was turning the prisoner inside out without excessive force. A wily one. But suddenly something happened. They saw Carvyn go totally white, and the prisoner go wide-eyed in fear. The next thing they saw was the prisoner plastered against the wall, two feet off the ground, screaming in agony. By the time they had reacted enough, it was over and the prisoner was being carried back to his chair. Carvyn looked totally shaken, and knocked to be released. The other detective was with him, looking very serious. They met together in the observation room.

Carvyn had been doing fine, and he had been able to extract the identity of the victim. When he had put the pressure on the helper, the prisoner turned very resistive, but could not erase the face that had floated to the top of his mind. Carvyn was able to get the rough date of the murder, but when he saw the pale, stony face, the curled sneer, the greasy black hair of the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore, Carvyn knew that Severus Snape was still alive. He had lost it then, and put the extreme pressure on the prisoner, flinging him against the wall and applying the Cruciatus Curse on him to break his resistance. It worked, and he knew where Snape was two days ago.

Rochenko started. "What did you find out?"

"In a moment, please. First, send for your head investigator. This man was with Severus Snape two days ago in Moscow."

Pandemonium! The entire staff went into overdrive. Severus Snape was the number one most wanted wizard in the world. The prisoner was removed for more expert pressure. After Carvyn related the location of the body, the name of the victim and the date of the murder, the room was suddenly empty but for him and Rochenko.

"You are full of surprises." Rochenko observed. "That was excellent work. Perhaps a bit overdone at the end?"

"Headmaster, while Snape killed Dumbledore I killed eighteen werewolves who were looking for a meal of Hogwarts students. There is no more vile creature than Snape." He thought a moment. "I will concede there may have been an emotional reaction as well."

"Humph. All I know is, you just showed up the best investigators in Russia. That gets you an Outstanding."

A grin spread across his face. "Thank you, sir." And they returned to Durmstrang.

Two days later the full import of his discovery shook the country. During breakfast, a student came running in to Rochenko, who immediately ran out of the room. He returned a minute later, and bellowed to the room, "Attention, everyone. There is an emergency! Heads of houses, count your students and make sure all are in this room ASAP. All faculty members to the War Room NOW." He scanned the crowd briefly. "Carvyn de Sernin, get up to me NOW. As of this moment, Carvyn de Sernin is Interim Headmaster of Durmstrang."

Carvyn got up in shock and ran towards Rochenko, who said, "Follow me." And they walked quickly through a large stone doorway, up a flight of stairs and into the War Room, which was a big round full circle room that had viewing in all directions. All of the faculty were there.

Rochenko started. "Here it is. Carvyn, you discovered Snape was alive several days ago. We know where he is. The Russian Ministry is going all out to capture him. They have called every one of the strongest wizards to help. That includes all of us. You, however are going to run and defend the school. They anticipate a coordinated attack. You won't see Snape, but it is likely you will see other Death Eaters."

"Any attack on the school would be a distraction to you, the faculty. Don't worry about us. We are sitting on an army here."

"A textbook army, anyway." Then Rochenko added, "I know what you did in killing off the Dark Lord." A round of gasps and exclamations from the faculty. "That's why I picked you to run the school in our absence. It is likely to be several days."

"Yes, Headmaster. We will not let you down."

"Don't seek out conflict or trouble. Defend the school. We will be gone in five minutes, so start your plan now."

And Carvyn went downstairs to the crowd of students. The Heads of Houses informed him that all were accounted for. Carvyn felt they needed to know what was going on.

"Fellow students, our defense is in our hands. We have all trained for this. The threat is an unknown number of Death Eaters. Their motivation is likely to attack the school and distract the faculty members from their mission. We do not have to seek them out, but we will defend ourselves."

A murmur ran through the crowd.

"There may be no threat or action, or there may indeed be. First, second and third year students will follow their normal class schedule. Seniors, I want the best academic performers assigned to teach the second and third year classes, and an adequate performer to teach the first year classes. The pace will be slower but the teaching must continue. Heads of houses will report directly to me. Each Head of house is to name two deputies. All students are to carry their wands and combat staves at all times. And last, I want the Heads of houses, and any Senior or third year with a rating of five or higher to meet me in the War Room in ten minutes. All travel outside the fortress is prohibited. Students are encouraged to keep away from open windows, and to draw the curtains at night. There is no danger now, but the potential is very real."

Carvyn went up to the War Room. He found a blackboard, drew a schedule that broke out the day into eight shifts, and nearly leaped into the ceiling as the Head House Elf appeared.

"Interim Headmaster, do you have anything for us to do?"

"That's going to be awfully awkward. Just call me Carvyn."

"Yes sir, Carvyn."

"Right now, keep hot coffee on that table and a supply of high protein sandwiches. And bring me three sacks of one hundred one-inch white wooden disks each, and a fourth sack of about forty one-inch red wooden disks."

"Yes sir." And he popped out, leaving the sacks behind. Carvyn stared at the sacks, assembled the spell components and muttered half a dozen words. He had applied a variant of the Protean Charm. That would allow the disks to echo small messages amongst them.

The Heads of Houses appeared, as well as a dozen big burly types. Fortunately, they all recognized his authority. He instructed the Heads of Houses to distribute the white wooden disks. They would vibrate, and words would appear on all of them with instructions should an attack occur. They nodded. They confirmed that the class arrangements had been settled.

"Comrades, you who are level five and above need to patrol the fortress. You and I will be the first and strongest line of defense. The rest of the seniors, we are establishing a round the clock watch from the watch wall. Eight shifts, three hours each, with each of you taking two shifts per day. These red wooden disks also vibrate, but any of you can trigger them. I will know which is which. Use this as a method to sound an alarm." He distributed them amongst the watch.

"Anybody nervous?"

One or two shook their heads, but most nodded. "I am nervous. But I have been through worse. If something occurs to you that is not being covered, let me know." And he dismissed them.

He left the War Room and went back to his room. Antonin was at class. He grabbed a few spell books, his staff, and some materials and returned to the War Room. When he arrived there, an owl was waiting for him with a note:

Carvyn -

The fortress has few magical defenses. Apparition is likely to be your biggest threat. Do your best.

Rochenko

Carvyn scrawled a response, and included several of the white wooden disks with instructions on how they functioned. He tied the package to the owl, and directed it back to Rochenko. At least they would know if an attack was happening.

Carvyn held hourly roundtable meetings. The first had been long, but after a few of them issues were resolved. Carvyn had asked for the best wizard in the school, and he had been tasked on finding spells that warded against apparition. While he was gone, Carvyn decided he needed a look around. So he changed into his hawk form and flew several perimeters around the fortress. He returned uneventfully, with an appreciation for the tactical side. If he could block apparition, then they had a reasonable defense.

The first shift of watch ended, and the next watchmen took over. Fortunately, the weather was not as cold as winter. But it was the apparition that constantly bothered him. How could you protect a place when any number of people could pop in on a moment's notice?

Ultimately, it was Antonin who established that line of defense. He had gone up to the War Room to bring his master a cloak when he overheard the musings. He had a brilliant idea.

"Sirs, may I interrupt for a second?"

"By all means." Carvyn responded, "This is Antonin, my squire. What is it?"

"Well, to Apparate you have to have a visual of where you are going, right?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"The fortress is full of tapestries that have been hanging here for eons. Let's mix them up a bit. For that matter, we could take them all down. I know for a fact that most of us Apparate into the fortress by choosing a tapestry to memorize."

They grinned. "Perfect!"

Carvyn gave the order. "Take the tapestries down, roll them up and place them in a dark room in the basement. I feel the need to redecorate." And that risk was gone.

Shortly after that, Pavel, the best wizard returned from the library. He had found a wide-area Apparition barrier spell. But it would take an awful lot of power to do it.

"I'm your best choice." Pavel continued, "I scored sixty-two on the Machine."

"Pavel, you will be deputy in this barrier activity. I scored one hundred and one on the Machine, so it is my problem most of the time."

You could have heard a pin drop, followed by the roar of cheering from those present. Carvyn pulled his magic in, feeling it surge through him, and cast the spell.

"FACCIA PARETE NON APPARII!"

A loud detonation happened, and a few tendrils of smoke emanated from the general vicinity. Pavel offered, "The spell usually takes a dozen high powered wizards."

Carvyn looked around, and spotted the bathroom. "It also takes a lot of concentration. I'll be right back." And the group shared a tight moment of laughter. Suitably relieved, he returned to find that several had taken the same kind of action.

Carvyn frowned, and then remembered the staff. "One more try. Lets do this together." Carvyn took his staff and gave it the activation code. At once it fired up with its green network of inlay. He fed it everything he had, and it immediately surged into the light-sucking black, which seemed to glow with darkness. Carvyn could feel the immense power in this staff, and he walked to the center of the War Room with it. "Everyone grab the staff somewhere, and try to give it all your magic." He invoked the spell as the thirteen tapped the floor with the staff.

"FACCIA PARETE NON APPARII MAGNA ENGORGIO!"

A shimmering blue flash spread quickly out in spherical form from the point where the staff contacted the floor, until it surrounded the fortress with an invisible barrier. The staff vibrated briefly, then settled down. Carvyn found that once cast, it didn't take much to maintain the spell.

