Friday's Child
Friday morning, the Trio reported to Professor Snape's classroom to find instructions on parchment on the boys' desks. Rather than textbook and writing assignments, it appeared they were going to brew some potions. Ron's was a potion he had struggled with the previous week in class. Harry's was a potion to reduce inflammation in joints. Professor Snape stepped from his lab to the classroom as they were reading the instructions.
"Good morning, class. You each know what to do, so get on about it," and he stepped aside to admit them to the laboratory. Hermione's station had the two Polyjuice Potions in work, along with the ingredients to be added today. Ron and Harry's stations had been similarly prepared.
"I'll not hover, gentlemen. But just as with Ms. Granger, if you have a question or concern please ask and I'll try to help you. The text is not always clear on ingredient preparation as to exact size or texture. I'd rather you ask the question than waste the material," and he took a seat on a stool at a teacher's lectern to grade papers, remaining in the lab rather than retiring to the classroom.
In just a very few minutes, Hermione had completed her work, the professor reviewed her notebook and cauldrons, and she was dismissed. Snape took the opportunity to look over the boys' efforts, and offered some suggestions.
"Stir that just a little more vigorously, Mr. Potter. You want the color to even out completely while the liquid comes to a boil."
"There you go, Mr. Weasley. That's where you had a hard time last week. Wait for the foam on top to disappear completely before you add the slug slime. Otherwise it will congeal and stick to the bubbles from the foam, making those lumps you could not remove. Good job."
By the end of 45 minutes, Ron had decanted an excellent topical antiseptic, and Harry had the first of his possible inflammation potions. They bounded out at 7:15 feeling like they'd just cured the common cold, excited to tell Hermione all about it. As Harry passed one of the classroom bookcases, he paused to ask, "Professor Snape, would it be all right if I took one of these old books here? There may be something more in them about what I'm looking for."
Snape glanced that way, saw they were old classroom texts, and readily agreed, "Go ahead, that's fine."
Harry took an old one he thought no one would want, "Advanced Potion Making" by Libatius Borage.
The Trio were surprised, as they mounted the staircase from the Potions Dungeon, to be met by the Professor in what was clearly "traveling attire", carrying his attache case. They were subjected to a short, sweet, speech very familiar to children from healthy families whose fathers traveled from time to time on business, that went something like...
"I am going to be out of town today, and may be out of touch for a short while. While I'm gone, you are to mind your 'mother' - " in this case "Professor McGonagall, and Master Constantine" - "as though I were here. I will be back soon, and be checking on how you behave. I will deal with any matters on that when I return. Do you understand?"
Harry had heard Vernon Dursley have similar talks with Dudley in the past, though never with him. This was a "family thing" to which Harry knew he had never been entitled. So, other than the curiosity of where he was going and why he was going, there was no anxiety to the "implied threat"... just an odd sensation of "belonging". Ron and Hermione, of course, had had such "talks" before, so simply took it in stride as they all three responded with, "Yes, sir."
Harry did follow up with, "Where are you going, sir? And how long do you plan to be away?"
"Well, Harry, I expect to return in time for my 3:00 office hours and Study Hall, and I'm torn how much to tell you as this is 'adult business' that I don't want you fretting about. However, knowing you'd otherwise be overly concerned, I am going to my office in the East, to check on the prisoners we captured and see about any new developments there. So, I don't expect to be in 'danger', or at any risk that need worry you. John will be here with you. And for the moment, this is not a matter that the three of you can help, so let this go for today, Harry," Pavel smiled and ruffled his hair. "Today just enjoy being 'the boy who lives' and stay out of trouble. I should be back by the time you greet Mr. Filch.
"I've let you know this because I will be away from campus, and will try to inform you anytime that is so. Also, if for any reason you feel in danger, or you need my immediate physical presence, you need only call out for me in your minds. But, other than that, until my return, I will need to be free of interruptions, so do not call to me unless there is grave need. John, however, will be available to speak or answer questions, and so on. All right?"
Three heads nodded, as Harry suddenly stepped to him and hugged him around the waist. "You go have a good day. We'll be good. Stay safe!"
Pavel dropped to one knee to exchange a 'proper hug', and whispered softly in Harry's ear, "I will, miy ulyublenyy syn, I will. And I'll be back before you know it." Then, rising again and disengaging, he bellowed, "Now Behave! Waifs!" and with a wave, he walked on to the Potions classroom to use Professor Snape's floo.
