A/N Some of Professor Konstantyn's history opens in this chapter, including some of his private family life. He discusses some of his relationship with his wife and son, and theirs with one another. Warning: An episode of parental discipline is here alluded to as past history, but not in any graphic detail. For their culture, this corporal discipline is typical and customary, particularly at the time, but the Konstantyn's rely far more on the psychological aspects of dread, rather than the fleeting physical element of pain.

Monday, Monday... Can't Trust that Day...

Monday morning dawned gray, damp, and drizzly. Apparently the "lovely weekend weather" charm that someone must have cast, had worn off. Seemingly in parallel, the typically boundless energy exhibited by the student body as meal and class times approached, was equally dulled when the weekend waned.

Professor Konstantyn seemed singularly unaffected as he enjoyed his eggs, kippers, and grilled tomato for breakfast... opting for coffee, rather than tea with his meal. Looking out upon the sea of drooping heads and dragging feet, seemingly about to break out in a chorus of "The Volga Boatman", the Professor turned to Professor McGonagall beside him, smiled, and said, "Are they always this chipper in the morning, Minerva?"

"Only on Mondays, Pavel," she chuckled. "Well, Mondays and Examination Days at the end of term. We always try to feed them exceptionally well at Exam time, as they approach each meal as if it were their last."

"Ah," he laughed, raising the knife in his hand for emphasis as if it were a wand or baton, "now THAT is true..." he punctuated with his butterknife... "the world over. Exams are like days of unrelenting eclipse. Well," he gazed at the students with a look of some compassion, "for some, disappointing grades makes for unfortunate consequences when they get home. I know well."

While he no longer said "foreign words" in place of English, and had command of most of his consonants, Minerva smiled to realize Pavel still struggled a bit with vowels, and that pesky "v" and "w" thing. His accent had now moderated to what the children would call "vampire-like". He had enunciation typical of muggle Dracula movies, and she laughed at how often muggle-raised students were startled when he addressed them. She imagined that they dread the day he turned to them, saying,"I vant... to bite... your neck..." Would never happen, of course, but still... fun to contemplate.

She carried on the conversation from where they'd left it. "I'm sure you never had that problem with Ivan, though," she speculated, as she cut through some sausages, and dunked a piece in her egg yolk.

"On the contrary, my dear lady," Pavel laughed as he thought back. "Even Ivan had his moments. In fact, he came home one winter holiday with a parchment of solid "Needs Improvement" on his entire grade report."

"What?!" she nearly dropped her fork. "That's just not possible. I knew that lad. He was as bright as they come, and you can't tell me he got derailed by 'sex, drugs' and rock and roll'! I won't believe it! How old was he at the time? What happened?"

Pavel laughed as he sat back in his chair, narrating the memory that played out before his mind's eye...

"He was thirteen. And yes, you are correct, he was exceedingly bright and had perfect grades up to that autumn. I was teaching, though we sent him to a different school so that he did not have to deal with the problems of 'my father is a teacher here', especially as I was teaching a number of different courses. It would have been difficult for him... though he would be held to an even higher standard than other students... there would always be those who thought he would benefit from favoritism. He made the choice to attend a different school.

"But even so, I was a professor and his mother a librarian. I was involved with the government, and, while I'd not yet taken on the cleanup of the auror corruption scandal, I was still known to maintain a high ethical standard. He'd always been expected to live up to family expectations for public conduct, although we gave him his own space to develop, to experiment and adventure, even to disobey from time to time, as he grew into his values and principles."

"So, what happened?" Minerva by now had actually put down her fork and was simply staring at the Professor.

Calmly, he went on eating. "When we picked him up from the station that holiday, he shied away from being embraced by Iryna or me. That concerned us, and we asked if he was well... He just said he was fine, but we needed to discuss something at home. It was a silent, and rather nerve-wracking trip, but once he got his things put away, he came down very somberly and handed us his grade report."

"Iryna was shocked, nearly in tears. I was, of course, angry and shocked. 'How could this be?' I thought. Certainly the work was demanding, and I could see one or two sub-optimal grades... but ALL of them? Nonsense!

"But before I could speak, and say something regrettable, Iryna put her and on my shoulder and squeezed. I knew to stop and let her talk."

The memory played out...

"My son," she said. "Your father and I love you, totally, entirely, and no matter what you do or how you perform. Understand that first and foremost. Do you?"

