Chapter 4
The Loneliness of Two
AN: Finally an update, this time even with a title. A few lines you may recognize I borrow from Joss and the episode 3x01 "Anne". Without further babbling and apologizing... here goes:
Sunnydale
Life in Sunnydale went on. The summer was hot, and slow. Too slow in Giles' opinion. As if it had decided to preserve his agony as long as possible. He was now more and more anxious to begin the new school year at last. He had finished reorganizing his home library, and now he felt restless – a strange feeling he had not known very often. It wasn't like being nervous or excited; there simply was this constant sense of not knowing what to do with himself and he actually accounted it rather to Buffy's absence than to Helen's. Had Helen's departure ripped his life of possible happiness, of a fulfilment somewhere apart from his calling, then Buffy's leaving seemed to have taken away its purpose. Without Buffy everything he had done before, things he had learned, read, researched for, lost their meaning in a way.
What was he without her?
He remembered what she said to him that one time when they learned the prophecy that she would die facing the Master. You're so useful sitting here with all your books... She had been mocking him then, but that very sitting among all his books was actually what he could do best, and yet without Buffy it was... useless really. Hadn't Helen left too, maybe it wouldn't matter so much, but being as it was he kept asking himself that question. There were moments, mostly in the mornings, when he woke up and outside the sun was shining, then he told himself that maybe Helen was right and he even managed to convince himself that Buffy would be back soon, that she'd not stay away forever. However, when he went to sleep at night, he often wasn't so sure anymore and he pored over what he would do if she didn't come back. Yet, there was one job he still had, and he was longing now more and more for the new school year and for "his" library.
Couple of weeks ago he had received from London the obligatory invitation to his mother's birthday celebration – an annual event he had been ignoring since over twenty years by now. Now however, as he was looking at the posh envelope and then the white card with golden letters for the third time, for a moment he was considering going. Or rather he was tempted. To take the next plane to London... but then he realized it would have been for all the wrong reasons: He would not be going out of a desire to attend the great party or to see his parents, but rather to be closer to where Helen might be, perhaps he would even go looking for her, in a moment of weakness, and that he did not want. He didn't want to look a desperate beggar. She made it very clear by the way she left that she did not want him in her life anymore. Any attempt to find her would only make him appear more pathetic than he already felt.
He hated how in such a short time his life had become so... dependent, so utterly defined by her, by her presence, that he didn't seem to be able to function on his own anymore. It wasn't like he was paralysed or unable to do things, no. The difference was that he just didn't enjoy doing anything anymore. It was puzzling him too, when he thought about it (and oh, had he spent hours brooding about it...). He realized that while she had been here, he and Helen shared very little time together that wasn't related in any way to his Watcher duties or to the Hellmouth, and yet he missed her now in every simple, mundane everyday action. The single exception were his books and his readings, thankfully those still worked because they used to make him forget everything else while he was deepened in the texts. As soon as he'd finish though, the short pleasure of oblivion was gone and the frustration took over of not being able to share, to discuss what he just learned.
He has been proud of being Buffy's watcher, really proud, so much prouder than he would have thought when he had first set his eyes on his Slayer. He had enjoyed being her Watcher too. Yet Helen, being with Helen, suddenly having her in his life gave him a sense of something else entirely, of being more or rather of being something other than that too.
