From the Ashes

Who: Dallon and William
Where: An empty classroom
When: Tuesday during dinner
What: Investigation and research

The vacant classroom on the third floor, from what William remembered of the clean-up this summer, used to be employed for teaching ballroom dance and etiquette. There wasn't much in it besides a piano, some outdated murals, and a ballet barre. You wouldn't be able to tell that now, however, from the amount of wards and shielding blanketing the door.

"Absit invidia." Let ill will be absent. The headmaster's choice of passwords was ironic as always. Unfortunately, William didn't see much chance of it proving true in this instance, not with the amount of malevolence he could feel as soon as he'd passed through the doorway and into the empty classroom.

There was someone else there, which he also noticed at once, and recognition wasn't far behind. It didn't really surprise him that the headmaster had put Dallon on this particular task as well, not as exceptional as Dallon was at...well, most things. It did give him a very brief twinge, but that was easily shunted aside.

"The headmaster sent me," he told Dallon, although considering both their presences here, he suspected Dallon had already guessed as much. "Do you know what it is?"

Who: Dallon and Gerard.
What: Gerard continues his interrogations.
When: Saturday evening.
Where: Dallon's quarters

Gerard was on a roll, and he was coming to the end of his list of people to talk to. After speaking with Adam he was starting to think he might know what was going on, but he had to be sure before taking any sort of action.

Dallon was next, and while he hadn't heard anything about him feeling sick, it would be good to check up on him, especially since he had arrived late to the castle in the first place, which might give him a better idea when and where the sickness had come from. Light was streaming into the hall from beneath Dallon's door, which was a good sign that he was home. He knocked lightly, pausing before asking, "Professor Weekes?" He'd thought about just 'Dallon', but that was too familiar for someone he'd met only once, and he was on official business, and everything.

Right. Now was not the time to be distracted.

Who: Gabe and Dallon
Where: High table in the Great Hall
When: Wednesday morning, over the dregs of breakfast.
What: Working down Gabe's list in a systematic fashion. Well, slightly systematic.

The cutlery in the Great Hall was stainless steel, even at the high table. Gabe had checked. (And stainless steel, how prosaic was that? The ceiling was enchanted with some of the most jaw-dropping magic Gabe had ever seen in motion, and that included all his travels, but the silverware was steel. Whatever.) Gabe had been all ready to go switcheroo on the eating irons, but thankfully he'd thought better of it. He might have been as enthusiastic about this as though it were part game and part hunt, but for the werewolf - whoever it was - this was a carefully guarded secret, and his life. A little care was warranted, and silver-burns to the tongue were hardly discreet, not to mention being a really bad beginning to what Gabe actually wanted to be a useful working relationship.

So, plan B.

He had a free session first up on Wednesday and - what do you know! - so did their new Arithmancy professor, Dallon Weekes, currently top of Gabe's "sure, he's a suspicious fucker, but is he a suspicious furry fucker" list. Gabe was often one of the last to be dragged away from the breakfast table, if he even made it at all, so no one was going to look askance if he lingered after the rest of them had trudged off to their early-morning darlings. Once the population had thinned out markedly, Gabe gathered up his Stuff, shoved his last piece of toast between his teeth, and scooted the few chairs down to slide in next to Professor Weekes.

"So hey," he said, indistinct around the mouthful of toast, arranging his jug of coffee and special little tankard thingy. "Dallon, man. Sorry. Can I call you that? We haven't really had a chance to talk. I'm always in the fucking dungeons, right?" All of it delivered with Gabe's sunniest grin.

Who: Dallon and Gerard
Where: Outside the gates to the school
When: Saturday, midnight.
What: Dallon arrives at last.

Dallon had never been this wet before in his life.

The lights of Hogwarts twinkled tantalisingly in the distance as he trudged up a particularly muddy piece of road, lurching as his trunk fell into a deep wheel rut. It was part of Dallon’s eternal torment that after a long spell of rather lovely fine weather, it had begun storming just as he had Apparated into Hogsmeade at midnight. Admittedly, crawling up the road in the middle of a Biblical deluge at ass o’clock hadn’t been one of Dallon’s more brilliant or Professorly plans, and his fucking trunk wasn’t helping, seriously. He’d tried to charm it feather-light but the wind had buffeted it like a piece of tumbleweed back down the main street and into a rather tall tree, much to Dallon’s misery and anguish. He was certain that as Arithmancy professor he was meant to be making a very grand first impression, preferably involving a monocle and quoting Pythagoras whilst twitching his non-existent moustache and puffing sternly on a pipe. Definitely not some lunatic cursing and chasing a flying trunk down the road. Dallon’s plans were genius, really. Walking. Uphill. At midnight. In a storm.

The aforementioned storm showed no signs of abating when Dallon reached the gates. He threw his trunk against them with a deafening clang, warping the whine of the wind through the cast-iron bars. Leaning against the centre, he crossed his arms and called wearily over his shoulder. “Anyone there?”