"Much better," and he was surrounded by general relief. The others didn't even feel the spell, nor did they feel drained at all.

With that in place, the team assaulted the coffee and sandwiches. Evening was beginning to fall on that first day. So far, everything was ready and in place. It was Gregor who suggested that he be visible down at dinner as a reassuring presence.

"Sir, you really need to. The tension is building and the younger ones really need to see an adult presence. Like it or not, you are at least a year older than us, and even now you seem decades older."

"Very well. Stay here and maintain the watch."

"Yes, Commander."

"Commander? When did that happen?"

"Well, interim headmaster was too much to say, and your name wouldn't reinforce your authority or the respect needed. So Antonin actually came up with it." He grinned. "It fits, too."

"Humph." And he went down to dinner.

As Carvyn entered the hall, he could feel the nervous quiet. Gregor was right. He walked to his place at the main table and stood for a moment. The hall dropped to silence.

"Comrades, well done. Let me give you an update. The fortress is well defended. Able, strong and magical wizards from all houses have joined to strengthen our defense. We are prepared, should anything untoward happen. For that I thank all of you for your above and beyond diligence." A round of applause.

"Many of you are wondering why I, an outsider to Durmstrang, was selected to run this. I tell you it was purely based upon my prior experience in real magical combat with the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord, Voldemort," which brought a gasp from the student body, "split his soul into seven pieces, expecting to attain immortality. I personally destroyed four out of seven of them. Harry Potter was responsible for destroying the first, and the last, ending his reign. I have faced death by magic and werewolf alone more than a dozen times. If we have to, we now know we can face it again together, as one venerable army defending its fortress. They will NOT TAKE DURMSTRANG!!"

The entire room erupted in an overpowering roar of applause and approval, leaping to their feet. Even the Heads of Houses stood in awe. He then bade everyone sit down, and the dinner continued, but with the resolve and confidence needed.

Carvyn, however, felt a chill touch him. One of his challenges during Hogwarts had been from Draco, from within. A defector. With some light Legilimency, he could take a walk through the crowd. He got up, and signaled two of the burly types to him. He then went down among the tables, reassuring the younger ones, and all the while scanning carefully. He started with Romanov, as the Death Eaters tended to be drawn from the aristocracy.

His vigilance was rewarded. Two of the Romanovs were positively vibrating anxiety as he approached. Both were in the group of four that had harassed Antonin some weeks back. He politely asked them if they would meet with him later to discuss a special assignment. They agreed somewhat reluctantly. Continuing his check, none others showed any issue.

Carvyn knew exactly what he would do with these two. He would set the House Elves on them to watch. If he could catch them in the act, then he would have a potential tool. He shuddered suddenly at the thought of how much damage these two might have done.

He had made a makeshift bed out of a cot and some blankets in the War Room. He slept briefly, spending most of the night trying to find weaknesses or breaks in their defense. He debated with Pavel about other magical defenses, but none would be as effective. The watch changed, and then changed again. And they waited for news. None was forthcoming.

After breakfast, he gathered the Heads of houses together and their deputies, and made sure that they knew the Stupefy, Expelliarmus, and Protego charms. He instructed them to teach them to all the students so that they had a basic attack, disarm and shielding capability. If nothing else, he could line the walls with them and have nearly three hundred sources of trouble for the Death Eaters.

Over the next two days, he slept little and ate little. The school functioned with class work, drill and some practice with the defensive spells. Mostly he prowled the circumference of the War Room. Carvyn wasn't sure exactly if he could make a difference by staying there, but at least if he did he would feel better about this whole thing. And it was a good thing too, because he was there conversing with the dozen rating five-and-above young men that he called the Front Line late on the third day when one of the House Elves popped in with some critical news.

"Commander, sir, the two students we were watching have acted. We have stopped them, and imprisoned them with us in the room next to the kitchens."

Carvyn took a deep breath. "Let us go see them. Be prepared for some kind of invasion shortly." And holding the House Elf's hand, they popped down to the imprisoned two.

They were conscious but thoroughly bound. Perfect. "Do you have their wands?"

The House Elf presented them to him. Carvyn stared at them, and then applied a bizarre set of spell components. "Duo Randantalle Ennervio Incendio Magna." He looked around the room. "I have spelled your wands to uselessness. If anyone tries to use them, they will activate and explode, probably killing the user." He turned to the House Elf. "Put these in the Headmaster's office, please." And the House Elf left. It was just Carvyn and the prisoners.

"You must feel real proud of yourselves."

"Fuck off and die, mudblood."

Carvyn sighed. "It's back to that again, is it? Well, lets get through this. Legilimens!" And by the time he was done with the two of them, with only minor force, he knew when and how many were going to invade the fortress, but not why. He left them, with orders to the House Elves not to release them until he personally told them to. They nodded. And suddenly Carvyn was back in the War Room.

The others crowded around him. "Did you learn anything?"

"Yes. Six are going to attempt to apparate into the fortress before midnight. They will hit the Apparition Wall, and then proceed on foot. I want you twelve to be ready. Take their wands but do not let your guard down. In fact, Stupefy them and then levitate them to the main hall. I will meet you there."

Grins spread across the Front Line members. Finally, something they could do!

The Front Line team was ready, and about twenty minutes later there was a subsonic thud and Carvyn was knocked to the ground. Dazed, he realized that they were coming in from the south, and he spelled his red disk to read `South Side'. The Wall held, and as he peered out into the night he thought he could see movement.

Five minutes later a crisscross of wand beams and the group had been neutralized. Ten minutes later, the group was safely disarmed and in the main hall. The Front Line was very effective, and had sustained no injuries of their own. In fact, not a single Death Eater had gotten off a shot.

Carvyn had them move the six into one of the lower chambers, which had been stripped bare so it could not be identified. He spelled their wands with the same self-destruct charm from the spell components, and moved them to a different place in the fortress. And then it was interrogation time.

I am not a monster, he thought to himself. I just have to make them think that I am. I have to be their worst nightmare. I have to be Voldemort to them. He turned to the others. "Do you recognize any of these people?"

They nodded. As it turned out, two of them had recognized them as parents of students, and the two students were the ones they had picked up earlier. Gregor suggested that if Caryvn were to ask some simple questions but was covered in blood, he could look like a total sadistic fiend. He grinned widely at the thought. So some blood was brought from the dinner roast, splashed liberally on Carvyn, and then he selected one of the parents of the students, and roused him.

"You are the father of Nicholai. We were questioning him when your arrival so rudely interrupted us." He flicked some blood off his sleeve and onto the man in front of him. Inside, he was roiling in revulsion at the person he was trying to project. But the nonchalance was essential to maintain. Carvyn was going to leverage the worst possible fear in a parent: the suffering of their child.

"What have you done to him?"

"Not enough, apparently. He hasn't told us much that is useful."

The man's face drained of blood. "Nicholai doesn't know much."

"He knew you were coming." An offhand look, then, "Well, I will have to be sure anyway. I am afraid it is going to be a very, very long night for him. We were only just getting started." His stomach heaved. It was only the years of practice and control that allowed the silky doom of his voice to stay stable, and burn through to the man's fear.

"Wait." The sound of a parent about to plead. Carvyn didn't know if he could handle much more. Most of his being was loathing the deception that he was putting on this misguided man. But for the good of the students he had to know.

"Show me. Legilimens!" And Carvyn bore into the unsuspecting mind. What he saw made sense, but it was going to be a challenge. He retreated back to himself, leaving the parent. So close. Almost finished. And many preparations needed.

"It seems that you know enough to keep me satisfied. For now." His voice caressed the raw emotions like velvet, and he raised his wand. "Somnio!" and the parent fell asleep.

Carvyn left the room. "Post a guard. Then we will all meet in the War Room." And he positively ran back to the War Room via the bathroom, where he was violently ill. A cleansing spell took care of the blood. But the revulsion of what he had had to do to the Death Eater lingered. He stayed in the bathroom for a few minutes, until someone found him.

It was Antonin. "Master, you are a gentle person. That must have been very hard to do."

Carvyn shuddered. "You have no idea. But I had to. They had to believe that a monster had his child at its mercy."

"It certainly chilled and scared the rest of us. It was like you had eaten his son alive."

"At least I know their plans. They reek of Snape, too." He finished washing his face and freshening his mouth, and slowly dried himself off. "They are losing. The fortress is unassailable; they were going to take it over and use it as a base. No matter where the attackers would attack, the fortress would be their holdout." He replaced the towel, and Antonin saw his eyes lick with flame inside, they were so bronze and intense. "But I think they will have a great deal of trouble doing so."

Antonin shivered at that pronouncement. He wasn't sure if it was the determination, or the absolute lust at how predatory his master looked with his eyes on fire. Carvyn must have caught on, because he grinned suddenly and moved to pin Antonin against the wall. Their lithe bodies in close contact, charged with the energy of the moment made them both instantly hard. But no time for that. Carvyn leaned down and devoured Antonin's upturned mouth as they shared an beautifully intense, desperate kiss that both relieved and reassured them. Short, but needed by both.