Scotland
A week before the start of the new school year Helen returned to Hogwarts to talk to Professor McGonagall about her possible assignment. Minerva regretted, but stayed firm that the history class was now to stay in the hands of Lucius Malfoy. However, in a discussion with Professor Slughorn it was agreed that he would give away a few of his classes – the first and second year students – to Helen in order to enjoy a little more free time. Helen wasn't entirely happy about the arrangement, also when she thought about it she couldn't really imagine seeing Lucius Malfoy on a daily basis. They despised each other with almost fiery passion, and Helen feared that living with him under one roof, even one as large as the Hogwarts castle, wouldn't be easy. She was given her former quarters to inhabit, near the rooms where history classes used to be held, but that meant she would live only a couple of doors away from Lucius. He hasn't arrived at the school just yet, she heard someone saying that he was spending the last week of holidays with his son Draco – Narcissa left him two years ago and they've lived separated since then. Anyway, the sense of comfort, the feeling of a certain, though boring, but all the more consoling security, of the familiarity that she had been expecting and hoping for by her return to the old "home" did not arise. In addition some of her colleagues were still giving her those queer looks. If she had thought that her story was meanwhile forgotten, she couldn't be more wrong. Minerva told her matter-of-factly during one lunch that indeed some of the staff, mostly a few of the new members who hadn't known Helen before and thus probably judged her based solely on what they had heard from others or read in the papers, questioned the headmistress' decision to assign Helen back to a teaching post, wondering if she was the right person to tutor the students, pointing out that she might be "unstable". Professor McGonagall clearly spurned such insinuations and though Helen has never before thought of herself as unstable, she still spent the rest of the meal with a blank stare in her eyes, wondering.
No, it wasn't what she had hoped for. Already after the first two weeks of the school she caught herself having second thoughts. The students were nice enough, especially since she was teaching the little ones, first and second years. They were very sweet and very docile yet at their age. But teaching potions just wasn't it. She entirely lacked the passion for it, even though she used to be an excellent potioneer. But she hadn't foreseen how many memories the smell of valerian or the touch of the smooth copper of a cauldron, or the sound of its happy bubbling would trigger, memories that she did not want to dust anymore, didn't want to remember. The children seemed to like her a lot, but Helen wondered how long it would take for them to notice that she wasn't exactly enjoying the classes. Not like she used to anyway when she was teaching history. But she for her part fundamentally believed that only teachers, who were enthusiastic about their stuff, actually could be good instructors too. Lucius Malfoy, although they were on strictly non-speaking terms, barely left out a single opportunity to give her a gloating look every time their paths would cross in the vast castle.
On one evening she was walking the grounds around the castle and happened to run into Professor Slughorn, and in an onset of a strange confidentiality and while they were remembering the "good old times" and the two years when they were colleagues before the battle of Hogwarts, she confessed to him that she was having too hard a time to adjust to the school, wondering if she really should continue.
"But then again, I really have nowhere else to go, so... I might just as well keep teaching," she sighed in the end.
Horace smiled and nodded with his head in that manner that made him appear so wise and omniscient. "You know, not having another place to go to – or thinking you don't – is not always the best reason for staying."
She looked at him amused. "Thank you for sharing this deep wisdom," she said grinning.
Horace laughed shortly and puffed his pipe. "What I meant to say – you don't have to stay if it doesn't feel right. I know I gave you a few of the classes to have some more time for myself, but... as it turned out I don't have that many hobbies to spend it with... And there's only so much tobacco one can smoke on a free afternoon..." He added, bursting into a heavy cough, and hastily began dispersing the grey smoke in front of his face.
Sunnydale
The school year had begun at last. On its first morning Giles walked through the halls of the school with swift steps, barely able to restrain himself and not run – he craved the library that much. Very mixed feelings were taking hold of him as he hit the familiar swing door and after a split second of hesitation finally entered. The well-known scent of the books welcomed him and he came to a halt in the middle of the room, holding his briefcase under his arm, both his hands in his pockets – a posture that he often assumed when he felt nervous or timid even and that offered a good cover for his restless hands and provided at least the outer appearance of composure. The library was empty and quiet, yet not for too long. Soon after he had stepped into his office and taken off his tweed jacket, he heard a familiar cheerful voice calling his name, and despite himself he smiled. Had there been a bet on who would be the first person to enter the library after him, he would have won.
"Giles? Are you here?" Willow called.
"I'm here," he replied and made his way out of his small office again to meet her.
