Professor Layton and the Book of Memory

by End of The Present World

A blank piece of paper in a strangely addressed envelope. Harmless, until it forces the Professor to recall a portion (& a person) of his past that he tried incessantly to forget. Tea time is forced to wait as Layton & crew investigate a suspicious tycoon with a shadowed agenda. Part I of a trilogy. Canon, apart from a few original characters. R&R intelligently. NOW COMPLETE!

12. CHAPTER 12: DANCING WITH BLINDERS

Oh my, we've broken the 15,000 word mark. I fail.

And…yet again I admit my idiocy: I don't know when or how elections for political offices take place in England, but let's assume that they are sometime soon in the storyline….. I say this because Laura's father is a politician, and mentions being busy with campaigning. This is all written from an American perspective, of course. Lolz. I apologize for inaccuracy.

Again, let me know if my sequencing is off. Sometimes I get lost in my own story. D:

I really liked this part of the story, so I went to town with it. However, it didn't come out the way I wanted; I read through it again to edit, and it didn't form the pictures in my mind that I originally planned. Well, I'm better at drawing/comic making. :[

Anyway, enjoy. Maybe! Don't forget to reviewwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

Killing eyeballs,

Kelsey/Ken

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CHAPTER 12: DANCING WITH BLINDERS

Professor Layton parked his car in front of a "small, pale yellow house," as it had been described, which turned out to be quite a large residence with ivy-covered walls and a cobblestone sidewalk leading to a large cherrywood front door. A thick fog blanketed the entire premises, as it had done to the entire city, but it looked like something straight out of a storybook otherwise.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk and shut the car door, the sound heavy in the humid air. His leather dress shoes clicked against the stones as he walked up to the house, hands in his pockets. He shivered.

"Laura, you're too modest…" He smiled, admiring the landscaping details.

It had been weeks since Laura was named the winner of the most prestigious scholarship across all colleges in Great Britain, weeks that proved to be quite stressful not only for her but for the Professor himself. It was becoming more and more difficult to focus during any of their review sessions, as the topic always led somehow to something other than archaeology. They'd covered everything from classical music to agriculture in Central America to exotic birds, but hardly anything in the area of his own expertise. He asked more questions than she did, and she had taught him more than what he should have taught her. He began wondering if he looked forward to those sessions after school more than teaching class, as he was starting to feel the classroom didn't challenge him as much as it used to; all of the students (with the exception of Laura) were getting excellent grades. There was no input, no response in the classroom as there was when Laura would come by the office. Some days it would be a clash of ideology, others it would be just genial opinions about the world. Whatever the topic, it was a time he could just open up and have free discussion, something he loved doing but rarely had an excuse to do it. Sometimes he felt as if he was using her, but when he saw her light up and begin talking about something at length, he wondered if he was actually doing her the favor.

But for now, he was currently standing at his student's doorstep. He was to transport her to the conference, as he too was receiving an award for advances in archaeology. It'd all been set up weeks in advance, and he had no qualms about it then. Now, however, he felt a bit apprehensive. He wasn't sure what was so awkward about it, but it was as if he should have been some teenage boy picking up his first date. Why the image of him staring down an unaccepting father jumped to his mind was beyond him, but he hesitantly pressed the doorbell button.

He heard it ring inside, echoing throughout the house, followed by a scurry of frantic footsteps and the door unlocking. The door opened slightly and then stopped; he could hear some inaudible words being exchanged behind the door before it was finally swung open, a tall and thick man stepping forward into the doorframe. He eyed the Professor carefully.

'The unaccepting father…'

"Ah, hello, is Laura-"

"You must be Laura's professor," the man interrupted quickly in a thick and growling voice, not appearing to care that Layton had started to speak. "Going to the conference then? I would make it there myself, were I not working on a political campaign at the moment."

Layton smiled and opened his mouth, prepared to explain, when he was interrupted again.

"I want my daughter home by ten-thirty-PM-eleven at the absolute latest. I want nothing to take place outside of this so-called ceremony centre, do I make myself clear?"

"Well, sir, I-" He was cut off yet again, subject to a flurry of demands and precautionary advice, when he noticed a small person peek out from behind the man who appeared to be Laura's father, although he had never formally introduced himself. He craned his neck slightly to the right, managing to catch Laura's eye. The man suddenly turned around.

"Laura, you know what is expected of you. No tomfoolery on my watch!" he boomed.