They left the bathroom and reassembled in the War Room, although Antonin was grinning sloppily. Carvyn related his knowledge, and the Front Line and the Heads of houses grew stern and resolved. They could feel the combat readiness pulse through the group. They general conclusion was that it would probably hit in the very early morning, as Death Eaters congregated at night.

"The first sign will be when they hit the Apparition Wall. Believe me, I will know it when it happens. When it does, place every wizard on the watch wall ready to zap." He paused a moment. "Snape is very powerful. Rochenko and I are the only ones who can handle him. If it comes down to a one- to-one, stay out of the way."

The Front Line and the Heads of houses left to make their preparations. Quite suddenly, Carvyn found himself alone again. In the War Room, with its panoramic views, it somehow staying warm despite the chill wind, on its polished stone floor he paced. His heels clicked methodically on the floor as he wound in circles. He was aloof. Commands came from him, and were carried out. He really was the commander of the fortress right now. The days of boiling pitch and bows and arrows were over; where were the gaps in the defenses? He continued to pace. Was there more that they could do? Uncertainty plagued him. Would it come to a one-to-one battle with Snape?

It did. Shortly after two in the morning, Carvyn was knocked flat on the ground as dozens of Death Eaters tried to Apparate into the fortress. The Apparition Wall held, and as he stood up he spelled his red and white disks to read School Under Attack' and Man The Walls'. Grabbing his staff, he and the Front Line went down to the main entrance gate, the only way into the fortress. There they stood, Carvyn in front and the twelve of the Front Line split half and half. The plan was to let the thirteen of them begin the engagement, followed by a call and then the hundreds of watch wall wizards could engage from any sides that were threatened.

The Death Eaters were all walking slowly and carefully up to the fortress. It was clear that they were all appreciating how impregnable it was. When the gate came into view, though, and the thirteen wizards stood there in the moonlight, the dismay could be audibly heard.

One of them called out, "Stand aside, and your lives may be spared."

Carvyn responded in his most scornful voice. "Surrender, and we will ask that you get a fair trial. Otherwise, try to take us at your own peril."

"Then die, student scum!"

The spellwork began. Hexes and curses flung back and forth between the Front Line and the Death Eaters. But it was obvious that the Front Line had the advantage as the Death Eaters began to falter. They should retreat soon.

But they didn't. And slowly Carvyn began to see why. A blaze of spellwork off in the distance was edging towards the fortress. Carvyn immediately needed to see the extent, and put all his available power into an overhead light charm. "LUMOS SUPREMA!" And a cold blue seared the sky for a few seconds.

There were hundreds of Death Eaters, being rounded up by a large force of Ministry wizards. Carvyn was aghast. They had been expecting no more than fifty or so. But apparently this was a serious stand. The net effect was that the Death Eaters had been hoping to retreat to the unassailable fortress, but with the fortress slicing the Death Eater forces to ribbons, the net effect was a compression and densification of the Death Eaters. As the light evaporated, Carvyn realized what he could do. With a bellow he hollered, "WATCH WALL! ATTACK TO THE SOUTH!"

To say that the frustrated, pent-up trained and practiced students were zealous would be putting it very mildly. The sky lit up like daylight as hundreds of students launched hexes and curses, most of them using the Stupefy Hex. Three quarters of the Death Eaters went down in seconds. As isolated spellwork continued, a loud voice from the rear of the Death Eaters shouted out, "Focus on the gate!"

Carvyn's blood ran cold, then hot as knew that voice anywhere. It was Snape. Flinging his commands mentally at his staff, when the attack came it was repelled as the Front Line continued to cut through the swath. Launching a stream of conventional magic, he harassed Snape with hexes, curses and charms in a furious onslaught. He only had to hold out until the approaching Ministry wizards could corral him. He then realized that there was just one problem with that approach. Unfortuntely, if the Ministry could have corralled him, they would have done so already. He would have to try to do it himself, and it was not going to be easy at all. Uncertainty flooded him. Could he really take on Snape?

From the back of his mind a small grey sphere whispered to him. Guard the school. Defend its ways. New determination flowed into Carvyn, and he engaged the evil and sinister Severus Snape.

Dawn came, and the stream of magic sizzled between them and their groups. One by one the Death Eaters around Snape fell, and the Front Line and Wall Watch wizards all cheered loudly. They had to keep Snape off balance as much as possible. Finally, though, in the morning light they could see each other. Snape's eyes went wide when he saw whom his opponent was. "YOU! Defilement of defilement!"

Carvyn responded with determination. "Well, if it isn't Slytherin's second failure after Voldemort." And another round of spellwork went on. Jagged, raw magic ionized the air between them.

"HA!" Snape spat. "I can still read you like a book. You are still mine!"

Carvyn was caught. They all had had this problem with Snape. A Legilimens could anticipate every spell being cast and have extra time to formulate a response. Snape was the best Legilimens and Occlumens there ever was. But he realized that he was speaking in English! Did he know Russian? Some of Carvyn's spells that he had learned were in Russian. A glimmer of hope grew that he could leverage some nasty ones.

The next onslaught was on, and Carvyn used the Russian variants when he could. So much of it was reflex. He had to unbalance Snape. He threw Wizard Fire at him, and for a brief moment Snape sizzled in pain until he shielded. He threw immobility, paralysis, and more at him, all the while deflecting the responses back. The air sizzled between them and the light flickered in the trees as the Ministry wizards watched.

Carvyn was at his limit. "You will not gain this fortress!" he growled. And then he had an inspiration. All the drill was done in Russian. He would apply the Picard Maneuver. He had his Muggle heritage and Star Trek to thank for it. It was simple. He flung some spellwork at Snape who continued to barrage him. His own shield, split between him and the Apparition Wall, was weakening. Now or never.

Carvyn grabbed his staff horizontally, and hollered "Picardus!"

Snape focused his Legilimency. What was that spell? He had never heard of it.

Carvyn took the fraction of a second of indecision to Apparate to inches in front of Snape. And as he arrived, his staff swung with incredible force and before Snape could react, it cracked him on the side of the head. The last thing Snape remembered was that the staff was the one he had seen once at the Malfoy residence, as it gleamed hot and black, slicing through the air to him.

Snape toppled. Carvyn stood over him, took his wand, applied the self-destruct spell, made sure Snape wouldn't die from the blow, and then sat down himself. The world was roaring around his ears, and slowly he realized that the roaring was four hundred some odd students cheering "COMMANDER! COMMANDER!" over and over again. He stood up, tried to find someplace to escape, failed, and so he faced the fortress with two arms out high and began cheering with them.

Rochenko joined him shortly. His eyes were wide, his grin was wider, and he grabbed Carvyn in a big bear hug. "My boy, that was the most glorious sight I have ever seen. When the watch wall let loose on the pack of sheep caught in the middle, it was the most incredible sight I have ever seen!"

"They have done very well, Headmaster."

"They call you `Commander'."

"Interim Headmaster was too long." And they both laughed at that. Suddenly Carvyn was knocked down to the ground, amid a splatter of subsonic thudding sounds. It was the Apparition Wall, and Carvyn realized that perhaps the Ministry might try to get into the fortress that way. Rochenko looked at him in amazement.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir; someone just tried to apparate into the fortress."

"You are maintaining an Apparition barrier?"

"Yes, although I am not sure I can do it much longer."

"We are nearly through here." The Russian Ministry officials appeared, a little dazed. It was they who had tried to Apparate into the usual spot.

The Death Eaters were rounded up and taken by late morning. It then occurred to Carvyn about the others.

"Headmaster, Minister, we have six prisoners inside the fortress and two students who would have compromised our security had they succeeded." Fatigue permeated his voice for a few moments. Let the legal system in the Ministry deal with them. The kids would certainly need guidance and education.

They went back into the fortress, and collected all eight together. Nicholai rejoined his father, who was overjoyed to see him, and amazed at his good health.

Nicholai's father broke the silence. "But how is this possible? They told me you had suffered greatly, and your blood was all over the interrogator!"

Carvyn stepped forward. "Pure charlatanism. We never harmed him. The blood was from the roasted beef at dinner." He smiled dryly. "You betrayed your fellow Death Eaters over a couple ounces of beef juice."

Rochenko couldn't let it stand that way. "And a well- executed daring plan. Which reminds me, Commander. I would like to resume my authority in the fortress, please."

Carvyn grinned. "By all means." He took his disks out, spelled them to read `Stand down. Rochenko in charge.' And at once cheering broke out again at the fortress upper levels.

The Minister felt the vibration in his pocket, and removed a similar red disk. "Protean Charm?"

"A distributed one. The white ones are a broadcast set, whereas the red ones are bi-directional."

They were amazed at the preparations. Through lunch, the students were beaming with pride over their achievement of defense of the fortress. Rochenko beamed to the Ministry officials about how effective, well planned and well executed the student body had been on such short notice. And again, with the Heads of House present, no one quite noticed when Carvyn slipped away at the earliest possible moment. But he did, and back to the War Room.