And she waited, patiently, for several long seconds as Ivan dropped his gaze and nodded. "Yes, Mother..." he said.

"All right then. Go to your room for a bit, and let your father and me talk," she said, as she felt me stiffen to object, and squeezed my shoulder again. When Ivan left the room I turned to her, but before I could speak she smiled, put her finger against my lips, and said, "Pavel, say nothing for the moment. Just breathe, let us think, and remember back when you were 13, please. I'm just going to make some tea, and I'll be right back."

His reverie passed for a moment as the Professor blinked back tears. "Ah, Minerva, I do miss her so. She was far and away the wisest woman I've ever known, and she always seemed to know just how to make me better. I miss that," at which he shook his head in the briefest moment of annoyance as being 'sentimental' as he returned to his breakfast.

"When she came back, I was calmer. She reminded me that we had often spoken of the challenges in raising a brilliant courageous son, without smothering him or trying to force him into the molds required of our lives or careers. After some discussion, we agreed on how we would handle this, and she felt under the circumstances it would be best if I went to speak with Ivan alone in his room."

"Oh, my," Minerva sighed, beginning to attend to her cutlery and plate again. "I'm sure he was dreading that. I suspect he'd misbehaved a time or two before, and had you 'speak with him alone in his room', eh?"

"Indeed. And that was precisely why we were doing things this way right now. I knocked on his closed door, and with a very steady voice he called out, 'come in, Father,' and rose when I entered - a rule in our house when an elder or lady enters."

The memory carried on...

I held the parchment in my hand, pulled out the chair from his desk, and sat down as Ivan drew a very deep breath. I then told him to sit down, there where he stood at the edge of his bed.

"Son, these are very surprising grades..."

"Yes, sir."

"Is this the best you could do in these classes?"

"No, sir. Not really."

"Then you wanted to perform at a level below your abilities. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir. I guess so."

"Don't 'guess', Ivan. Think! This is a decision you made. Now is this the decision you intended to make, or did you just slack off because others were doing so?"

"It wasn't just others, though yes, that was part of it. It's just that I'm always so... so... ugh." he paused as he seemed to gather up his energy to express himself... "Everything has to be 'perfect'. Everything has to be 'at standard'. Everything has to be 'the best'. I've just felt... I just feel... Dammit, Dad, I just wanted to try something different, something less. I wanted to try being 'just me' for a change."

Pavel turned to Minerva as he laughed out loud, "You should have seen his face, when he realized he'd said 'Dammit' to me," Pavel laughed aloud again at the recollection. "Thank God for Iryna. It was exactly what she'd thought it was. He was adolescent now, trying to 'differentiate' and establish his own identity. He loved us too much for shameful rebellion or hurtful behavior, so this was his 'trial balloon' so to speak. How could he 'rebel', safely, as our son?"

"But Ivan's face, Minerva. He was horrified. I think he feared a nuclear explosion!" and his voice softened a bit, "And, perhaps without Iryna he'd have had one."

The memory went on...

"I see. Well, your mother and I have discussed your grade report, and as you know these are very disappointing grades. However, we don't have to tell you that. And you don't need to be punished to be aware of that. You are old enough now to make some decisions on your own. So... your mother and I have agreed... this is one of those. This is a decision you can make on your own, and we will abide by it.

"But understand this. This parchment, these grades, are now a part of your 'permanent record'. These grades make a statement about you... to the school, to the teachers you've not yet had, to potential employers. This parchment describes you and your efforts in this past semester. Now, these grades make one of two statements about Ivan Konstantyn. Either that he is not too bright, but he is working hard; or that perhaps he is bright, but he is lazy and unwilling to work.

"You must decide, since we both know neither of those statements are true, are you willing to lie or let this parchment continue to lie about you? Your mother and I do not expect, nor even WANT, you to be 'perfect', 'always at standard', or 'always the best'. If we've somehow given you that impression, I truly apologize, though we've worked hard not to do that.

"What we DO want, and expect, is that you always do the best you can with what you have. That you be honest. If you are struggling with something, tell us... we will try to help. But if you find a struggle, some area that you cannot excel in even with help, then so be it! We can embrace and rejoice with you even with a TERRIBLE grade, a FAILING grade, if for some reason that reflects your best efforts. But what we do ask is that you make your best effort. Whether you comply or not, is completely up to you. You are old enough to make some of your own decisions. This is one of them."