"I haven't made you lose even a second's worth of sleep yet, have I, papa?" She put on an overly long dress coat as she made her way in front of her father, giving her professor a small smile.

"Sir, I would wish to inform you that the ceremony and workshops take place in a city two horus from here, and will occur over the next two days. A hotel is provided for Laura, at your convenience. As I'm giving a workshop tomorrow morning, I won't be able to drive...her…back…" He stopped as the man eyed Layton through half-open eyelids, breathing out heavily. "I take it you weren't informed."

"By the way, papa," Laura interluded, "this is my archaeology professor, Professor Hershel Layton. Professor, this is my father, Derek Haris." Laura's father shook out of his skeptical glare and embarrassedly held out a large hand.

"Oh yes, yes, how rude. I'm Derek Haris. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Layton."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Haris," Layton replied, not bothering to correct his title as 'Professor' rather than 'Mr'. "As I said—"

"I was not informed of the duration of this event," he grunted, eyeing Laura down as if she were a puppy who had just used the floor as a toilet rather than somewhere outside.

"Oh, father, I told you two weeks ago."

"Well, I was busy during that time. Perhaps I wasn't paying close enough attention. Yes, that was it. Well, I suppose it's useless now, bothering over it. Well, I don't know your habits or personality, Mr. Layton, but my daughter had better not end up in some ditch due to your reckless driving, or to you disposing of her body. I'll fund a hotel room on her behalf and I want her calling home periodically, which means hourly," he said matter-of-factly, reaching behind him for his wallet.

"Father."

"Oh, that is quite alright. As I just explained, the University sponsors rooms for all those in attendance. She won't be needing any—"

"Well, at any rate, take this for petrol." He shoved a wad of cash into the Professor's hand. "I suppose I should thank you for taking my daughter. However, don't be getting any ideas. I expect a clean report, a clean experience. No hanky-panky." Laura closed her eyes in disbelief, although she knew her father got this way with everyone she was entrusted with. However, it never seemed more awkward than it was right now. Somehow, seeing her teacher uncomfortable made her equally nervous.

The professor's face went brick red. "Sir, I assure you, I—"

"A clean report," the giant growled, pointing a quivering sausage-like finger at Layton's face. "I'm no fool to pretty boys like you, all namby-pamby in the academia world. I see you lot and your behaviors. Subjective, emotional."

"With all due respect sir, I take my work and my students very seriously, and would never harm either in any way." He cleared his throat and found it difficult to look this man in the eyes.

'Poor Laura! No wonder she's always so uptight! Although…perhaps it's why she's so tolerant of the cattiness of her classmates…she's got it a lot worse otherwise.'

"I assure you your daughter is in no safer hands, other than your own," he added in quickly, not wanting another lecture.

"That's the ticket. Now then, best of luck, Laura." He patted her heavily on the head.

"Father, I don't think I'll be able to call hourly as you prefer," she said, grabbing her bag.

"Then call home when you are in your room. And before you retire for the night. It should suffice. If there's any trouble, you have that list of contacts still, right?"

"I will, I will, papa." She waved behind her as she walked down the front walk, finally turning towards the professor's car. She opened the car's door quickly and lowered herself into the seat.

It was the first time she'd sat in the Professor's car. It smelled heavily of some sort of wood or spice. It was difficult to discern. At any rate, even after her father's embarrassing lecture, it was pleasant and made her feel at ease, just as his sweater had when they went to the rugby game.

The Professor made his way around the front of the vehicle and opened his door. He fastened his belt with the click, reminding Laura to do likewise.

"Well, I suppose we'll be on our way now. Are you ready, Laura? Your bag is with you?"

She checked at her feet, securing her belongings between her legs. "Yes, I'm ready."

The car started with a turn of the key, and before long the little vehicle hummed and grumbled along on its way. It was as if the car itself had something to say about the whole trip. Laura imagined the car protesting the drive, and then herself disagreeing with it. After all, she'd waited for this day for weeks.

She'd decided shortly after the scholarship announcement that review sessions were much more interesting than class. Upon informing her parents about the whole thing, rather than being elated, they got more critical of her school performance, as if a B in archaeology would cause her to lose the award. She would get daily 'feedback' from her parents that turned out to be more of a harsh scolding than anything helpful, and soon found herself yearning for a more positive reinforcement, a kinder voice. She couldn't help but admit that her only release was with the Professor after class, and she looked forward to his office every day. It was the only place she didn't get ridiculed, and the only place she could talk openly about everything under the sun. And the only place she'd get free, cold tea.