The War Room. This was where it all happened. Four days ago this room was empty. He stayed up there for the afternoon, cleaned up the plans, the layouts, and finally, he placed his staff in the middle of the room, and shut down the Apparition Wall spell. As night fell, he put out the candles, and the room grew cold and dormant. They had done it. A living, breathing center of tactics and execution, the War Room had represented the brain center of the fortress defenses. It had gotten a little dicey at times, but overall and consistently problems were solved, training exercised, and cooperation achieved. Carvyn still had a little disbelief that it had all happened, now that it was over.

They HAD done it. But also, he had done it. Where would they have been without his leadership? He wasn't gloating, but more relieved that they had done so well. He had pushed his magic as hard as he had ever done before, and his body now was telling him that it was payback time. He sat down in the very middle of the room, with his staff across his lap, and put his head in his hands. Carvyn was bone-numbing weary. He had satisfaction that the plans had worked, but he wasn't happy about it. At least no one would bother him up here for a while.

What had happened to him? Two years ago, at Hogwarts he was nearly invisible. No one would give him the time of day, even in Slytherin. Now, he had been a leader to the extent that his peers from another country and culture had labeled him their commander. How could he have gotten from then to now?

It dawned on Carvyn that the change had happened when he had begun accepting responsibility. While it could have started with the class he had had to teach for Potions, he realized it had started the moment he was made Head Boy at Hogwarts. He had been forced to become public by that title, as well as his looks and his strength. When others finally became old enough, they realized that Carvyn was a mystery that was worth unraveling. And as they did that, he became less of a mystery, accepted more responsibility, and at the same time used to new limits the skills he had. He no longer retreated from conflict, but dealt with it. And the recognition that that process had happened made him smile in irony, because here he was in the War Room, alone, with the furor going on as the ministers and faculty restored order and justice. Maybe he had exceeded his threshold for visibility. Whatever. He was who he was. And apparently, that was someone who got the job done. And done well.

With that knowledge and without moving, his mind surrendered to sleep.

The faculty went looking for him during most of the evening, and could not find him. They and the Russian Ministry had elected immediately to give Carvyn the highest honor they could give to a wizard: the title of High Master of Wizardry. It wasn't quite the Order of Merlin, like Dumbledore had achieved, but it was a remarkable statement for a young wizard. They had wanted to do it publicly, but could not find him in the fortress. Since the ministers, faculty and others could not stand around for long, it was left to Rochenko to present the award to Carvyn.

Much later, and naturally it was Antonin who had automatically checked the War Room near midnight and found him sleeping there. Rather than wake him, he brought the blanket over, wrapped the two of them in it, and rested with him. He was so incredibly proud of his master. Antonin alone knew how private Carvyn was, and had seen the look of terror and shock when Rochenko had announced his and the other faculty's departure on the mission.

Quickly the school resumed its normal operation. The tapestries were re-hung, the class work resumed. Most professors were happy to see that education had continued in their absence. There had only been one casualty from the faculty: the Potions professor had been killed in the battle. He had been old by any standard, but the strain had been too much for him and he had been unable to shield at the needed speed. Rochenko quickly realized that he had an adequate replacement to finish out the year, and shortly after that Carvyn was brought on to finish out the Potions year as teacher. Those who had him marveled at what he knew in Potions. Carvyn knew that that was just the result of a Hogwarts education, for which he was now doubly appreciative.

On a cool day near the end of May, during their exams period, Carvyn was sitting in the Headmaster's office when Rochenko dropped a bombshell.

"Carvyn, I have asked you up here for a specific reason. First, to congratulate you and remind you again of your successes here, both with Antonin, the Spring Battle, your skill in teaching Potions and your incredible sense of command and execution during the Death Eater incident, Mr. High Master of Wizardry. That combination qualifies you for Headmaster of Durmstrang, you know."

Carvyn gaped at him. "Really?"

"Yes, but unfortunately that position is already filled by me." His eyes narrowed. "However, the Deputy Headmaster position is currently vacant. I am offering it to you for a two year contract with the stipulation that you also continue to teach Potions."

Carvyn was astonished. He wasn't even nineteen yet, and he was being offered a senior position at one of the top three schools in the Wizarding world. He got up and went to one of the windows, and looked outside at the rolling fields, the battle turf. It reminded him of the moor where he grew up in England. The land was wild, lonely, and the hawk-like aspects of his personality stirred his love for the countryside.

"Yes, I would be happy to assume that post."

And so he did. For two years he applied his subtle rule to Durmstrang. Potions became one of the more sought-after classes, and battle tactics changed from sheer force to a more intelligent and cunning approach. After the Death Eater incident, no one challenged his power or authority. He joined in with the Tactics club, still learning and still offering the more sophisticated approaches. Most of his academic role was filled with passing on what he knew.

In return, he was able to research deeper into certain of the Dark Arts. Again, the most successful spells seemed to be linked to sex or emotion, although there were plenty that could be used in the most self-controlled way. The dark spells that brought him information about things were his greatest interest. He put those dark spells to use. The Russian Ministry called on him occasionally to help with an investigation. Something about the slender, attractive young man disarmed even the most hardened criminals. He began to build a reputation as an investigator.

Several major events happened during this time. The first was his introduction of Draco to Pavlova. Carvyn first had to meet Pavlova's family, and shortly after the term ended but before midsummer, he traveled to the village where Pavlova lived, to speak with her father. His would be a proposed betrothal to Draco, and he wanted permission for them to meet. Pavlova had indicated that she would need a go- between and he would be ideal.

Pavlova's father, Yaakov Ramius, was a bizarre man. His first greeting when Carvyn arrived was to hand him a bucket of pig slop, point to the pigs, and tell him that they bite. Pavlova gave him a huge giggle, and Carvyn realized that he was going to have to play along. So he knelt down, and began feeding the pigs individual scraps from the bucket.

"You're here for my daughter?"

"Sir, I am here as a representative. I met your daughter at one of the Durmstrang mixers, and after getting to know her I believe I know the perfect husband for her." The pigs went for the bucket and almost knocked Carvyn over.

"Not used to farm animals, are you?"

"No sir."

"Tell me about this marvel man." And Carvyn told him about Draco, his manor house, his growing wealth and need for a wife.

"How is it he is all alone?"

"His remaining family either became or were destroyed by the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters."

"The Dark Lord?"

"Voldemort."

Yaakov stopped. "So, you will say the name without fear. Humph. Maybe I will wait until pigs fly before I let my daughter meet him."

Pigs have no patience. They knew there was more food, and in a rush they ran at Carvyn and soon overwhelmed him, knocking and trampling him as they ran off with the bucket. Before they could get away, he flung a levitation charm at them, and the pigs floated helplessly in midair.

Yaakov stared idly at the pigs floating in the air. Carvyn raised his eyebrows at him, and they both split into sincere laughter. "Guess I'll have to, then. Let them meet for a weekend. If she wants to marry him, or you for that matter, you have my blessing." With a wave of his hand, they were both restored to their original cleanliness, the pigs too, and headed inside to talk to Pavlova.

Carvyn arranged for them to meet at his house in Kerinou. Winky had kept the house together and was ready for guests. Draco had accepted the invitation with alacrity - the bar, club, best-friend-of-neighbor's-cousin's-gardener thing was not working out. To give her time to adjust, Carvyn and Pavlova had Apparated to his house, and then gone in to nearby Brest for shopping. She may have been country-born, but she knew her way around a city and thoroughly enjoyed shopping in Brest. Then it was back to Kerinou.

Winky had freshened one of the unused guest rooms for her. Pavlova and Winky got along so well that Carvyn thought she might choose him over Draco. She certainly glowed as she stood by the fireplace. Winky had outdone herself in the handmaid role.

There was the CRACK of an apparition into the vestibule, and Draco Malfoy entered the room.

"Greetings, Carvyn!" They hugged long and close. Draco had matured into an even more attractive blond young man. There was a distinct twinkle that was now present in his eyes, and his manner and voice were warmer. "It has been a very long time! Six months and while I have been buried in work, I have missed . um, you . uh, my dear lady, hello! You must be Pavlova." And Draco, ignoring Carvyn from that word onward, his heart in his eyes, moved to greet her, gracefully kissing her fingers from his respectful position. "What a divine pleasure to finally meet you! Carvyn certainly has not done you justice in his correspondence with me." The Malfoy Charm surged. And Carvyn knew that they were the ones for each other.

They stayed up late, with Pavlova going to bed first in the guest room. Carvyn and Draco had then caught up on news. It was obvious that Draco was now well entrenched in both the financial markets of the muggle and wizarding worlds, and doing well at it. The Ministry of Magic in England was now taking his advice with the treasury, and Gringott's had certified him for investment consulting. But Draco was very curious.

"Now that I have divulged my history, what has happened with yours?"

"Among other things, I am now Deputy Headmaster at Durmstrang and High Master of Wizardry. Do those count?"

Draco stared. "Wow. Yes they do." He paused, then "We had heard that there was a big Death Eater problem near the school."

"Yes, it turns out that it was motivated by one of our old friends. Severus Snape."

He turned white. "Snape." He got up and paced. "What happened to him?"

Carvyn related the incident. Draco's amazement grew, until the part where he had knocked Snape unconscious. "You hit him with the staff?? That's it??"