Willow was smiling at him brightly, but the stealthy scrutinizing looks didn't escape him either.
"Yes?" He asked amused when for a few seconds she wasn't saying anything.
"Oh, right." She told him about their latest patrol on the cemetery last night and that she and the other Scoobies were still facing some "glitches in the system" as she called it – with vampires getting away, but she insisted that they were getting better.
"Well, for God's sake be careful," Giles said, while scanning Willow's first pile of borrowed books for this school year, "if anything should happen to you and... you should be killed, I should take it somewhat amiss."
"You'd be cranky?" Willow asked. She loved Giles and the British way, in which he sometimes spoke of his sentiments.
"Entirely," he said firmly, though not looking away from the books he was checking out.
"Well, we try not to get killed. That's part of our whole mission statement. ʻDon't get killedʼ," Willow assured him.
The sound of the phone ringing in Giles' office reached them.
"Good. Good," he replied somewhat distracted and handed to her the borrowed books, tapping with a pencil on the one on the top. "I think you're going to love that one." The phone rang again. "You-you'll excuse me now," he frowned and hurried to his office.
Willow smiled contentedly. She was glad that the new year started and that Giles returned into his natural habitat (and where also they could easier check on him and thus didn't need any more embarrassing excuses for a home visit). She hoped that they would soon find back to their old routine and the fight with the Hellmouth would take his mind off other things.
The phone call was from Oakland, and it was a new lead to Buffy. According to a friend of Giles a young girl was seen fighting vampires, and Giles was now frantically packing a few things, mostly weapons, calling the airport and booking the next flight. Xander expressed his doubts whether all these leads really were leading anywhere, and pointed out to Willow that unless Buffy wanted to be found, there was very little chance Giles would track her down. But they let him go, they knew he needed to go, to feel he was doing something to get her back, especially as he felt partly responsible for her leaving and kept asking himself if there had been something, anything he should have done earlier, that would have made her stay, if perhaps he should have been more opposed to her relationship with Angel from the beginning, or prepared her sooner and more thoroughly for the possibility that she would have to kill him. He felt like having failed his watcher's calling, having failed Buffy.
Scotland
After another week at Hogwarts Helen was still in some sort of a holding pattern, as if waiting for something to happen that would tell her definitely if she should stay here or leave.
"I don't know," once more she sighed wearily as she, George and Angelina were sitting in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on one Saturday afternoon, "something's... just missing."
George raised his brows into a mocking grimace that would say Really?!, but Angelina gave him a warning look and instead began to talk about baby Fred and about everyone else they all knew, about Hermione's new job at the ministry, about Bill and Fleur's plans to move to France and about Charlie's and Ileana's upcoming wedding. But Helen's mind was drifting away towards her own thoughts again. She was tired, she wasn't sleeping well. When she wasn't having her nightmares, then she often dreamed of being in Sunnydale, of Giles preparing breakfast in his kitchen and her drinking tea on his sofa, or of the two of them sitting together in the Hogwarts library, studying the score of some piano concerto and secretly holding hands under the table while Madame Pince was watching them with narrowed, suspicious eyes, or just of them both being on some random place – yet together. Those dreams weren't unexpected, but they still hurt in the mornings. Horace had offered to brew a stronger sleeping draught for her, after she had complained to him once, but she refused, fearing the side effects. Still, the life at Hogwarts as it was now was... bearable, yes, but it was dull, lacklustre, and was making her almost annoyingly lethargic at times. She just wouldn't admit it, but she missed someone to talk to. And not just anyone, Merlin knows she's never been a people's person, no. She missed Giles and to a certain degree she was prepared to admit that, the way it was natural to miss someone you had spent the past two years with. But she did not see how she missed him on every level of her life, especially as she remained adamant about her leaving being the right choice. It was as if some part of her convinced herself that there was no point, no good in missing him, because she did the only right thing when she left – it had been for the best. And so she was looking for "replacements" now. She was thinking about asking Minerva if they could perhaps arrange a new music room in the school, buy a couple of instruments. Since the battle of Hogwarts the school hasn't had a school band, maybe Helen could attempt to get a small orchestra together, that should give her something to do in the evenings. And maybe she could even get a baby grand for her quarters too, she hasn't played in months now...