I stood up, pushed in the chair, and started to leave. My shocked son stood up as well, saying, 'that's it? Am I not to be punished then?'

"That was not my intention, no. Why? Are you disappointed?"

"Um, no... not at all, sir. Just... surprised, I guess..."

"Well, Ivan, let me ask you then, how do you feel about it? Do you feel as if you deserve to be punished?" I answered, as I turned and waited patiently.

"Well, um... actually, sir. Yes..." as his resolution solidified, "Yes, I think I do."

"Thank you for a courageous and honest answer. What rule or rules do you feel were broken here?"

"I just know better. This was stupid. I know I am to perform my best. I don't want people thinking I'm stupid, OR lazy! I knew it would upset you and Mother. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Very well, son. In that case, all right, I agree. You shall be punished," and he smiled as Ivan stiffened a bit. "First, you will go downstairs and apologize to your mother. You're right, this upset us both. And then..." he looked out the bedroom window into the darkling evening, "there is a great accumulation of snow outside on all our walkways that I was planning to zephyr away before we go skiing tomorrow. I think perhaps you would prefer to deal with a snowshovel to the walkways? No magic?"

"Aw... maaan! Daad?" Ivan whined in that now oh-so-welcome little boy voice, as my young man was growing up.

"Do I hear a tone of complaint, son? Do you feel ill-used? I'm sure I could think of some alternative..."

"No, sir. No... that's fine. Walkways it is. No magic. Right! I'm all over that!"

"Very good. Now how about cleaning up and coming down to supper. Your mother may be worrying that I'm killing you by now."

"Pfft! Hardly..." the boy laughed. "I'll be right down. And Dad..."

"Yes, son?" as he'd started to turn and leave.

"I really am sorry about the grades..."

Pavel laughed, "I'm not. Better that than piercings or tattoos!" he muttered just barely audibly, as he gave a mock shudder and stepped out, leaving a very confused son in his wake.

"We had a wonderful vacation that year," he smiled, finishing the story, as he folded his linen napkin into the silver ring with his name on it so the house elves could put it away and retrieve the right one later.

"Thank you for that wonderful memory, Pavel. I miss her, too," Minerva nodded, thinking of Iryna. "She adored you both!"

"Yes, she did. And she'd be so proud of Ivan and how he is doing now."

"I know, and so are you!" she laughed, giving his arm a little squeeze as they both stood, and he drew her chair from behind her. "I just hope you remember that in the next few days..." she thought, wondering how the new arrangements were going to work out.

Classes moved along swimmingly through the day...

Professor Snape gave his accustomed Monday morning examinations, not trusting any students to actually brew anything without mishap. He'd already chatted with Gilderoy Lockhart, observing how it was a shame that students had such little opportunity for practical experience in his field, like... a dueling club, or something. A few moments later Lockhart's face positively lit up with his new, absolutely brilliant idea... as he went rushing off to discuss it with the Headmaster before anyone else could beat him to it. "Well, THAT mission's accomplished," Snape thought, preparing for class.

Professor Konstantyn began to lecture on the comparison and contrast of Persian versus Egyptian magic. There was discussion of power sources, mythologies, gods, and forces... methods of access, ritual, meditation, sacrifice... and view of infinite and eternals, afterlife, mortality, immortality. He assigned everyone to research magical roots for these cultures from their own grade-level appropriate sources, and assigned the findings to be written up in lengths from 6 to 12 inches for the next class.

Madame Hooch taught more flight lessons to her first years, and let a penny drop in each class that it would be nice if there were a bit more recreational sport at the school, what did the students think? She knew this would start the rumor flying through the student body. In the meantime, she took the luncheon hour to make a not-too-quiet suggestion on this topic to Headmaster Dumbledore, along with the truthful statement that students seemed to endorse the idea.

This generated some very encouraging discussion among the entire faculty. Even Pavel added his vote that "the children are so confined in the castle, it would be good if they could get out more." Albus, playing his part to the hilt, feigned hesitation until finally being "convinced" by the unanimity of his staff. Reluctantly, he agreed that he had some ideas he would look into, since everyone seemed so pleased with the project.

Later that afternoon, Pavel headed to the Senior Common room for a cup of tea during a free period before the last classes of the day. He saw that Minerva had the same period free as well, and sat with a cuppa reading a novel. He walked over and sat down close by, not interrupting, but pleased when she looked up and put down her book.