Just as she was thinking about whether she used Professor Layton more as a counselor than an archaeology professor, she was reminded about her father's words just moments ago.

"Um, Professor Layton, I would like to apologize for my father's behavior. I—"

"Nonsense, Laura! I am perfectly aware that Mr. Haris is a man very much dedicated to the protection and overall livelihood of his only daughter. It would be very strange indeed to allow one's little girl to go so far with a man unfamiliar to him. Actually, I'm surprised he allowed it in the first place!" He straightened his hat with a low chuckle.

Laura giggled herself. "You know, I guess that makes sense, and I'm surprised as well. It's quite unlike him. Although, elections are coming up, so perhaps it's no surprise."

Layton's eyebrows rose. "Elections? Is your father a politician?"

"He's heavily involved in city politics and business. He is running for some sort of office, I don't really pay attention." She looked out the window, eager to change the subject. She felt ashamed that she hadn't paid much attention to her father's job. She should have known more information about it. Perhaps she'd ask when she got back home, but by then, she was sure she'd have lost interest again. "Either way, I'm sorry he seemed so critical. I suppose I'm used to it, but it causes outsiders to feel a bit insecure."

"I've had a fair share of dueling with such personalities, it's nothing out of the ordinary," he lied, resolving not to share his actual discomfort. "Perhaps it was just a bad day on his campaign trail."

"Hmm."

"Now then, this is a two hour trip. Please let me know if you need anything along the way, agreed?"

"Agreed."

She sat quietly for a while as the Professor wove the little vehicle throughout the city, making sure he was safe enough to continue. She was strict about reckless driving, and it was half the reason she walked 10 minutes to school each morning. They finally made it through to a long stretch of countryside.

The silence seemed to be heavy now that they'd exited the suburbs and were now only faced with leafless trees and open field. She wondered if she'd seem too talkative if she just started off on a random subject. As if reading her mind, he turned briefly to catch her attention.

"So, what should we talk about this time? It seems we've almost exhausted all possible topics, at the rate we've been going at," he said, trailing off with a short laugh.

"Well, first, I'd like to know the sequence of events for this conference, if you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. Seems that this evening is when the big announcements are made. Understandably, that includes your scholarship, and if I'm not mistaken, my award as well. Although it pales in comparison and is shadowed by your achievements."

"So modest. What did you win, by the way?" She felt she was at least close enough to him now that she could ask such things without coming off as nosy.

"Hmm, I suppose, well, they suppose, that I am up for a full-time professor position. They say that I'll be the youngest professor to take a position at Gressenheller. It deserves an award somehow…"

"Oh my, well, I dare say it does! Isn't that quite a feat?"

He laughed. "I wonder if you honestly think so, since I merely 'play in the sand,' digging around for 'dinosaur dentures'."

Laura bit her lip. "Oh. You heard that one, did you?" She'd been interviewed a couple of times by various newsletter groups from Gressenheller and Grissom's, as well as a couple of local newspapers. On occasion, she slipped in a few quick attacks at the course she did the most poorly in, but mostly for humor's sake. Apparently, her sharp comments made their way back to him unbeknownst to her until now.

"I dare say I did!" he quipped, mimicking her words and tone slightly.

"It wasn't meant to be malicious. Just a small bit of fun, really," she tried to reason. "You can't honestly think I only believe that?"

"I'll keep my shovel and pail to myself, thank you." Laura shook her head, rolling her eyes as he chuckled softly. "Anyway, we'll be recognized among a few others, and there's a dinner as well. It's mostly a start-off event to let everyone relax. And, if I might encourage, you are allowed to have fun."

"What fun could a stuffy old dinner with stuffy old rich people be?" she scoffed incredulously. "I'd get more out of talking to rocks."

"Now that I won't argue with, but regardless, as your escort, I'm allowing you to not feel that you have to be perfect in front of everybody. And that's a bit of friendly advice that you can take with you in any situation," he said confidently.

"What's wrong with being perfect?"

"Let's just say, we can't all fully appreciate perfection, and many don't even give it the time of day. It's too foreign, and it's really too simplistic. There's nothing for us to relate with, to hold onto when it comes to perfection. It's very cut and dry, very black and white compared with our shades of gray. But," he cleared his throat, "to answer your question, there's nothing wrong with it. What I'm really saying is, don't waste your energy on those who don't pay attention."