"Helen?" A familiar voice brought her back out of her musing that however neither belonged to George nor to Angelina.
Márkos, with short cut grey hair and his former long beard shaved off, stood at their table, looking at her strictly.
She looked up at him, but was too tired to exhibit much surprise, so she just stared with high raised brows.
It was a very bizarre talk they had together at the Three Broomsticks in the next half an hour: Márkos offered her, or rather ordered would be a better word, to come with him and submit to another apprentice year, where he would help her to regain her former powers, bring her back on top of things. Helen frowned at him incomprehensively, then looked at George and Angelina, a question in her eyes that was not only asking whether they heard the same things she did, but also pleading for an advice whether she should actually take the offer or not. But George merely shrugged and Angelina looked just as clueless as Helen felt.
Helen thought for a moment. Did she really want to spend months secluded from everyone, listening to Márkos' reproachful remarks, practicing magic all day long, somewhere at the end of the world, with no one but Márkos, the champion of subtlety, to talk to...
"Mr. Potter will be joining us," Márkos suddenly said as if he could read her mind.
"Harry?!" All three exclaimed at once in utter surprise.
"Yes, he sought me out and wrote to me asking me to take him in as an apprentice," he said.
"And you agreed," George was still stumped.
"Of course I agreed," Márkos said, getting impatient now.
"But he's already got his ministry training," Angelina said.
"I don't ask any question. Not at this point anyway," Márkos replied a little warily. "He requested my guidance for a year, and I decided to teach him. Besides, I'm rather curious to get to know him."
"But you have that inn to run, the pub, in Switzerland," Helen objected.
A mischievous smile appeared on Márkos' face for a second, but it disappeared almost immediately and again he looked down at her sternly. "You needn't worry about that now. Anyway, your things are packed and on their way already. We don't have to go back to school."
"Ah... you knew I'd say yes?" Helen asked nonplussed.
"I didn't," he answered dryly, "your headmistress did. I went to the school first to talk to her. I did not want to strip them of a teacher. I thought they may frown upon me just taking you away without saying anything. But, as it turned out, you won't be that big of a loss for them anyway," Márkos finished, being his usual tactless self.
Helen saw George suppressing what she was sure would be a satisfied grin. Angelina however looked at her encouragingly. So Helen sighed one more time on that afternoon before saying faintly: "Alright. Since you seem to have this planned and very well thought through... where are we going?"
Out of the blue Márkos grabbed her arm not too gently, turned on his spot, and they were gone.
Sunnydale
The call from Oakland was – once more – a false alarm. Giles had the feeling that each one of them left him more and more devastated than the previous one and with every next to follow he would get his hopes up higher, thinking that this must be it, that after all the other false traces this – simply according to the law of nature and probability – must lead to Buffy at last. But neither this tenth trip proved him right, there was no sign of Buffy.
What he dreaded most after those trips was calling Joyce. This time he decided to see her in person, to tell her, to assure her that even if he did not manage to find her daughter, he was certain that she would be alright, wherever she was. He wasn't sure what he expected by seeing Joyce. He knew he wasn't quite doing it just for her sake. Maybe he just wanted to talk to an adult, to someone who in a way at least shared his anguish of not knowing where Buffy was, the pain and possibly even the remorse of being partly responsible.
Yet when Joyce said: "I blame you," he knew he had expected too much. He felt lost after those words (and God, did they hurt – nourishing his own feeling of guilt), but he couldn't quite blame her for thinking that. Anyhow, he lacked the strength right now to argue or to try and explain, so when Joyce asked him poignantly about Buffy, "And who exactly is she?", he merely swallowed dryly, gave her a sad look, murmured something about being sorry again, and left.