"Pavel, how lovely. Nice to have a quiet moment or two before we head back to the 'madding crowds', is it not?" she smiled.

"Indeed. I love the peace in this room, and the roaring fire year round that never fails to cheer this cool stone chamber. The Hogwarts house elves are quite remarkable," he observed.

"That they are," she nodded.

"Minerva," he began, laughing a bit, "after breakfast I realized I did not quite finish that story of Ivan and his grade report this morning. There was a bit of an 'epilogue' later on."

"Oh?" Minerva sat back, taking a sip of her tea, arching an eyebrow in interest. "And what, pray, was that?"

"Well, you knew Ivan as a small boy. Remember how curious he was?"

"Absolutely! He was into everything. He was forever touching things, anything new, he had to go, look, then pick it up and handle it. He never felt like he'd understood something until he could turn it over in his hands and manipulate it," she laughed, "I remember when he first saw my wand, and that it was different from yours and Iryna's, and the battle we all went through with him explaining it would not be polite for him to handle and use my wand. It was Iryna who finally prevailed."

"Quite so, that's the perfect example. Poor Iryna..." he laughed, "I was off working so much when he was small, though I made it a point to be home every night to eat supper together, and to put him to bed with a story after his bath. But, yes, so much of his initial training in manners and basics, Iryna handled on her own. We held to our cultural traditions, to a large extent, and I was the disciplinarian in serious matters... that 'wait in your room til your father gets home' thing if he'd gotten into any serious trouble. But Iryna was so gifted that she could usually handle him with her words.

"But!" he laughed, "from the time he was the age you remember, and even before that, she had the infinite patience, when he reached for something dangerous - like the fireplace, candle flames, potions or tools - to go to him, stand or kneel there with him, say 'No, don't touch'... and wait for him either to obey, or reach out whereupon she would spat the back of his hand. She would not shout or get angry, she would simply wait and watch him decide whether to obey or not. Each time he reached out, however many times that was, she would spat his hand... just that hand... growing harder each time. Until finally he would give up, determining that the sting was no longer worth the object, and he'd say, "OK, mummy," and move on to something else. She would then hug and cuddle him, and thank him for his obedience.

"Well, by the time he started his preliminary schooling, he had pretty well learned what not to reach out for, or responded to verbal instructions obediently. But that simple gesture became a 'code' for them. When, as a boy, he knew he had done something wrong and his conscience bothered him, or if he knew he was going to get in trouble for something, he found it easiest to admit wrongdoing to her by opening the conversation with climbing up in her lap, reaching out to her, and saying, 'you may want to swat my hand.'

"She would say, 'I see,' and take his hand in hers.'And why should I wish to do this?' and he'd bashfully admit whatever it was. Normally it was some simple rulebreaking or even just childish clumsiness that broke something. She would then give his hand a token pat, and either assure him that accidents happen and he was not at fault, or... if he had done something wrong, but owned up to it, she'd assign him some consequence usually related to setting the situation right, or deny him some privilege or liberty for a sufficient time to make her point clear.

"Sometimes... not often, but it happened from time to time, he had broken one of our cardinal rules, and we all knew it would be one of those rare 'wait in your room 'til your father gets home' events. Even then, he was wise enough first to go to her, if it was possible, and make his confession. She would still spat his hand before sending him to his room, but they both knew things would be better when I got home if she explained the situation to me with our customary cup of tea on arrival so that we could talk.

"I would usually then call Ivan to my study and have 'the talk' with him. What were the circumstances, what had he done, what rule was broken, what should he have done, and did he have any excuse or factor that would modify the situation? We always did this immediately after Iryna and I finished our tea. I'd then send Ivan back to his room to wait for me and await his doom. Fifteen minutes later or so, I would go to his room and put the poor boy out of his misery. When the ordeal was finished he would want to hug as he cried, and I'd always hear the muffled, 'I'm sorry, Papa' in my chest. I'd hug him and assure him that I knew that, he was forgiven, and that we loved him very much, both when he behaved and just as much when he did not. That as far as I was concerned, this was a closed situation, and we need not bring it up again. I'd then go back downstairs, and an hour later or so we would eat supper.