Carvyn held his hands up in defense. "Hey, you try and hold up an Apparition Wall, shield, maintain a steady stream of hexes and curses, and think in two languages AND Apparate at the same time."

Draco laughed. He was much easier these days. "Absolutely." His thoughts then turned to the obvious ones. "Pavlova feels very right to me. Even knowing her these past few hours, everything seems right. She is different from the other girls I have met."

"She is intelligent, and she doesn't rely on her cleavage to attract a man." As Draco's eyebrows raised, Carvyn grinned. "So she told me. And it was very obvious what the Durmstrang guys were after. Her father even gave permission for you or I to marry her."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Just how well do you know Pavlova?"

"Several hours of conversation, a formal dance, and one kiss done to save my little gay butt and give me a reputation with the girls."

Draco sighed with relief. "I didn't fancy competing with you for her." He eyed Carvyn. "You have changed considerably, you know. When I left you, you were powerful, secretive, and unassuming. Now, you command, still powerful, still secretive, and there is darkness around you. You have been studying Dark Magic. And it shows."

"I know." Carvyn shifted a little. "I am still adjusting to some of that." Carefully, he decided to let Draco in on his hawk talents. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Until I need something from you, sure."

"One of the more amazing things that happened was becoming an Animagus."

Draco shivered. Very dark, indeed. "You are an Animagus? What kind?"

Carvyn smiled. "A hawk. What a wonderful experience it is, to soar through the air, see everything, and . well, that's the best part."

"And what?"

"What?"

"Finish the sentiment the right way. What you were going to say."

Carvyn sighed. "You won't understand, but I was going to say, see everything, and select, grab and kill your prey."

Draco was silent for a moment. "You know, the Dark Lord used to talk that way."

Carvyn sighed. "I knew you wouldn't understand. It isn't because it is dark; it is because it is the nature of the hawk. Hawks have to eat, you know."

"Perhaps. But it is creepy to hear it coming from you."

It was late. Carvyn decided to throw a wildcard out. "So, Draco, will you share my bed tonight? Or do I get the sofa?"

Truly regretfully, Draco stood. "Tempting, but the manor is expecting me. Besides, I think I have found my wife and it would be hard to explain us in bed together if I couldn't resist."

"She knows about us already."

Draco's eyes split wide, and was totally speechless. "She does?"

"She asked about your `endowment' and I answered a little too easily. She wanted to know how I knew."

There was a short silence, and then they both broke into a fit of hysterical giggles. It was one of those tension- relieving moments that define a friendship. They laughed until their eyes watered, and then managed to get some control again.

Carvyn was the first to comment. "I haven't done that since the Gryffindor common room!"

"Me either. Seriously, though, I'm off back to the manor. I can trust you with my future wife, right?"

"Hey, I had my chance, and you have nothing to fear from me."

They said goodnight, with plans to meet in the morning, and Draco returned to the manor. Carvyn settled his house to bed and climbed up the stairs. Pavlova might have been sleeping or listening, but it looked like she was happily asleep.

One more flight of stairs, winding, and he was in the observation tower. It wasn't much of a tower, but it was the high point of the house and it was open on top. From here he could see miles in all directions. Two words sprang to his mind, in Russian no less: Go Hawk. And he did, swooping down across the rooftop and out over the crashing waves, along the shore. This was freedom. This was independence and power. He flew down among the rocky outcroppings, the stony beaches. He passed some couples walking in the night air. And far off, his eyes piercing the evening, he remembered Antonin, asleep somewhere with his family. The pang of loneliness seared through him, and echoed out as the forlorn and fierce cry from the hawk as it flew home. It had been a good night for flying.

The next day, the three met at the Malfoy manor house. Pavlova was immediately taken with the manor, and almost instinctively began making plans and rearrangements. She discussed some of those with Draco, and the synergy between them was obviously growing. Pavlova's English was fair, but it was obvious that she was struggling a bit. Fortunately, the house elves could translate.

Draco needed no translation. Carvyn had stepped out for a while to see what would happen, and when he returned Draco and Pavlova were very closely intertwined and glued together at the mouth. They both noticed him, both simultaneously made go-away motions. With great amusement Carvyn did just that. He managed to kill some time in the manor library before Draco and Pavlova joined him. They had been busy for nearly three hours.

Lunch was brought, and enthusiastically consumed. Carvyn was waiting for a proclamation from them as he knew it would be inevitable now. Draco finally could not hold back.

"Pavlova, we have known each other two days, though it seems like a lifetime. I have met no one like you. There is nothing I would like more than to spend the rest of our days together in marriage. Will you oblige me and marry me?"

She smiled. "Draco, let's be frank. We were made for each other. There is nothing I would like more than to marry you. So Yes, I will." And the two of them almost fell into each other.

Carvyn was very happy for them. There would be wedding plans, and party plans, and universal despair as the most eligible bachelor became unavailable to the waiting witches of England. And Draco would be hers . not his. Once again, there was no one for Carvyn.

They sent an owl to Yaakov Ramius, announcing the marriage, and that she would be staying at the manor to arrange the wedding plans. Draco would underwrite the whole expense, blah, blah, blah. Her father would be very pleased.

Carvyn and Pavlova returned to the Kerinou house, to pack her things for transferal to the manor. During that time, he talked with her briefly, to make sure she was doing the right thing. Pavlova's response was typical for her.

"Yes, I am doing the right thing. All my requirements are met or exceeded, my fianc^Â is gorgeous and a terrific kisser, and when I met him it was like puzzle pieces meeting for the first time. This is it. This is right. No worries."

Carvyn sighed. "Then I am happy for you and he. And as long as you have some decent music, I will dance at your wedding."

She hugged him closely. Thank God I am gay, thought Carvyn.

He did attend the wedding later that summer. It was beautiful, the manor already showed signs of its new lady, and the two of them positively glowed. They were married without incident, and then the food and wine flowed. Carvyn had attended in his formal Durmstrang Marquis uniform, it being the best that he had for the occasion. He was Deputy Headmaster, after all. Many of the former Slytherins were there, and they did not even recognize Carvyn but for his eyes and his hair.

But they did recognize the High Master of Wizardry title. It was actually a funny time. Pansy Parkinson took one look at Carvyn, and ran off weeping. Millie Bulstrode could not take her eyes off of Carvyn. But while the Weasley family had been invited, as well as the newly married Harry and Ginny Potter, they were unable to attend. So Carvyn was left largely with people he didn't know, and many of whom had harassed him over the years. He did find one friend. Allen, whom he had saved from a scolding by Snape, was there and was happy to talk to him. Allen was now a fourth year student at Hogwarts and doing well.

Carvyn did not stay late. It was a bizarre former world that he didn't fit now. He was so much broader than Hogwarts, with the Beauxbatons work and all the Durmstrang experience. He found himself gravitating to the older Ministry employees. But ministry politics remained largely unchanged.

Carvyn continued to get depressed. He loved Draco. He loved Pavlova, but quite differently. He himself was the third leg that had brought them together. Three take away two left one. Just one. Him. Same old story. He did manage to make it through the party, and while he wasn't the first one to leave, he was second, with truly fond wishes for the couple. Draco looked in his eyes, and said quietly, "I understand. So does she." And then he wished them luck and went home.

The second and more startling occurrence that would forever change his life happened at Durmstrang. After two successful years, his contract was nearly up and within a month he would be back at home in Kerinou, unemployed. Rochenko had come to his office, smiling widely. That had come to mean a positive thing, now.

"Ah Carvyn, I am glad to have found you. You must read this." And he handed Carvyn a note, which read:

Greetings, Rochenko my friend,

I have elected to take a year sabbatical with my

somewhat larger relatives in the North. I am hoping

that you will release Le Marquis Carvyn de Sernin as

your deputy so that he can become my Interim Headmaster

during my sabbatical. Word of his excellence has spread

in the academic community and I had heard that he might

become available. Of course, it is contingent upon his

agreement.

Regards always,

Madame Maxime, Beauxbatons

"Will you take it?"

Carvyn smiled. "It is only fitting that Deputy at Durmstrang be followed by a promotion at Beauxbatons. Yes, I will take it."

Rochenko had responded that day to the letter, which was followed by a formal offer from Madame Maxime to Carvyn. Carvyn accepted, and at that year's graduation he received from Durmstrang an ornate steel sword. The graduation was suitably ostentatious, and the fortress never looked better.

Draco and Pavlova had come to the graduation, which was a pleasant surprise for Carvyn. Pavlova was just about four months pregnant, and so she didn't dance as much, but she looked radiant and Draco looked positively like a prince next to her. As one giddy Luchev student said, the Romanovs were all gnawing on their own livers in jealousy.

Antonin was graduating that year. Carvyn had finally been able to meet Antonin's whole family. Antonin had apparently kept them appraised of Carvyn's role in his success two years ago, and the family was most grateful. All his brothers were married, and sisters as well, and they were now looking at Antonin to hurry up and find a girl. All that is, except one. His eldest brother Marko took Carvyn aside at one point, to talk.

"Your Grace, I can not thank you enough for what you have been able to do with Antonin."