After breakfast, Hermione headed to the Library while Ron and Harry changed into play clothes to go out for their Quidditch practice on the Pitch at 10. Wood and the rest of the team were happy to see them, as Harry took a bit of good-natured teasing for being so absent from social life for the week. The rumor had been intentionally spread that this was due to his getting in trouble Saturday last, and Professor McGonagall curbing his free time considerably as a result. Everyone knew he'd gotten a 3-Detention-with-Filch sentence, which was about the worst punishment assigned a Gryffindor, so Harry got more sympathy than joshing from his teammates.
Ron was a backup utility player, and got to practice with the team. If a Beater or the Keeper were too sick to play or got injured during the game, Ron would substitute. His skills and broom weren't quite up to Chaser or Seeker, but he enjoyed the practicing and playing he did, and hoped to make the permanent Keeper position next year.
Harry took to the air like a bird, flying through the warmups and heading to the Pitch as Wood got the Quidditch Case from the Field House. Looking around, Harry could see John out on his broom, just keeping an overseeing eye on the grounds as some students played muggle ball games on the grass, and others flew for leisure or walked around the Black Lake. Harry mind-spoke a greeting to John, and announced his presence.
"Hey, Squirt," John replied. "I see you over there. I'll be over that way shortly. Don't worry, I'll see your practice." He didn't want to distract or worry Harry by pointing out that he had men posted around the wards, searching for more bad guys, or that such scheduled opportunities to get to Harry as a Quidditch game or practice, were the highest risk exposures. He and Papa didn't want Harry worrying about things like that. Just that he know to be where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be there, "or else"... and that "or else" be nothing more serious than Papa's displeasure, or the sharp edge of Professor McGonagall's tongue.
John zoomed down into a hidden nook at Hagrid's Cottage to take Raven form and make another pass of the boundaries. His Raven eyesight was vastly superior to human, and he wanted to look deeply into the Forest and all the surrounding terrain, being sure to see his own men and their positions, and take one more chance at spotting the enemy. His circuit completed, John resumed human contour and flew to a position over the Quidditch Pitch where he watched Harry's practice while monitoring the grounds at the same time.
He had to smile as he watched Harry play, seeing his breathtaking dives and turns when he spotted the snitch. Some of the maneuvers were so daring it even troubled John. It made him laugh to think, "Papa won't know whether to burst with pride, or ground the boy for a month, when he sees this."
Tomorrow would be an interesting day. But he hoped today would be just as interesting, and productive.
Meanwhile, 1500 miles away:
Pavel stepped through Ivailo's floo, at the Central office of the Auror and Intelligence Apparat, Protectorate of Magic, in Bucharest. Waving a hand to banish floo dust, he rapidly exited, walked a few doors down along a rather dim gray corridor, and entered an open office bay filled with half a dozen or so desks and workstations. Personnel stood and smiled as he entered, with a chorus of "Good morning, sir."
Paul smiled, shook his head as he closed the door behind him, said, "Seats... and I am retired, dear friends. I am merely a 'visitor' now," in light humored correction of their courtesies.
Everyone sat and resumed their work, except for a lovely blond haired supervisor, who approached him with outstretched hand as she said, "Of course, you are, sir. We all understand just how 'retired' you are."
Ignoring her hand, smiling he reached out as they embraced and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. He muttered, "don't be impertinent, Oxsana," with a laugh.
"Sorry, sir," she responded, without the slightest hint of contrition, as she continued, "I am very glad you could come. I am really not sure how to proceed, and I did not want to risk error with such high priority captives."
"Thank you for your call and your caution. I am not sure I'll have any better idea, but let's see what we have, eh? Tell me again, what the problem is?" Pavel responded, stripping off his outerwear and hanging them neatly aside. He no longer had an office or closet here, which bothered him not in the least.
"Well, sir, they simply seem 'blank'. When I take them out of stasis, even if they are immobilized, immediately their minds begin to quest for Petrov. The sympathetic connections have been purged from them, but they seek to reestablish them almost immediately. If I try to interrupt their reaching out by making very clear that if they succeed they will die instantly at his hands, there is no deterrence at all. We have them in secure Faraday holding, but they seem to find ways around that. So we have had some Death mages try taking them to other planes, but that does not discourage them either. At the moment, it is as if they can do one, and only one thing... connect with Petrov. So we keep them in Stasis."
"I see..." Paul answered, leaning on Oxsana's desktop, listening intently. "Of course you have tried lifting memories from their minds even as they try to reach out?"