Laura couldn't figure out whether she was really getting some sort of cryptic advice, or was being insulted. She laughed sarcastically, airing on the side of paranoia. "Is that supposed to be some weird, indirect insult?"

"What makes you think I would do that?"

"Then what is it supposed to be? A lecture?"

"Well, a suggestion, for one. I suppose it could be a compliment of sorts," he said, starting to feel uncomfortable. "I wasn't being condescending when I said all of that."

"Hmm, well, then who should I waste my energy on, since everyone's pretty much useless, and I'm so beyond them, as a perfectionist?"

Layton sighed. "I suppose you have to decide that for yourself." He paused. "Laura, I wasn't trying to cause an argument."

"Hmm."

"Laura?"

"Have you ever heard of the 'Quiet Game,' Professor?"

"It seems I said something wrong…"

"I quite love that game."

Laura turned towards the window, disappointed. Seems he thought of her as aloof after all, just as everyone else seemed to do. Perfection, indeed. All that bogus philosophizing about people not understanding perfection, what was that all about? And how she basically shouldn't behave in such a way because no one would understand her. Was it just a polite way of saying, 'Be like everyone else'? For some reason, replaying those words and thinking about it made her feel more hurt as the car ride went on. Usually, she would have blown it off but coming from him, it was a bit different, somehow.

'Why do I feel injured, or betrayed? It's just another snide, thoughtless comment. I'm used to that, what is the problem here?'

The Professor kept glancing to the side for several minutes, trying to see whether Laura's expression changed. He noticed her expression had hardened as he spoke freely before. Her eyes now looked lost, as if seeing things in some faraway place. Admittedly, he felt he hadn't said anything insulting, but something in his words affected her that way. In reality, he was speaking in a sort of code, but she obviously hadn't caught on.

'Unfortunately, emotions can really demolish a person's logic…'

He stopped at a traffic light, reaching a hand out towards Laura's shoulder.

"Laura, did I hurt your feelings?" he asked cautiously.

"No."

"It's strange that you're so quiet."

"Is it now? I am often quiet, although I describe it more as 'contemplative'."

"Well, call it what you like, but—"

"I just have nothing to say," she said, trailing off with an inaudible comment.

"What was that at the end?"

She turned her head slowly, sheepishly looking up at him. "Look, I didn't know how to take your comments a while ago. And I'm currently unsure on how to respond to you. Somehow, I… It may be foolish, but I felt like you were insulting me."

Layton frowned. "I… Am I allowed to feel insulted that you'd think I'd do such a thing to one of my students?"

"Well, a part of me thought that, but I didn't know what else you meant by it. I felt you were telling me to be like everyone else, because by being a perfectionist, it's useless since no one will understand me." She started to wring her hands together in nervousness, when she was startled by the Professor's laughter.

"It never ceases to amaze me how those who speak the same language can still be so confused over words," he mused, changing lanes in traffic. Laura looked at him in confusion. "I wasn't intending for you to take it that way at all. Actually, there was a puzzle laced in my words. Maybe you'll figure it out when you have a clearer head. That's the best way to solve things. Anyway, it's about half an hour until we arrive at our destination. Let's say we go back to conversing as we are used to." He glanced over at his passenger. "Care to choose the subject?"

"How about how useless language is sometimes?" she suggested, feeling ridiculous that she'd felt so strongly about something that never existed.

"Regrettably, that might last more than a half hour," he said, grinning.

The Professor pulled the car up slowly in front of a massive cluster of buildings, some of the sections looking like hotel rooms, other parts resembling sections of a conference hall. He removed the key and got out, handing the keychain to the valet parker. He walked around the car as Laura stepped out, breathing in the cold wet air. Other cities always seemed to have different smelling air, but maybe it was her imagination.

Layton reached for Laura's bag.

"Allow me."

Laura hesitated handing him the handle. "Well, you might want to rethink that…"

"Nonsense, a gentleman never lets a lady lug around heavy baggage." He did rethink when she let the whole weight of the bag pull down on his arm, forcing him to bend completely at the waist. "What in the world…!"

