Date: Sat, 19 May 2007 16:33:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Journeyman Harper <journeymanharper@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Making Of A Headmaster (Gay Male/Celebrity)

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 .