"Yes, sir. And it's so frustrating. The memories are THERE, clearly. But it's like they are there in raw code, imprinted in their brains, but without the application of their own consciousness, their own minds, I cannot decode the data into a usable form. I have access to the raw coded data, but no algorithm to convert that into usable information or images."
Pavel nodded, stroked a non existent goatee downwards as he thought. "I assume brute force lifts have been tried?" This did not refer to anything physical, but rather an application of extraordinary energy by multiple mind mages simultaneously and irresistibly to command compliance with instructions or disclosure of information.
"Yes, sir. That's when we knew we had to call you. That only resulted in complete mental shutdown. Not only was there no compliant response, but their brains began to cease function, and affecting their autonomic functions. Had we continued, I believe they'd have died before any disclosure."
Pavel remained silent, contemplating the situation. She knew his expressions, and did not interrupt. Though she had considered a couple of possible approaches. She waited for his eyes to open and return to hers.
"Would you care to walk with me, sir?" Oxsana smiled, flashing to his mind's eye a pathway at a nearby park where they had often met and talked for privacy. The surroundings were much more conducive to creative thinking than the gray ministry concrete walls.
"Certainly," he smiled in response, as the two of them "blinked" to a park bench on a lovely grassy lawn surrounding a duck pond. They quickly surveyed the scene, and noted there was no one within a half kilometer of them. "Before we continue," he interrupted himself, "how is your dear mother?"
"She is just fine, Godfather, and she asks about you all the time. How is John doing? We miss him around here, you know," and now that they had privacy, she hugged his neck.
"He is just fine, very happy, causing trouble among scores of children and teens. He seems to have found his perfect setting!" Pavel laughed. Oxsana's father had been his best friend and partner in early days of their career. He was Oxsana's godfather, and when her father died in the line of duty Pavel and Iryna had been very present in the life of her family. John was as her brother, and it had been a very hard thing, indeed, for Pavel to see her pursue this career. Still, there was no doubt of her giftedness, skills, or dedication. She was an excellent Inquisitor.
"So, Oxsana, you've had an idea or two... I can tell."
"Well... yes. First, I am very concerned that we not lose these men, so I've been hesitant to experiment much with probing them. I thought perhaps you, could recreate their minds in a cognitive container, since you've the ability to do that ex nihilo, which I do not. Then we could probe the 'backups' while still keeping the 'originals on ice' so to speak."
Pavel nodded, "That is certainly a thought... But there's more. I can feel your reticence. You have another idea, that apparently you do not believe I would approve." Pavel's eyes narrowed, as he waited for her to come clean.
"I did. Remember, all I need is the algorithm to decode the memory data and then their minds will be an open book. It is such a small thing... So, I thought, even though I cannot recreate their minds ex nihilo, overlaying their templates onto blank organic material... I COULD most likely overlay one's template onto my OWN mind, melding us for a time, and acquiring the algorithm in the process..." she could feel Pavel's anger rising, and decided to simply wait it out, hoping it would pass.
"Show me!" was all he said, inviting her to display into his mind, precisely how this event would work. She opened her meditations to him, and saw her use her skills to insinuate herself fully into the mind of a prisoner, then awaken him. The thrumming of the obsession would begin, like the pounding of his pulsing heart, while desperately he would try to reach out to Petrov, like a panicked animal ignoring everything around it except the single thought to flee! That Oxsana would have to ignore all of that, exert all of her willpower to resist succumbing to it, while she settled in to memory data and tried to absorb by osmosis the interpretive key from this prisoner. She would have to wait, steeped in the memories, until recognizable thoughts, words, and images began to form. At that point she would know she held the algorithm, she could sedate the prisoner again, and withdraw back into the boundaries of her own identity... retaining her own memory of the interpretive key.
When she finished, Oxsana just sat silently on the bench with her eyes closed, prepared and waiting for the storm of Pavel's temper that she knew was going to break upon her. The plan, at the moment, had too many flaws, too many holes, and was an altogether unjustifiable risk. That is not what was going to get her in trouble. Wednesday night, two nights ago, she came very close to executing this plan. She had been unspeakably frustrated. She had good mages around her with considerable mind skill. She knew time was pressing and passing in England, and feared that they would lose the track of Petrov all together. She came within a hair's breadth of attempting this, and risks be damned. She knew there was no way to conceal that fact from Pavel... so she waited for the storm to arrive.
