Once back in the dormitory, most of the students settled down in the common room, chattering excitedly about the fog incident. Matt sat quietly to one side, fiddling with his glasses. Rob grabbed a book and headed to a quiet corner to read. Charlie and Danny tried recreating the battle, using Russell as the fog, much to Bill's amusement. Remy sat down near Matt and held his hand out. Matt stared at him questioningly.
"I'll fix them if you want," offered Remy.
"Oh, ok. Thanks." Matt handed his glasses over and Remy fixed them with a deft wave of his wand. "I really ought to learn to do that."
"I'm a little surprised you can't," grinned Remy. "You're good at charms."
"I'm good at reading about charms. It's putting it into practise that I'm bad at," sighed Matt.
"Well, if we can find a quiet corner, I can help you practise."
Matt agreed eagerly and the two soon found a quiet spot in the stairway. With a bit of guidance from Remy, Matt soon perfected the spell. he grinned at Remy.
"Thanks for that. I never get to try stuff at home. My Uncle disapproves. He wants me to go to a different school, but my dad was set on me coming here, so it's the one thing my mum stands up to him about." His voice dropped to a whisper. " And don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone ... about how we already met."
Remy breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I'll explain another time." They stood to one side as three second year girls ran past them, giggling madly. "In a quieter place."
-o-o-o-
Life continued as normal. Well, as normal as a school for wizards and witches can get anyway. Remy blew a few more holes in Snape's walls, mostly by accident, Tonks managed to knock a few people over while practising her charms, and Erica almost choked on her pumpkin juice. Gideon managed to melt a cauldron, much to everyone's surprise, as he'd never shown any practical abilities before. Matt kept Remy's secret, and in return, Remy helped Matt practise his spells and charms. In fact, Remy, Danny and Matt spent a lot of time together, either helping each other study, or just having fun. No one mentioned Halloween, although Remy had been unconvinced by the official explanation of "a spell that went slightly wrong, nothing to worry about." Dumbledore had certainly looked worried for a few days after the incident.
Remy was still worried about Al, but between his new friends, his studies, and playing basketball at every opportunity, he managed to avoid over analysing the lack of contact. Remus wrote to Remy every week. Well, almost every week. Full moons always caused delays in communication.
Morgan and Arial were also true to their word, avoiding confrontations with Remy, and even walking away a couple of times when Laurence tried to start trouble. Laurence seethed and yelled at them, but without their support, his attempts to make life hard for Remy ebbed away into empty words and hollow threats.
Remy even went to his first Quidditch match, with Danny excitedly explaining all the intricacies to both Remy and Matt. Charlie caught the Snitch in a new record time, and all three boys practically cheered themselves hoarse. Rob remained distant, which worried Remy at first, but no matter how many times he invited Rob to tag along, he just shook his head and attached himself to another group.
"Don't worry about it. He'll come round. Eventually. Probably when he needs help with an assignment and thinks one of us will be useful." Danny grinned and moved his rook. "Checkmate."
"Damn. I never saw that. You sure you don't want to play, Remy?"
Remy looked up from the newspaper he was reading. "Nah, thanks Matt, but I'm no good at chess. I'll stick to drawing."
Matt grinned and reset the board. "Danny's right. Rob was friendly with me in the first year, always studied with me. He didn't bother so much in the second year, not until the exams were close anyway. This year, he's practically ignoring me."
Danny nodded. "He ignored me in the first year, but then I hadn't read any of the books before school started. He was very friendly last year, always wanting to hang around and joke with people. This year he was fine to start with, but now he seems to want to hang out with Gideon and improve his Herbology. What's so fascinating in that paper anyway? You've been reading it for ages."
Remy looked up, a little surprised. "Have I? Hadn't realised. Was just some stuff about an art robbery in Russia. I was just thinking that a lot of art stuff is going on lately, what with that Van Gogh painting, Irises, being sold for millions at auction, and now art thefts in Russia."
Danny laughed. "You mean you were just day dreaming about how much your scribbles might be worth some day."