"It makes me laugh to remember... Iryna would always put a cushioning charm on his chair, and prepare his favorite dessert when it happened. Sometimes he would laugh to find the charm, and bounce up and down brightly, saying... 'Mum, I don't need this, it doesn't hurt at all now. But it's fun to bounce on!' I would try to glare and keep from laughing, and say something about losing my touch, perhaps we should try that again. Ivan would sober immediately, saying, 'No, Papa, that was just fine. No more is needed,' and we would all laugh. Eventually, that too, became a family jest.

Anyway, I tell you all that to make sense of this... when our 13 year old Ivan came downstairs to apologize to Iryna, he offered her the back of his hand as he said, 'I'm very sorry, Mother. I behaved badly,' and she joyfully laughed as gently she took his hand and swatted the top of it. 'No more of that, all right? Let's find some better way to rebel!' was all she said, and that was it.

"Three days later we were in a delightful lodge enjoying a day of skiing, and the scamp was looking around at all the other fashionable skiiers also on holiday. A group of wildly dressed older teens passed our table, squealing, giggling, muggles. A couple of them had brightly dyed hair, orange and... neon green, I think.

"Ivan, you recall, had raven-black hair, that he tied neatly back, and jokingly said, 'Mother, maybe I'll dye my hair purple. How would that be as a 'statement of teen rebellion', eh?' I was just lifting my hot cocoa to my lips taking a gulp, when she said, 'I don't know, son. Let's see...' and surreptitiously flicked her wand, coloring Ivan's hair a brilliant bright purple, and styling it into spikes at full length.' Not only did it seem like the color would glow in the dark, but the spikes gave him the look of a sea urchin. It was so unexpected that I spit my cocoa out all over the table, spraying the both of them.

"Iryna turned to ME, with an absolutely deadpan stern look of disapproval saying, 'Pavel! Manners! I can't take you anywhere!' and, seeing that we were unobserved by muggles, cleaned everything instantly, without even cracking a smile.

"What could I do? So, I sincerely apologized to the both of them for my lack of manners, and commented that I thought Ivan's hair was most becoming. Never let it be said that Iryna did not get back her own in her own way. Ivan could not see the full effect of his new coif, but excused himself to check the mirror in the men's room, whereupon he came back to the table, stomping furiously and demanding that she change him back.

"I cleared my throat, as he was verging on unacceptable discourtesy and disrespect of his mother... he took the hint immediately and began to beg instead. Iryna simply laughed and shook her head, saying he could try this out for the day. That she was sure it would sort itself out by the time we went to supper. At which point she rose, and we carried on for our afternoon of skiing.

"I must say..." the Professor's voice dropped a bit, "there was no mistaking him on the slopes that day, no matter how far away he was, you could see that head for miles. It was lovely."

Minerva had been laughing ever since hearing of Iryna's "hairdressing". "Oh, that was so typical of her, Paul. I'm sure it was a day the boy never forgot. And it must have been great fun."

"It was, and by the end of the day he even dared tease that he was starting to like it, perhaps she could make it permanent!"

"Anyway, dear lady, I'm sorry I've occupied all of our free time, and it's now time to return to the trenches. But I thought you'd enjoy hearing, as they say, 'the rest of the story'."

"Oh, I have, Paul. Thank you so much for sharing it. You've made my day. I'll spend the entire next period imagining my third years sitting there with huge spikey purple heads."

"Hmmm..." Pavel chuckled, "might make for an interesting Transfiguration exercise, no?"

"It might at that, but I'm not sure I want to teach them how to do it on one another! Or us!"

"Ah, true. I had not thought of that..."

"I'm sure, Paul. I'm sure..."

And he held the door for her, as they exited to class.

That evening, at the Dinner Hour, the Headmaster made two announcements. One: Professor Lockhart had agreed to sponsor a Dueling Club, that would first meet the following evening at 7:30 in the Gymnasium, and that it would be a general area appropriate for wand practice and spell casting. All students were encouraged to attend, and faculty was invited to help coach and marshal the practice. Two: in keeping with the suggestions of both students and faculty, Hogwarts would be taking on an Instructor in Physical Education, to assist Madame Hooch and engage in other sports activities. It was hoped that the instructor would arrive sometime late tomorrow.

The student assembly was delighted with these developments, sparking an even louder than normal din of their shrill excited voices throughout the meal.

Yes, all in all it had been a very successful, sneaky, day...