It was worse than that. There was no storm. Instead, Pavel was utterly silent. She wished he would yell, or at least speak. That, she could handle. But this, she knew, was his regaining his self control. And she just hated it when she'd made him this angry. All there was to do was wait. So wait, she did.
After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "The idea has merit. It is well that you did not attempt it Wednesday," he struggled to keep his tone neutral. "That would have been... inadvisable... and unfortunate."
Still, Oxsana knew better than to say anything. She waited on the old man.
"I see three problems. One, you cannot be certain of how strong the obsession, or that you could surmount it with will, even cooperatively. Two, you do not know how long it will take you to intuit the interpretive key. Three, you 'assume' you will have the strength to sedate the prisoner again, and egress his mind cleanly. There is no way to know how drained you could be at that time. There is, of course, the one other risk any time we enter another's mind this way."
"Yes," she nodded. "I could potentially release my hold on my own ego anchors, and become hopelessly lost in his mindscape. However, Papa Pavel," she dared the slightest of smiles, "I find that generally my 'ego' is quite sound and strong."
"You are sailing far to close to the edge of that cliff, child..." he growled. She looked down at her hands again. He mellowed his voice, "What kept you from daring this Wednesday?"
"Frankly, I had a number of support mind wizards with me, I thought I could handle the obsession. But without knowing how long this would take, and how much it would cost me... Well, I am the strongest of the Mind Mages here. There would be no one else, no one outside of this..."
"Who could pull you out if necessary," Pavel finished for her. "You realized, you needed me. Between my full mastery, and the sympathetic connection we share, you believe I could extract you if necessary, even if you are incapacitated."
"That's correct, sir," she said, looking up at him, speaking with a firm voice.
"That, Wednesday night, young lady, was a 'near miss'. You know that. Only your discipline to avoid unreasonable or unjustified risk, along with - apparently - your fear of me, and potential consequences, kept you from attempting a potentially disastrous intervention. I should refer this to Ivailo."
"You wouldn't!" she breathed, a bit shocked.
"No, I wouldn't, but I am this close..." he said, indicating an inch or so with his fingers, "from administering a painful reminder of proper precautions myself, right here, right now."
She looked back down at her hands, not to antagonize him or tempt fate. She had known such "administration" in her life, only once, when she was sixteen. She had decided that she was too big, too adult and too smart to have to worry about adult supervision or rules anymore, and that "curfew" was a childish custom. Her mother was beside herself, when time after time she would set Oxsana a curfew on a school night, and she would come in anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes late, as the mood suited her. It was silly, just foolishness, she wasn't doing anything bad or wrong... just having pizza or burgers with her friends. It was just the point that she was too old to be told what time to come home, and she was going to assert her independence and have her own way. Her mother worried about her, and now... doing what she did for a living... she fully understood why, and was grateful. But not so much at the time.
Her mother called Pavel for advice, and he came over for a "little chat" with the both of them. Now, all her life she'd hung out with John a lot, and they'd gotten in trouble as children from time to time... stood in a corner, restricted from flying, even grounded a day or two at a time. She knew Papa Pavel was not a man to trifle with. But this... this "little chat" with him and her mother was different. He made things perfectly clear... she was being disobedient and defiant, she knew better, she was disrespecting her mother, and that was simply going to stop. If this happened one more time, and she were late home without acceptable justification, then he would deal with her precisely as her late father would, and they both knew exactly what that meant. He made it very clear, this was not what he wanted or where he wanted their relationship to go, but as her godfather he would see to it that she understood she indeed was accountable to the authority of her parents, and that if she defied them in this way again, there would be unavoidable painful consequences.
He'd made enough of an impression that she was on time for several weeks running. But then one night, on the way home one of her friends wanted to stop by a new cafe and, against her better judgment, she thought, "he won't really do it. I'll be ok." Well, when she arrived home an hour late, she found him sitting there looking... more sad than angry. They talked, she spoke truth without excuse, he repeated the reasons they were there, and she discovered that there was no bluff nor bluster to her godfather. He kept his word, and there had been no further call across her entire life to repeat the lesson. Even when she was a cadet auror, and he her training master. They never referred to the incident again.
So here, now, sitting in this park, was the first time he'd ever said such a thing. And she knew, he was not a man for empty threats. She did not look at him resentfully or rebelliously, she knew he loved her greatly and did not ever want to see her hurt out of foolishness or thoughtless impulse.