"You are quite welcome. It has been very rewarding to work with Antonin, both as his mentor and then watching him be a very effective mentor himself."

Marko moved a little closer. "We have always been concerned for him. His build is one problem, but he is of a different persuasion than the rest of us. Though we continue to hope, I am the only person who believes that he will never marry."

Carvyn was taken aback. "Why not? The one time I saw him at a post-battle victory party, he was on his way to bed with a buxom lady."

"Was he drunk?"

"Quite."

"He told me about that one. They passed out on the bed, awoke three hours later, said goodnight, and she went back to the village."

Carvyn was quiet. "You believe Antonin is gay?"

Marko nodded. "I am only telling you this because of one other thing. I think he is in love with you. Please don't hurt him."

Carvyn was stunned. "After what I did to him? I am amazed. But no, I won't hurt him. Never." He looked at Marko straight on. "For you see, I am gay, and have had to deal with Durmstrang as well."

Marko revealed a small smile. "I am glad. I don't think anyone else could have gotten him through it." Then his eyebrows raised. "What did you do to him that was so awful?"

Carvyn laughed. "Ask him. If he is willing to admit what happened, then it wasn't so bad."

Graduation ceremonies ended, and Carvyn found Antonin with his family again. He went over to the young graduate, and gave him a big, big hug. "I am so proud of you today, both as your mentor, your friend and your teacher. I wish you the best of luck."

Antonin had tears in his eyes. "Thank you, Master . I mean, Your Grace." And that sent them off laughing, which was the best way to say goodbye. Carvyn looked back at him once as the family was leaving, and noted how good he looked. He wondered what was in store for the young man.

It wasn't until several years later that Carvyn found out. His year as Interim Headmaster at Beaxbatons passed without incident. Beauxbatons was nothing compared to Durmstrang in terms of management. Even Hogwarts would have been a harder time. He then stayed a year as Deputy Headmaster at Beauxbatons so that he could balance out the Durmstrang time, and keep a positive income. During that time, Carvyn had been sought out several times by INTERPOL and the French police for investigative work. INTERPOL made use of both muggle and wizarding experiences, and so at twenty-three years of age Carvyn became a senior investigator at INTERPOL in France. Within one year, he was the leading investigator for the wizarding world, and the year after that he earned the position of L'Investigateur Principale of INTERPOL Special Investigations.

On his twenty-fourth birthday, he received an invitation from Madame Maxime at Beauxbatons to visit her at his convenience. He did so that evening, and met with her in her very large office.

"Carvyn, I wanted your advice on a staffing matter. We are bringing in a new Potions teacher. He is on the younger side, but has shown excellent tutorial skills as well as skill in Potions. Remembering your experience, I was hoping that you would meet him and tell me your opinion."

"Madame, I would be glad to do so."

She pushed a folder towards him. "He has also listed you as a reference, so I am assuming that it is one of your former pupils." Her eyes twinkled as he picked up the folder. This would be good.

Carvyn scanned the folder until the name leaped out at him. Antonin Salinsky. "Jeez, Madame, this is Antonin! Antonin was my squire when I was at Durmstrang. I can certainly vouch for his knowledge and his teaching skill."

Madame Maxime beamed. "Yes, I had thought so. He had spoken very highly of you. Have you seen him recently?"

"Not since leaving Durmstrang. He is one whom I thought might leave Russia someday. You see, he isn't Russian; he is Polish. He has a slightly different set of values."

"When can you meet with him?"

They selected an evening, and Carvyn departed. They would meet at Beauxbatons, and then go to dinner and discuss school. It never occurred to Carvyn that the Beauxbatons Headmistress might be up to something.

The day of that Thursday turned out to be quite an adventure. INTERPOL had put Carvyn on a theft crime involving some very rare objects. The thieves had not been willing to return them, and a bit of a battle had ensued in full sight of Rue de Mystiques shoppers. Rue de Mystiques was the equivalent of Diagon Alley in the Paris centre- ville. And so Carvyn did not have a chance to change before dinner, so a cleansing spell was applied and then off to Beauxbatons.

As he walked through the hallway to the lofty main foyer, he caught sight of Madame Maxime speaking with a very blond young man. Carvyn took a moment to appreciate him. His shoulders had broadened, he had grown taller and, to Carvyn's eye, retained his slender shapeliness. Blond hair was longer. That was a big turn-on. Listening, his voice had settled lower too. A moderate tenor. Catching himself, he remembered that he was here professionally.

"Well met, Antonin, Madame Maxime. It is good to see you again."

Antonin spun around, incredulous, and then lust flushed through him. He managed a weak smile, and as Carvyn grinned and pulled him into a hug, Antonin regained his composure. "Carvyn, you were the last person I was expecting to meet here in Beauxbatons. Whatever brings you here?"

"You, actually." That was from Madame Maxime, in flawless Russian. "I have asked his opinion on you as a Potions teacher, and wanted to give you the chance to speak with the former Deputy Headmaster and Potions teacher." She shooed them out. "Run along now. Carvyn, dinner is on the School so be sure to get a receipt." And she left them.

They just stood there. Carvyn finally asked, "Come on over, we'll sit for a moment and get used to this. Then we can figure out dinner."

"You always did have a plan." Antonin conceded wryly. "I have missed you. First as the only effective mentor I had, then as my deputy headmaster."

"I have missed you, too. It has been very busy with work, but since Durmstrang it hasn't been the same." He shifted a bit. "Sorry I look so rough; I didn't have time to change before departing INTERPOL and arriving here."

"That's quite all right, you look good to me." Antonin continued, "So, you must be married by now. What is your wife like?"

Carvyn stared at him, and then laughed out loud. "I can't believe that you haven't caught on yet!" And then, very quietly, "Antonin, I'm gay. I've been so since well before our meeting at Durmstrang."

Antonin was stunned. "You're gay?"

"Yes, I am. It isn't easy, and in fact it is quite lonely, but I am who I am, and that includes what Durmstrang made me."

Antonin just stared. "Did anyone know?"

"Pavlova, the girl I kissed at our Spring Battle victory party knew. She kissed me to ensure that there would be no suspicion that I was. A couple of other reasons, perhaps."

"You mean she and you never . well, you know ."

"Had sex?"

"Yes."

"Nope. Didn't even take an article of clothing off her." Carvyn remembered Marko's comment, decided to take a risk. "Just like you, although I wasn't drunk off my ass at the time."

Antonin recovered very well. "Who told you that?"

"Your brother Marko. Probably the only one in your family who understands you."

A moment of silence.

"What else did he tell you about me?"

"Nothing you hadn't told me yourself." Which wasn't exactly true.

"Humph." But Antonin had started to smile a bit. It was clear he was considering the possibilities. "So this is Paris. What is there to do in town?"

They settled on a restaurant. Dinner went well. They discussed Beauxbatons, and Potions. They discussed Durmstrang, and the faculty changes. Carvyn ordered some entrees from the kind that Antonin liked, and Antonin blushed a little at the fact that Carvyn had remembered. It was a good, easy evening, and the wine was shared.

After dinner they went for a walk. Neither was particularly interested in surrendering company yet. As they stood looking at the Eiffel Tower, which was totally ridiculous to the wizarding world, Antonin was able to put into words what they both were feeling.

"Master - I mean, Carvyn, I have truly missed your presence a great deal. The term I spent as your squire was about the happiest term I had. Even as a mentor, I had to watch for my squire and myself. I never realized how much that must have taken out of you."

Carvyn looked at him carefully. "You've done that several times now. Any idea why do you keep going back to that title for me?"

Antonin let his eyes slide up the tower. "I think it is because I was most happy when someone was looking out for me. I can handle myself, but just knowing that someone was there for me just in case . . . it was a great and wonderful feeling." He looked at Carvyn and grinned. "Someone as wicked powerful as you." He sighed. "I'd love to know what goes on inside this head of mine."

Carvyn laughed. "Wouldn't we all." And Antonin watched as a slightly distant look crossed Carvyn's face. "I could tell you, you know. It is what I went to school for."

"Legilimency? I didn't think it was that reliable."

"No. It is a lot more than that. Body language, reactions, phrasing, key words, what you notice, what you like, and especially what frustrates you." Carvyn looked out on the water. "I was really worried about taking on a squire, you know. How was I supposed to do that when I had just barely gotten the Durmstrang routine down? I wasn't big and muscular like the rest of them. But Rochenko knew what he was doing, even though he threw me to the lions." He smiled. "But I think the best part about it was that I had someone with me whom I could talk to and be with. I had never had that at Hogwarts, and since I commuted to Beauxbatons I rarely saw my small group of friends outside of our periodic dance club nights."

"You commuted to Beauxbatons? From where?"

"I have a modest house in Kerinou, which is a ways from here. It isn't Paris; in fact, it is more like the country around Durmstrang, with the addition of the Atlantic Ocean. But that is where I call home."

A quiet silence, and each of them realized that they were very close. Shoulders, arms and legs were brushing each other in the gentle breeze. Antonin shuddered with that sensual realization, and looked up into his former mentor's eyes. "I have something to tell you. But I don't know if I can get the words out."