"Well, when you said we'd be gone for two days, I started worrying whether something bad would happen during the conference, and whether I'd need to be seriously prepared or not, and…"

"I thought I said two days not two weeks!" he grunted, hoisting it finally onto his shoulder. "I'll take your word for it next time you tell me to rethink. Wait, how did you carry this so graciously before?"

She shrugged. "Years of practice?"

He toiled to the front desk, where he requested bellboy service even before confirming the reservation with the University. Minutes later, they were following an attendant to their room, the Professor massaging his shoulder mildly.

"Professor Layton? I didn't consider it before but…"

"Yes?"

"Isn't it slightly, um, well, don't you feel it's a bit, oh how to say this…"

"Your thoughts paralleled mine. The Headmaster and I will be sharing a room adjoining to your own. You'll have your own privacy, guaranteed. You have nothing to worry about. And…be sure to tell your father that as well."

She giggled as the attendant left them to the room, signs of the Headmaster's presence already there. A large suitcase sat heavily on a queen bed.

"Seems Morris has already claimed his space," he laughed, removing his jacket and tossing it onto the other bed. "Laura, let's make sure your room is up to standard."

The adjoining space was equipped with a king size bed, a large flat screen television hanging on the opposite wall. The room was open-concept, the Jacuzzi tub sitting under a low half-wall that led into the tiled bathroom space. Laura looked around with interest, nodding in approval, the Professor staring with mouth agape.

"It has wood paneling and marble?"

"This will do," she decided, sitting heavily onto the bed. "I love king beds."

"As long as you are happy, we're delighted as well," he said smiling, silently wishing for the more opulent of décor, although he wouldn't dream of mentioning it. "Our bags should arrive soon. Until then, I'm going to go out and search for the Headmaster. Please make yourself at home. Keep the door locked." He walked out of the room.

After several hours of the Science channel (something she didn't know existed, due to her family not having a television), Laura decided to prepare for the ceremony, the only part she really needed to care about. She took a quick bath and dressed herself in a matte gray full-length dress and matching wedge sandals. Sporting a hair style was never considered before this moment, but she wondered if she should make herself look a bit more mature for the sake of the event. She carefully used a curling iron located in the bureau and planted bouncy curls throughout her dark hair.

'I wonder what the Professor will think…'

"What?" she blurted out at her own reflection, startled by her own thoughts. Could she not even talk to herself anymore without sounding like a baffoon?

Her heart raced. What was that thought just now?

"I'm losing it so badly… I think I need to get to bed early tonight." She heard the other room's door open and checked her outfit one more time, making sure nothing was out of place.

'I never used to care about such things, why now?'

She looked into the other room and saw her professor open his own suitcase, pulling out a brown suit coat. He sensed movement and looked up briefly in her direction, smiling before quickly looking back up again, plain-faced.

"L…Laura?"

All of a sudden she felt embarrassed, not expecting him to react as he had. Her face turned pink as she tried to regain her composure and act natural. She smiled shyly.

"Er, yes?"

He blinked and shook his head. "N-nothing, it's just…well, you look very different from the usual. You dress up nicely."

"I must look like a disaster normally then, to get that sort of reaction," she said plainly.

"No, no, that's not what I mean, but—"

"Layton! Miss Haris, welcome!" The Headmaster walked into the room in high spirits, wearing a thick suit and a recently combed head of balding hair. "You're going to be joining us in the Madden Conference Room at 6:15 this evening, correct? The academic crowd wants to see to it that you're recognized for your efforts, both of you. Dinner will be served as well, if you are so inclined to take part."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Morris," the Professor said.

"And of course, my sort of beverage will be there," he gave the Professor an obvious wink, "and a good amount of entertainment as well. Dancing, Layton, there'll be dancing. I wonder if I should teach a few of these young whippersnappers the dances of the decades…"

Layton laughed. "That's entertainment in itself, no doubt." The Headmaster shook a pointed finger slowly towards the Professor.

"Oh, you laugh now, but those dances are difficult!"

"I do know from unfortunate experience…"

"At any rate, you should be heading down there within 15 minutes; you know the building? It's the one down the street, about a block or two, on your right. See you soon!"

Without waiting for a reply, he was gone again. Professor Layton looked over at Laura.

"He sure does talk and run, doesn't he! Well, should we make our way to the conference hall?"

She nodded in agreement, and followed him out into the hallway.