"Papa Pavel?" she looked at him, "I considered the possibility, and almost resolved to try it. But ultimately, I decided it did not have enough depth of backup and exit strategy to it, and tempted as I was, I chose to turn away. I turned away because I deemed it an unjustified risk, and that is because of the training you have drilled into all of us. So, if I need 'reminding', then so be it, I'll yield to that. BUT I've asked you to come specifically because I will not take THAT risk, and I hope between us we can plan a better way to get what we need."
At which his heart melted, and he folded her into his arms as he kissed the top of her head. "Myla dytyna moya," he whispered. And suddenly he stood and cleared his throat, "let us walk. I may have thought of an alternative, with significantly less risk."
"Truly?" she asked, leaping up alongside him. "What's that?"
"What level of consciousness contains the obsession?" he asked, in a musing, speculative voice.
"Level of consciousness? I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"Well, as we peel back the layers of someone's mind, we move through progressive stages of consciousness, yes? First there is the conscious, then the sensory awareness, then subconscious, then unconscious, etc. yes?"
"Yes," Oxsana agreed.
"Well, the interpretive key has to be somewhere well below conscious awareness, the mind accesses memory when we dream or even in a coma."
"Yes, I see this..."
"Well, what layer of consciousness has Petrov embedded this obsession into? I would guess it is the conscious layer, since you say it is when you waken them that they struggle to establish contact. So, perhaps if you can insert yourself without rousing them... accessing only the unconscious or subconscious layer, you could soak and find the algorithm without their egos activating to be muddled with yours, and without the obsession offering any challenge at all."
Oxsana froze in her tracks and stared off into space as she pondered this. "O... Papa Pavel... What a fool I am! Of course! That would all be so much simpler. Pfft!" she made a sound of self derision, "I should have thought of that!"
"Nonsense. You thought of a brilliant plan, I just took it a little bit farther. Now... how many skilled mind magicians do you have?"
"I have 5, sir," as again she began to think like an Inquisition Team Leader.
"Fine, then I have a thought. You enter and find that boundary layer between the unconscious and subconscious, but just rest there, quiescently. Have four of your support team, gently come join you, but suggest just the barest hint that the prisoner should 'sleep and dream'. Nothing sudden, harsh, or strong... just the barest whiff, the gentlest breeze. And see if his mind begins to reach to memories. If so, you should sense the algorithm at work, and be able to absorb it."
"And you, sir?"
"I will be at your side, but anchored out here. If need be I will jerk us out of there and render the subject senseless immediately. You keep that one more assistant free and monitoring your 'dream encouragers' the same way I am monitoring you. Should anyone get into trouble, he or she can pull them out. How does that sound? One operative, four background security, and two external backups for emergency extraction if necessary?"
"Sounds brilliant, sir." Oxsana smiled. "Think it would pass my old boss's scrutiny?" she laughed.
"I suspect so, little one," he laughed.
"Think we should inform Ivailo then?"
"Yes. Not so much needing his 'permission', as making him aware of what risks we ARE taking, whether with personnel or with the prisoners. It's always good not to surprise the man, just in case something goes awry."
They "blinked" back to the office, briefed Ivailo on the plan, and immediately briefed the team. Bright and eager as they are, they caught on immediately and within minutes all was in readiness. The actual deed was almost anticlimactic, as Oxsana settled into the mind of the lackey without struggle, and the assistants "lulled' him to dreams as smoothly as ripples on water. Pavel watched as Oxsana watched and they saw the "interpretive key" as a set of thoughts, like a little tangle of thread, or squiggle of spiderweb, move as a construct from one set of data to another. Oxsana hovered over the construct, duplicated it, took a moment to apply her copy to various sets of memory data, removed it, and began to move to "the surface", exiting this man's mind.
"How simple! Here it is... " and in her palm was an ectoplasmic form like a memory for a penseive.
"How do you feel, Oxsana? How trying was the process?" Pavel asked.
"Not bad at all. I think the team can do this on our own if you need to go. I'm ready to go on."
"No, I'd rather not leave you with this. You never know for sure what might happen," Pavel looked up at the Tempus on the wall and saw he'd been here only an hour, and the clock showed 12 noon. With the two hour time difference he was still just fine. "Take a 30 minute break, then let's do this again. Then, if that goes just as smoothly, we'll break again for half an hour, and do the last one. Agreed?"
"Yes, sir..." all agreed.