"Try. I suspect I know part of it, but you have to say the words yourself."

"All right." He took a deep breath. "Earlier you said that you were gay." Carvyn nodded. "How did you know for sure?"

"It was actually pretty easy. I had no interest in girls. I really didn't have much of an interest in anybody until I met - a certain brunette, let's just say. He gave me something to dream about, and after a little experimentation I realized that I had no interest at all in the opposite sex, and I was very very interested in select members of my own sex." He snickered a bit. "It wasn't until my sixth year in Hogwarts that I was sure, when that brunette and I executed part of a mutual agreement to satisfy each other when needed."

Antonin was silent for a moment. "It was similar with me. No interest in girls, and after being brutalized by mentors I didn't know what I was. It wasn't until you that I realized what I should be feeling and what I was missing." He looked up at Carvyn. "Our sex was so exquisite to me, it was the best feeling I had ever had. And when I became a mentor, I tried to pass it on to my squire, but he was hollow." He turned to face Carvyn. "Carvyn, I am gay. And alone. I think that I have been waiting and searching to meet you again and see what happened when it did. I know that I love you." And his voice finally started to shake. "And I want to be your partner and lover. Forever. But I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity to tell you that."

Carvyn was speechless. He enfolded Antonin in a hug, while trying to find words to say, but they were escaping him. He realized how long it had been since he had kissed Antonin. Time to remedy that. He looked straight into Antonin's eyes, and slowly brought his mouth closer. Antonin's eyes went wide, and then shut as he met Carvyn's mouth on its way down.

The contact was electric. A little tentative at first, tongues just touching, gently testing the experience. That didn't last long. They had shared entirely different kinds of just as intimate moments together, that this was the natural completion of all that had come before. Carvyn deepened the kiss, and Antonin let himself go as they shared each other. How easily they slipped into their role, with Carvyn slightly more aggressive and Antonin surrendering himself to the other's control.

They finally broke the kiss, and the magic moment hung there in its tenuousness. And then each said the words the other was hoping to hear.

"I love you."

The moment bloomed. An irrevocable bond settled between them that moment that would never, ever be broken. Just standing there, looking at each other, holding each other, smiling at each other. Then the moment, now made permanent, passed in time and they each were caught up in a fit of giggles. Then another kiss, a little more demanding, a lot more stimulating. It had been years since each had explored the other's body. Carvyn was ready to re-learn Antonin's; Antonin was looking forward to anything that had Carvyn involved in it.

That kiss ended, and they started down a sidewalk together. "Where are you staying tonight?" Carvyn asked.

"With you."

"My sentiments exactly, but where were you planning to stay?"

"I was going to apparate back to my apartment."

Carvyn grinned. "Please, come to my house in Kerinou tonight."

Antonin squeezed them together. "That would be wonderful."

They made their way back to Carvyn's house, where they vigorously renewed their relationship. It was everything that each had hoped for. Antonin accepted the position at Beauxbatons, and Carvyn continued to work for INTERPOL. Each was finally not alone anymore, but matched up with the perfect person to complete themselves.

Three years later, the Marquis Carvyn de Sernin had just finished his own dinner. The peace and tranquility of his house pervaded him, and while he was alone he didn't feel alone. He reflected on the recent case with England and the kidnapped children. That had been one of his better outcomes. The children had been starved and dehydrated, but bounced back very well under proper care. The perpetrators had the unlikely misfortune of thinking they could out-duel Carvyn together.

Antonin was teaching tonight at Beauxbatons. He had several students who had shown particular aptitude in Potions and was giving them some advanced instruction. Carvyn smiled. Antonin was the biggest piece of pride and joy in his life. Their love - and their sexual creativity - had grown immensely over the past couple years. Beauxbatons was the perfect solution for him, although Hogwarts might be better. He was thinking back on the days at Beauxbatons when there was a tapping at the window. He rose to admit a snowy white owl into the room, who then delivered the note. Carvyn looked at the owl closely.

"Hedwig? Is that you? My, but you are in fine shape." Hedwig respectfully nibbled on his finger until he fed her.

He opened the note, which was on plain parchment, penned by hand:

Greetings Carvyn!

I know that it has been many years since we have been together, but something crossed my desk

today that I would like very much to discuss with you. Ginny has suggested that dinner would be

in order as well, to give you a chance to meet the kids. Don't dress formally or they will ruin you!

Harry

Carvyn took out a piece of parchment. He knew that Harry had made Minister of Magic. He also knew that he was doing an excellent job of it. Carvyn had spent more time invisible to the public. The date and time were good - namely, tomorrow evening. Yes, they would go. Maybe it was time to return to England for a while. He was getting very tired and down about the investigative work. Most cases were very traumatic. He quickly penned an acceptance, saying that he and his partner would be very happy to attend, and sent Hedwig back on her return trip. Yes, if Harry offered him a position in the Ministry he would very seriously consider it, and certainly discuss it with Antonin.

They met back at the house, where Carvyn showed Antonin the note. Antonin was all excited to meet the Minister of Magic who had defeated Voldemort and done so well in England.

"Wait a minute. This note is clearly a personal note, to have dinner with their family. It is not an audience with the Minister of Magic, per se." Carvyn thought a minute. "That means it must be serious."

"AHA!! You agree with me that it is business at least."

"Oh yes. I know Harry well enough to know when he is hiding something. This is definitely one of those times."

"I hope he offers you a job."

Carvyn was surprised. "Really? I thought you liked Beauxbatons."

"I do, but it is beginning to get to me. Maybe a position could open up at Hogwarts?"

"If so, I'll see that you get considered for it."

The next day, they dressed in comfortable but nice clothes and apparated over to the Potter family house. A true synthesis of the best of muggle world, and the old wizarding world chaos incarnate, the Potter house was reasonably organized. Two children so far, James and Lily, scampered about. They had noticed the pair arrive outside the garden gate, and came running over with a tall and smiling man. They all shared bright green eyes, and raven black hair. The man, of course, was the infamous Harry Potter, Minister of Magic. His hair was, as usual, unkempt.

Harry smiled wider, and welcomed them. When he had gotten his reply and acceptance, stating that if it wasn't trouble that there would be two for dinner since this was an informal occasion; Harry had gaped at the note for a few minutes. It was Ginny who had finally lifted his chin and pointed out that Harry hadn't waited to find someone, so why should Carvyn have waited?

As they had entered the yard, Harry noticed immediately that Carvyn had changed dramatically. No longer the striving to be invisible boy, he now saw that Carvyn walked with command, with confidence, and yet there was a tinge of darkness about him. Not evil, but crafty, with just a sense that he had seen or experienced more than most would care to know about. Carvyn had become a weapon, but apparently from all reports a well-aimed and self-guided weapon.

Children were a good judge of character at a fundamental level. Lily clung to Harry. James took one look at Carvyn, and then walked right up to him. "Hello. I am James, I am seven years old. Why is your hair so long? Don't you like to have it cut? Doesn't it get tangled?"

Carvyn grinned, and crouched down to his level. "Hello, James. My name is Carvyn."

"That's a little weird."

"Yes, it is, but I'm stuck with it. As for my hair, I like it long like this, and it does get a little tangled once in a while." He turned, and said, "This is Antonin, my very good friend. We met in Russia, and enjoy each other's company very much, so I had asked if I could bring him along."

James looked up at Antonin. "Cool hair!" Antonin had never given up the spiky blond look. "Follow me, I'll show you the way." And he grabbed Antonin's hand and led him inside.

Harry and Carvyn stayed outside for a moment. "You and him?"

"Yes, we were roommates at Durmstrang. After I left and he graduated, we went our own ways until they collided again." His face got serious, then, "For who I am now, and who he is now, we are perfect for each other."

"Yes, I can see that." Harry shook is hand. "Come on in, Ginny is excited to see you too. It's been a long time." He paused, then, "I am sorry I didn't seek you out earlier."

"You wouldn't have found me. I have barely been back to England except to get Draco Malfoy through the courts, and one visit to Diagon Alley." He grinned at Harry. "Minister of Magic, eh? By all reports you are doing an excellent job."

"Thanks. At least I have an impact on the world. As do you, mister Investigateur Principal."

"Oh, is that what triggered your memory of me? And here I thought you were just making this a social event."

"It is, to start. We can discuss the rest after dinner." And they entered the house to find Antonin on the floor making horse noises while James and Lily were on his back.

Ginny welcomed them warmly. She winked at Carvyn just to remind him that SHE got Harry, and he didn't. Carvyn returned with a raised eyebrow, and a slow motion of his tongue over his lips toward the oblivious horse, now mooing like a cow, named Antonin. That made Ginny snicker considerably.

Dinner was excellent. Even the children behaved, although while James was happy with a few questions, Lily kept pestering Antonin with her interests. Antonin's English was fair, but with a significant accent that Lily just loved to hear. When it was over, Harry invited Carvyn to his study as Antonin and Ginny settled the children and cleaned up. They chatted about travel, family, and other common interests. Ginny at one point made a remark about him and Caryvn.

"You know, you two look good together. Not quite equals, but more like complements. Though I thought Carvyn always preferred the brunette, like I do."