Now for the first time in his life he actually felt lonely. He had spent what would now be more than half of his life alone and he had never minded it before. He had never perceived the solitude as a flaw or as a deficiency of any kind. Especially after his short infamous phase of living with Ethan, Deidre and the others in London, he grew weary of having any company at all, and hadn't been keen on making new bonds for a long time. When he thought back now, he realized a little astounded how quickly it changed when Helen came – and as a matter of course he had made space for her – first in his office and in his library, then in his apartment and finally in his life, without too much thinking about it, it just happened. And now without her it all felt empty – the library, the apartment, and the life too. He wondered if he'd ever feel differently again, ever feel whole, and there were moments when he hated her for leaving him behind like this, turning him into a broken piece of something where always a tiny piece, a wee little wheel would be amiss for him to tick properly again.
One evening, as he was walking home after a short shopping trip to the Magic Shop, he was passing the theatre and saw several groups of people either swarming towards the stairs or standing around, probably waiting for other friends to join them. Apparently there was some concert to be held there tonight. Giles paused briefly in front of the large staircase leading up to the main entrance. Instantly he remembered the first time he was here, a year ago, with Helen, and she was raving over Berlioz' symphony during the break... He threw a quick glance at the large posters announcing the program of tonight's performance, and for some reason his heartbeat quickened a little. He knew none of the pieces, but their mere names caused an odd nostalgic feeling overcome him. The corners of his mouth then twitched into a bitter smile as he stared at the letters:
Capella Istropolitana (Andrej Varchal) playing
Johannes Brahms – 21 Hungarian Dances
Antonín Dvořák – Slavonic Dances, Op. 46
and introducing Josephine Tennant (piano) playing
Béla Bartók – Romanian Folk Dances, Sz. 68
Maurice Ravel – Miroirs
There was a picture of the chamber orchestra in the left upper corner, and of a young brunette woman, a girl really, sitting at a piano, in the right bottom one. Without any further hesitation he ran upstairs, joined the short queue at the box office, bought a ticket and entered the theatre hall. He was amazed that he still managed to get a good seat, on the upper balcony, in fact only a few rows away from where they sat last year. But already after a few minutes he began wondering what he was actually doing this, when a gentle sound of an oboe interrupted his thoughts and he looked at the stage, where the players of the chamber orchestra had already taken their seats and the strings just began their final tunings under the supervision of the first violinist. Helen used to love that sound. He thought now he could understand why. It had a strange charm about it. Then the lights above the auditorium were dimmed and the conductor entered the stage, offered the audience a short bow before turning towards his players, and then the music started. Soon Giles to his surprise realized that he knew the piece, it was familiar, and though he couldn't remember clearly, its sound evoked his father's study in their London house in his mind, the music first loud, then quiet, passionate, then melancholy. On one or two points he even could have hummed the melody along.
The second piece after the short break he didn't know. And it didn't catch hold of him either, on the contrary he soon found his thoughts drifting away from the music. That changed however the moment the young pianist sat down at the grand piano and began her play, for the melodies of the Romanian folk dances were – though he hadn't been aware of it – also only too well known to him. He had heard those tunes played on the piano in his apartment often enough while Helen was staying with him, although in a very different way than Josephine Tennant was performing them. Fortunately, Miss Tennant played much faster than Helen used to and thus soon ended Giles' discomfort at hearing the music and remembering yet again, when she earned vast ovations by the audience. He was even able to enjoy the last piece that the upcoming piano star performed and that he was thankfully listening to for the first time. Only when the concert was over and he got up from his seat, following several couples and small groups of people out of the hall and into the streets, catching straps of their excited conversations as they were exchanging their impressions of the music, he again felt the recently discovered pain of being alone, of having no one to share his thoughts with.