Pavel fought his own impatience to sit and rest for that time, as he so urgently wanted to begin retrieving memories and decoding. Only his years of realizing that Master Mage or not, exertion has limits and he needed to respect them, helped him prioritize the safety of this intervention, over his burning desire for the information it should yield. By one hour later, they had acquired the keys from all three thugs, who were still sleeping the sleep of the righteous in their stasis shells.
Of course, there was the temptation for Pavel to remain and decode the memories and information. But that was no longer his job. Oxsana and her team were well qualified to do all the data mining and analysis, and he would wait for results to be reported. So at 1:00 local time, Pavel was saying his goodbyes and heading for Ivailo's floo to return to Hogwarts.
He stepped through into his own apartment study floo, put down his attache case, and jumped out the window, summoning his broom to his hand as he reached John and transformed from bat to Professor.
John joyfully exclaimed, "Hello, there, Papa! Delighted, but surprised, to see you. Harry is there in practice."
"I know," Pavel smiled. "I knew he wanted us to see him practice, and I'm sure he was disappointed this morning. But I could not know for sure that I could return in time. I thought it better not to say I might be back in time, and then risk disappointing him by being delayed. Oxsana and the team send you their love, and they miss you. We should start getting intel soon. Everything went well."
John knew any more detailed reportage could wait until later. Papa wanted to watch Harry fly. John had to laugh as he backed off a meter or so, letting Pavel watch Harry's breathtaking maneuvers, shaking his head with concern from time to time. Seeing the team land and take a brief break for drinks there, Pavel descended a bit, and mind spoke, "I hope you're wearing your mouthpiece when you dive and turn like that!"
Harry's head shot up to look towards where he knew John had been hovering, and he broke into a huge grin with a mental shout... "Professor! You're back! You came!" and he jumped on his broom to shoot towards them, and the three of them hovered together for a moment.
"Yes, I'm back, and everything is fine. So you go on with your practice, and I'll watch a bit. I'll see you at luncheon, and then if you're free afterwards you can either play outside until you meet Mr. Filch, or.. ahem..." he cleared his throat, "if you have any homework to complete, we could sit at home for the early afternoon. Of course, you'll have that 4:00 study hall anyway, so your choices are up to you."
"If it's all the same with you, sir, I do think I can finish the homework in Study Hall, so I wonder if maybe we could play chess or something together after luncheon?" Harry didn't know why, but he'd 'missed' Pavel terribly in the morning. He didn't know why, and it made no sense, since he'd said he'd be back by Office Hours anyway. And he often went all day without seeing him. But it was just knowing that he "wasn't there" that he found upsetting somehow And now, he was back, and everything was ok again.
"That will be fine, Harry. Chess it is... Knights at 10 paces!" and he rendered a wand salute! "Now, go get your drink, and I think your team awaits. I'll see you after lunch." And Pavel kept his station while he watched the boy fly back to the Pitch. Then, without appearing to move his head, Pavel used mage sight to make a slow, careful, panoramic examination of the surrounding environs knowing that he had just flashed their prey in front of an unknown number of predators that probably surrounded them at this moment. Frustrated, he could sense nothing out of the ordinary. So he flew to one of the upper stands of the Pitch, and settled into a seat to watch the rest of practice, rather than sit a broom the whole time. He covered himself with an invisibility glamour not to raise questions, and enjoyed watching his son nearly break his neck... repeatedly.
From 1:00 to 3:00 Pavel and Harry sat, played chess, laughed, talked about flying and Quidditch, and looked like any other father and son who really enjoyed one another's company anywhere in the world. As 3:00 approached, Pavel rose saying, "Duty calls... off we go."
"Yup, OK, I'll see you at 4 then," as he popped out his door. And at 4:00, when Harry arrived in the Study Hall, he looked far happier than any 2nd year coming from a detention with Mr. Filch had a right to look.
Pavel mind spoke, "Everything went well, then?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I got the last valves done, and Mr. Filch was absolutely flabbergasted. It was so funny. He didn't know what to say. He huffed like he was mad, but he wasn't. He was just astonished. AND I got some of his stuff for... erm, nevermind, sir," and Harry discovered how impossible it was to recall a transmitted half thought...
Pavel chuckled back, "No problem, son. I know you have something going on about Mr. Filch and I don't need to know. I know you have adequate supervision, so I'm just glad it's working out. Now... time to finish some homework?"
"Yessir, I'm on it," Harry sent, as he sat and pulled out his materials. "And thanks for being understanding... for not asking."
"Pfft," Pavel mock growled, "Get your work done now!"
"Yessir." Harry laughed back.