Remy grinned sheepishly. "Something like that." Actually he'd been thinking about Al and wondering if he was somehow involved in the strange Russian thefts that seemed to have the police at a complete loss.
-o-o-o-
He stretched his leg out under the table and propped his newspaper carefully against the sauce bottles in the middle of the table. He checked to make sure no one was watching him, before surreptitiously pouring out the contents of his coffee cup into the plant by the side of his table and replacing it with liquid from his flask. He settled back, waiting and watching. It looked like being another long, fruitless day, but at least a cafe in Omsk was better than being eaten alive by midges in a swamp, or losing half his body weight in sweat in a forest so huge you could hide most of England in it.
Omsk had turned out a be a vast, sprawling city. The industrial suburbs would probably have put off the casual tourist passing through, but the gently attractive central core had some fine century-old architecture and was dotted with parks, museums, restaurants and quirky public sculptures, including a 9 meter tall statue called 'Siberian Mother with Her Son'. The sorrowful, bowed Siberian woman with a look of fierce determination and her hands on the shoulders of her son, somehow made Moody homesick, which was a novel experience for him.
He noticed the small, grey haired man when he was half a block away. He was nervous, jumpy, checking over his shoulder constantly. He might as well have had a neon sign over his head saying 'Look at me, I'm up to no good'. Moody shook his head. It seemed the standards in Russian criminals had fallen lower than even he had imagined. After pacing nervously for a few minutes, the man seemed to make up his mind and darted into the café, looking around frantically. The tall blond man three tables in front and one to the right of Moody waved his hand, and the smaller man scurried over and dropped into the seat, panting breathlessly, as though he'd just run a mile rather than crossed a busy street.
"Ilya. Good to see you." Even his voice sounded nervous.
The blond man smiled. "And you, Yakov. You are looking well, my friend."
Moody chuckled to himself. Lies and exaggeration as usual. Yakov did not look well, and he doubted the two men were actually friends. Yakov did not seem to mind the lie. The waitress glided over to their table, and Yakov hesitatingly ordered a coffee. He watched her, nervously of course, until he was sure she was out of earshot.
"Are you sure this is going to be alright? I mean, I could lose my job if they find out I helped you."
Ilya smiled reassuringly. "Of course it will be alright. Trust me."
Moody practically snorted into his cup. Oh, if he only had a galleon for every time he'd heard that.
-o-o-o-
He watched from the shadows, and there were plenty shadows to choose from. Street lighting in this area was obviously regarded as a luxury, rather than a necessity. He had his invisibility cloak with him, just in case, but he doubted he'd need it. The plan was remarkably simple. Ilya was standing guard outside the building, while his colleague had climbed though a loosened bathroom window. The museum either had no intruder alarms, or they were switched off, as no alarm had sounded.
A few times, the inside man had appeared at the window and passed something out to Ilya. Ilya had shaken his head and handed a couple of them back. The rest were propped against the wall. Eventually Ilya seemed satisfied that they had what they'd come for, and the other man clambered back out through the window. Ilya handed some of the items to him, muttered something to him, and then the pair left, in opposite directions, Ilya with his share of the loot tucked casually under his arm.
Moody didn't think too hard. The other man was simply a casual thief brought in to steal what was needed for a cut of the profits. Ilya was the man with the contacts, the one with links to the people he was searching for. He followed, discreetly.
-o-o-o-
Moody read the paper with more enthusiasm than normal. The museum theft was front page news. Police were apparently at a loss to explain it. The thief, or thieves, had expertly forced a small bathroom window, wriggled inside, and headed to the main exhibition area, without setting off any of the intruder alarms. The theft was so well planned that police were convinced it must be the work of a globetrotting art felon with cultured tastes, which would explain why there was such a variation in the paintings taken. It seemed that particular paintings had been targeted, some of which were quite valuable, while some were by unknown artists and of no real significance. The curator was quoted as saying that perhaps there were fewer alarms than there should have been in an ideal world, but hindsight was a terrible thing. There was even a picture of the curator to accompany the report. A nervous looking Yakov hadn't managed to raise a smile.