When he came home, he put away the small package from the Magic Shop and the still opened black piano caught his eye. He thought for a moment, then grabbed a key from a hook on the wall behind the hallstand and went to the basement. He rummaged there for a good while among the piles of old or broken furniture, large packing cases, but he found what he was looking for. Back in his apartment he took off his jacket and loosened his tie, then seized the guitar and sat down on the steps leading to his bedroom. It felt strange at first, he hadn't held the old lady in years, so it would probably take some time for them to get reacquainted, he thought, then struck a first shy chord. She was quite out of tune, but nevertheless the sound gave him pleasure...
Swiss Alps
When they landed, Helen almost lost her balance, but Márkos caught her in time. She looked at him outraged. "Are you insane?! Couldn't you have at least warned me?!... Where are we?!" She asked looking around her.
"It's been said; I didn't want to; and Switzerland, near our inn in fact," he replied, answering all of her angry questions, and began to walk away.
Helen hurried to follow him on the narrow path. "You could have at least waited for a minute, I wanted to say goodbye to them. I won't see them for months now," she nagged.
Márkos only gave an odd sound as a reply, rather indicating that that petty subject was closed for him now.
Indeed, they only walked perhaps two hundred yards, when the scenery changed a little and a small valley opened in front of them, in the middle of which Helen could recognize the inn with the letters Zum Zauberlehrling above the entrance.
Márkos suddenly stopped and turned at her. "Right. You go ahead. Martha will be waiting for you."
"What about you?" She asked confused.
"I wrote to Mr. Potter that I'd meet him in London. We should be back in an hour. I need to get some supplies first." And with that he again turned on the spot and disappeared, leaving Helen somewhat taken aback.
She turned around at last and made her way towards the hut. She felt her knees getting weaker and the ground under her feet kept shifting slightly in front of her eyes – Márkos hadn't given her a chance to tell him that a long distance apparition would leave her completely messed up. However the aftermath wasn't as terrible as she had expected. And if she could lie down in a nice bed for a while, she thought she'd be alright again soon enough. Her nose was still bleeding awfully thought when she reached the inn, and a few guests that were sitting outside drinking their beer gave her odd looks, but unlike a few weeks ago, she did not pass out, nor did she feel as dizzy as on that one time in Romania, where she had given Giles a scare of his life.
"Aaah, hello, you must be Fräulein Helen," a full, blithe voice of a woman greeted her from behind as she stepped inside looking for a bathroom.
She turned around and recognized the grey haired Martha. "Ähm, just-just Helen will do," she muttered and tried to smile at her, but with her hand covering her nose the attempt was probably lost on the innkeeper. Yet she didn't seem to mind, as Helen saw her grabbing something from the kitchen, then stretching her hand out towards Helen, saying cheerfully: "You can put this on and take the tray with the beer, it's for the table at the far left, those three chuffs sitting there are again drinking like fish."
Helen took the thing that she only now recognized as an apron, but Martha was already gone again. Helen stared at the white fabric, speechless. Now she knew what those malicious sparkles in Márkos' eyes back in the Three Broomsticks meant. He clearly intended to employ her, and Harry most likely Harry would face the same fate, as a waitress in her spare time.
After a few seconds of the initial bewilderment, she cried loudly. "Ah... do you mind if I use the bathroom first? I really need-"
"Right!" The bright voice, that again sounded as if its owner had been laughing heartily just seconds ago, reached her from somewhere upstairs, "it's at the end of the floor, on the right. But don't dawdle too long, dear! I just saw two new parties arriving, they look thirsty!"
"Oh, dear, you look like death!" Martha exclaimed when Helen returned a while later with the empty tray, looking pale and again holding a hand under her nose that began bleeding anew.
"I am sorry," Helen mumbled apologetically, but Martha gently caught her elbow and pushed her to sit on a chair in the kitchen.
"Oh, please," Martha reprimanded her for apologizing and gave a cold towel.