Antonin smiled, and then the significance of what she said hit him. "Carvyn and Harry? Not possible!"

"Oh yes. Harry announced he and Carvyn were together at Christmas before the Dark Lord was killed. My brothers told me - well, I eavesdropped - that they were doing some thorough exploring of each other." She smiled with putting the dishes away. "But Harry changed, and I grabbed him." She turned to face him. "It is obvious that you two are happy. Keep it that way. Carvyn has done so much and been repaid so little by England."

"He has done much for Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, and been recognized for such, though he is not one for accolades."

"Very true. Although the wizarding world has tried." She giggled. "In case you don't know, Carvyn loves to be fucked. Harry told me that when they finally did, Carvyn was on top but he was on the receiving side. He also loves to have light fingernails rake over his back and waist. And be prepared for some creativity."

Antonin was blushing furiously. "I'll keep that in mind."

She brought him over to where a small silver and stained glass butterfly statuette stood. She picked it up, and said "Play", and immediately the lilting theme began. "Carvyn bought this for Harry, and charmed his own recording into it. Very delicate work, but it is still strong to this day." She smiled ruefully. "Harry still won't explain it."

Antonin made a mental note to ask Carvyn about it.

Carvyn and Harry were discussing quietly in the study. Carvyn took one look at the study and it said two things: Hogwarts and Quidditch. Pennants, photographs, all mementos of the best part of Harry's life at Hogwarts.

Harry had moved back to behind his desk, and suddenly looked like the Minister of Magic. Carvyn felt himself slip into L'Investigateur Principal. Both sensed it, and laughed, breaking the mood.

"Funny how quickly that happens." Carvyn observed. "So just tell me, what's up?"

Harry grinned. "Want to be Headmaster at Hogwarts?"

You could have heard a pin drop. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Very much so. Minerva wants to quietly retire and teach Transfiguration. The entire faculty and Board of Governors have asked for a young and vigorous replacement. They more or less said that they would take whomever I appoint." He leaned forward. "When I saw that report on the rescued children, it was right after the notification from the Board of Governors. And I realized that you were the right one. Then I found out about the Snape thing, being Interim and Deputy Headmaster at the other two notable wizarding schools. It is yours, if I can convince you to take it."

Carvyn was stunned. "Harry, I am not sure that this is right. I've been exposed, no, more accurately performed a lot of dark magic. We can't have that at Hogwarts."

"And you think that Dumbledore didn't work with dark magic? What do you think TSP was?" Harry sat back. "I happen to know that there is no one more capable in all of England AND France to run Hogwarts than you. It has to move on. It is wrong to make Hogwarts a memorial to Dumbledore. He has one of those already. Hogwarts is a living breathing environment and it is choking in stagnation right now." He grinned slyly. "I'll double your salary."

"Twice nothing is still nothing. INTERPOL pay rates are crap."

"I'll double Dumbledore's salary."

"I don't know what that was."

"Five hundred thousand galleons a year."

Carvyn grinned. "You want to pay me a million galleons a year to run Hogwarts?"

Harry winced at the thought of what that would do to the Ministry. "How about six hundred thousand?"

"You are serious on this?"

"Absolutely. Although I could line up some concubines if that would help a yes response."

"No thank you, I've already left that kind of a mark at Hogwarts."

Harry raised his eyebrow at that. "Well?"

"All right. Minister, I accept."

They stood, and Harry came around the table to perform the expected handshake. As they did, Harry felt such relief because he knew Carvyn was right for this. He couldn't resist, and he enfolded Carvyn in a hug. But what had been a friendly hug almost instantly evolved into a clinging embrace as Harry finally re-acknowledged how much fear and anxiety were still in him. Carvyn had been his strength that sixth year.

Carvyn felt the shift and decided they needed one small piece of closure, an acknowledgement that they went their separate ways but the underlying attraction was still there. Staring right into Harry's eyes, he held him close as he lowered his mouth onto the lips of the Minister of Magic, who unresistingly melted into the sensual, deep kiss that they both had wanted for so long but had been unable to face. Carvyn now was the foundation he was destined to be, and Harry took a small satisfaction that the Minister of Magic could still look to another for comfort and reassurance. The kiss broke, but the reassurance was permanent.

"We should probably tell the others about my acceptance, but I think we can keep this last part to ourselves."

"Right-oh."

They exited the study shortly after that, and shared the news. Antonin was ecstatic. Ginny commented that it only made sense, and that she was glad he came to his senses. There would be many plans to make. Carvyn had decided already that he needed an academic program review, since it hadn't been done since before Dumbledore. Antonin would have to brush up on his English.

Some time later, when they were all enjoying a small glass of a mild liqueur, Carvyn's earlier comment popped back into Harry's head. His heart told him that there was a story there.

"Carvyn, you made a comment earlier about leaving your mark at Hogwarts. It was in response to my offer of concubines."

Antonin's eyebrows went up. "Really? Did it work?"

"I was kidding about them." Harry pressed forward. "Something tells me there is a story there."

"Not really. I was being vague."

"I don't think so. You were referring to something specific."

"It was nothing."

"Really?" This was Antonin chiming in. "You did something that left a mark at Hogwarts. I can tell. Harry, keep pressing. This is going to be good, I can feel it."

Carvyn gave him his best withering glance. "It is very minor."

Ginny was watching the group. "Oh no, it isn't. Come on, Carvyn! We are your friends, you know."

Before he could stop himself, Carvyn replied smugly, "It's not that. It is that you are Gryffindors."

Ginny was puzzled. "What does that have to do with it?" Then she remembered. Carvyn was Slytherin. What could a Slytherin be so embarrassed about? With realization, she remembered that Carvyn hadn't finished his schooling at Hogwarts, although he took his NEWTs there. He had left his mark? What kind of a mark?

Then it clicked. A spot on the Gryffindor tower rug in the common room. Ginny had hated spots. She had repeatedly called on the House Elves to clean it up, but they refused, saying their group only cleaned up messed made by Gryffindors. It had been there when they went back to school after that summer. She looked at Carvyn, her eyes went very wide before she began laughing so hard that she cried.

Carvyn watched Ginny. Somehow, she had figured it out, and he started laughing too. She kept pointing at him and he kept giving her the innocent look. Antonin and Harry were laughing, but they obviously didn't get it.

Antonin lost patience first. "Will one of you please explain??"

Carvyn put his hands up in the air. Ginny took a couple deep breaths, and formed the answer. "It's a trophy mark. Somehow, he got into the Gryffindor common room, and left a cum stain on the carpet! The House Elves refuse to clean it because a Slytherin left it! Oh that is so funny!"

Harry cracked up in hysterics. Antonin looked puzzled. "So what?"

Carvyn finished it off. "Antonin, it would be like if Balansky had gotten into the Romanov strategy room and took down their shield. Gryffindor and Slytherin are two of the four Houses at Hogwarts, and they absolutely loath each other by default. For two Slytherins to get into the Gryffindor common room and leave cum stains on the carpet was the ultimate victory." Too late.

"TWO SLYTHERINS?" That was from all three. Carvyn blushed profusely.

Harry guessed right on the first try. "You and Draco Malfoy? Had sex in our common room? And left a cum stain on the carpet on purpose?"

"I am afraid so. And then we ran around like first years. It was an incredibly intoxicating experience."

Antonin had an amazed grin on his face. Ginny too. Harry put on his most injured look. "And this is the new Headmaster of Hogwarts?" He turned to his wife. "I think we had better keep this little story under wraps. Any other little surprises for me?"

Carvyn spread his arms wide. "That's all, folks."

Antonin spoke up. "Ah, not quite. Carvyn is an Animagus too. He can become the most impressive and exquisite black hawk you have ever seen."

Harry regarded Carvyn again. "All the more reason. Hogwarts was made for you, and it needs you."

Carvyn gave him the acknowledging nod, and then coolly looked at Antonin, whose attention he had instantly captured. Carvyn began minutely examining his right hand. "Harry, do you have a nice soundproof room with a chair? Antonin is being naughty and if it gets worse I'll have to spank him here and now, instead of waiting until we get home."

They saw Antonin gulp slightly, shift in his chair as if in remembered soreness, and then in a humble voice, "I'll be good, I promise, Master." Then it was too much and they both burst out in mirth again.

Harry was impressed. "That was very good."

"That's because it actually happened. But that is another story." He stood. It was getting late. "Harry, I have enjoyed this immensely and it is my pleasure to accept your offer. Let's make it happen."

"Excellent. And thank you."

They shook hands, and with that the rest of the wizarding world finally moved forward beyond the mourning for Dumbledore, and the recovery after Voldemort.

The End.

Author's Notes.

It is my sincere hope that you were entertained by this tale. I had never intended to write this, but several readers asked, "What happened to Draco?" A couple others were unhappy that Carvyn, Harry and Draco seemed to have gone their own way. "Natural Singularity" had an objective of fitting its sinuous threads as best as possible around JKR's storyline. This work is not so constrained, and hence it went in some interesting directions.

The "Picardus" deception was from Star Trek: The Next Generation episode called "The Battle."

No flames, please, but feedback can be sent to JourneymanHarper@yahoo.com .