"Thanks," she said and watched for a moment as the older woman was preparing some dishes for the guests outside.
"You're Martha, right?" Helen asked, realizing the witch hadn't actually introduced herself before.
"Yes, that's me," she replied happily.
"You're Márkos friend?"
Martha merely nodded, carefully placing a few plates on a large tray.
"Why... exactly?" Helen asked glumly. She had accepted that Márkos was a great wizard and an excellent teacher and it was worth the trouble being his apprentice, yet how anyone else could live with him – voluntarily – that was beyond her. It wasn't that she didn't like him. She did in fact, in a way, but she couldn't imagine a more difficult, more unsociable character to endure every day, or a more rude, indelicate partner for a conversation at dinner.
Martha laughed as if she knew exactly what Helen was thinking, but didn't answer and instead took the tray, and went out of the room with a swift step, as if she was carrying a light bouquet of flowers and not six heavy plates with a decent supper, that looked like every single one of them would be enough to sate Hagrid.
Helen drank a cup of tea that the innkeeper had made for her. She heard two sets of footsteps approaching and turned her head towards the door, recognizing Harry's voice: "You have a very nice place here, sir."
Soon he and Márkos appeared in the hallway. Helen got up and greeted Harry with a kiss on the cheek, while noticing Márkos' glare that was obviously disapproving of the fact that she was sitting around instead of serving the guests. Harry was told to go settle in his room on the top fifth floor in the attic. From the outside the inn appeared only to have three storeys, but inside spells had been cast to enlarge the house, creating more space and private rooms that were not accessible, nor visible to the muggles. And so Harry disappeared upstairs, while Helen and Márkos returned to attending to their guests.
In the late evening, when those were leaving one by one, only last few remaining at their tables, enjoying their last pint of beer and the warmth from the last rays of sun, Helen finally sat down on a stony step at a small shed, facing the entrance of the inn, placing next to her a large jar with some local motives on it and filled to the brim with beer. Now she finally took a proper look at the surroundings. It really wasn't that bad, she thought. She could actually imagine spending several months here. Behind her back was a forest, on the opposite side, behind the main house was quite a steep slope falling further down into the valley which on its left was framed by high mountains and snowy peaks of the Alps. And it was quiet here, it rather reminded her of that night in Romania when Giles and her were watching the two dragons and the silence around them had been so... perfect that Giles had actually winced at the sound of his own voice...
"So," a voice spoke somewhere close and it was her who winced now as she saw Márkos standing suddenly right in front of her, "how was the first day?"
She glared at him. "Great. Just-ah... couldn't have been better. I waited dozens of tables, carried what felt like ten thousands of jars with beer I wasn't permitted to drink, served hundreds of plates with supper I wasn't allowed to eat, and now... yay me – I got all my magical power back. You are a genius," she said in a light tone, that somehow managed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "I can't wait what wonders you'll achieve with Harry... by the way – why didn't he get to wait at tables?"
"Well," Márkos began, ignoring Helen's mockery, "we only just met today, so I thought it might be a little rummy if I asked him to work tonight."
"Oh, how unusually considerate of you," she murmured.
"But I showed him his apron and told him he'll start tomorrow," Márkos said matter-of-factly.
Helen rolled her eyes and shook her head, once again amazed at his strange ways. His ingenious plan actually seemed to be quite simple: During the day when he would train and work with either Harry or her, the other one would be helping Martha at the inn. And since it only worked if he had two apprentices, Helen suspected that he really only asked her to come along so that he'd have more time to dedicate to Harry who had after all volunteered to be taught by him. For when it came to his pupils Márkos was just a little like Horace and his Slug club – he wouldn't take just anybody. No, certain conditions, Helen would call them the prestige-factor, had to be fulfilled for him to consider teaching someone, not fame, nor wealthy parents, he had to be intrigued in another way. In her case six years ago it had been the wand, the wandlore and the additional powers it was providing her with and that he was curious to explore. And now Harry, well, that really didn't need any further explanation: the most famous wizard these days, the only one to survive the killing curse, the one that brought about the end of Voldemort, and he turned to him on his own. Surely even sociopaths like Márkos could appreciate that and be flattered, feel a certain satisfaction. To sum it up – Harry was a star in many ways, compared to him Helen was old news now, and she wondered again what she was doing here.
Márkos sat down one step below her and took a pipe out of his pocket. They were silent while he was fiddling with his tobacco bag and casually preparing his next smoke.
"Now," he spoke without turning his head towards her after he had lit the pipe at last and taken a long puff, "you are going to tell me exactly and everything important that happened since you had finished your year with me... what... five or six years ago or when was it..."
"Alright," she replied calmly. Neither she was looking at him, rather they were both staring at something invisible on the wooden front of the house. But after a short pause she said with a challenge in her voice: "But first I want you to tell me exactly where you had been all the time and why you weren't there where you should have been, why you had let everyone believe you were gone."
Only now he slowly turned and looked at her intently, as if estimating how serious she was and whether he should argue with that or not. She seemed calm, a light smile playing on her lips, but there was determination in her eyes.
"It's a bargain alright," he agreed at last. "I won't go into details though. Short story – I left after Albus' death. Disappeared. Tried to cover all traces, even burnt the house... It was to be expected that they would be looking for me, try to win me over to their side... I thought, given that I had little ties to anyone, except perhaps a handful of aurors, I was confident they wouldn't find me, but... they proved me wrong."
He wasn't saying anything more for a while, so Helen kept digging: "The new ministry and the Death Eaters were very diligently spreading the rumour that you'd been killed... But I found that hard to believe... and Severus told me it wasn't true..."
Márkos merely nodded. He knew about those rumours of course. He didn't have many acquaintances, but those who knew him, would have been shattered and daunted by the news of his fall, by the fact that even someone as powerful as him didn't stand a chance against the Death Eaters and Voldemort.
"But-... why- I still don't understand why you just left... why hadn't you come back then to disprove those lies," she continued urging him, "you could have stayed then, you of all people were strong enough to fight them, to shake them off, to withstand until the battle... And don't tell me you-"
"I feared they would tempt me," he cut her short, his voice was just a tad higher than usual.
Helen couldn't help but laugh at the absurd notion. "Oh, Márkos!" But she soon turned more earnest when she noticed his grim look. "But you were not some ordinary run-of-the-mill Death Eater who could be easily corrupted for gain at the first opportunity."
She frowned a little disturbed that he wasn't saying anything, not defending himself, but kept puffing his pipe. "What could they possibly have tempted you with?" She asked, clearly indicating that the thought was ridiculous to her.
He replied in a smooth voice, yet without looking her in the eyes: "Every man has his weak points, Helen."
She looked at him dismayed, then straightened up and subconsciously leaned against the closed door behind her, putting a little bit more distance between them.
"But what could they promise to offer?" She asked, slightly horrified, and wondering if she wanted to hear the answer or whether she had really misjudged him so much.
To her surprise he smiled at her indulgently and a brief sadness flashed in his eyes. "You're reading it wrong... They surely had nothing of their own to offer that I would ever want, no... But it never was about what they could give... It was about what they wouldn't take."
AN: Thank you for reading. I would love to read your opinion, criticism, I keep wondering if I'm driving Giles too much out of his character or not, whether it's all a little/lot too cheesy or awfully pathetic. Even though I'm writing for my own pleasure, it would be cool to read some honest opinions, to get a clearer picture how you guys perceive the writing and the story.
I know I'm probably annoying you with all the classical music, but bear with me, I just couldn't help it, listened to Bartók over the weekend and somehow I felt it fitted here as a – admittedly somewhat estranged – reminiscence Giles' and Helen's Romanian adventure from the last school year :)