The conference building was near the hotel, but required around a seven minutes' walk. The fog had let up slightly, but the cold temperature remained. Laura pulled her coat about her tighter, and checked her gait, making sure she wouldn't misstep and twist her ankle.

'I hate these shoes…'

The Professor was silent for the most part, glancing around and taking interest in several of the types of car that drove by. Occasionally he'd look to his side to make sure his charge was still well-cared for.

"And, here we are," he said, looking up at a large building now looming just ahead of them.

The doors were testament to the interior décor to come; heavy, ornate carvings traced the outer perimeter, and patterned glass was inlaid into the door frames, leaves of ivy traced around frosted lilies and chrysanthemums, forever held fast in their glassy bloom. The lobby was adorned with marble floor tile, reflecting the warm orange and golden lighting from the wall sconces punctuated around the perimeter of the room.

A woman at the large, oaken front desk stared questioningly at the newcomers.

"Good evening, is there something that I can help you with, sir?" she said, continuously looking from her paper work then back to Layton.

"I'm here for the HEFF conference. I was wondering if you could direct me to the proper hall."

She nodded, smiling, then pointed to her left. "Please head down this hall and your destination will be on the right. Please leave your coats and any other articles you wish to check in with the hostess at the doors."

"Thank you, madam." He motioned for Laura to follow him. "Lovely interior, is it not?"

Laura simply nodded, eyes taking in as much of the posh surroundings as possible. It wasn't everyday she got to see such crisp and well-groomed wooden and marble surfaces. The lighting created an ambiance that relaxed her, despite the thoughts now swirling in her head. She realized she'd be recognized in the coming hours, and things like that made her nervous. So many people judging her every move; it was certainly bothersome at best.

Before she knew it, she'd given over her coat and walked through two wooden doors onto a small platform that was like a balcony overlooking the large expansive conference room. A short set of stairs descended to the gray and white marble floor, hundreds of watery reflections dancing about as the guests walked around, light bouncing off wine glasses and food platters, brass wall sconces, and the occasional gold watch.

Laura was staring out at a large, expansive space, incredulous at the amount of people present. The room easily held 2,000 people, as she read on the 'Maximum Seating Capacity' sign next to the entrance door. The Professor tipped his hat, scratching his head as he scouted for someone he recognized in the room.

"Hmm, perhaps we'll just find an open table and look for the Headmaster after claiming seats." He looked at his student kindly. "You've been quiet. Are you feeling nervous?"

"Well, maybe just a little," she uttered airily, carrying out her trademark fingers-through-hair trick. "This is certainly more people than I was ever expecting."

"It's nothing to get stressed out about. You'll be back in the hotel, comfortable in your bed in no time. The night will go by rather quickly, I'm positive of it. Ah, now there are a couple of seats just waiting for us."

After weaving through waiters and guests, they were finally sitting at a circular table that could sit six people comfortably, nine if the diners didn't mind another's elbow in their plates. The room was already full of people talking, laughing, calling for more drinks. A skinny young man with a constantly worried expression sat at their table along with a middle aged man who was doing most of the talking. She overheard them talking about vintage wine, something she didn't care much for. It didn't seem that the Professor did either, as his interest wasn't piqued, something Laura had become quite good at noticing.

She tucked her purse underneath the chair, unwilling to leave it at the door, and unbuttoned her sweater, fanning herself absentmindedly with her menu. Professor Layton looked casually at the menu placed before him.

"Fish, beef, chicken….I'm really not so certain I could choose only one thing," he said, tracing the words to the entrée descriptions with a finger.

"I've already decided," Laura muttered, glancing back at the menu. "There's a limited selection, it's really not hard to choose from these sorts of menus."

The Headmaster appeared from the crowd and sat himself on the other side of the Professor.

"Quite the crowd. More people than last year, for certain!" he bellowed, raucous even before consuming any alcohol. "Layton, how about I order us a special bottle of something? My treat."

The Professor waved the suggestion off while smiling politely. "I'm quite alright, Morris, I don't find it particularly couth of myself to drink in front of a young lady, but you can enjoy it at your leisure."

"Oh, Layton, such a gentleman, I'm sure Laura doesn't mind a bit. Laura, your father drinks, certainly. I know him from old, swell chap. You wouldn't mind your professor enjoying a bit of vino, right?"

She shook her head. "I don't mind. It's not my place to say so anyhow."

Taking her words as permission, the Headmaster slapped Layton on the back and walked off to find a waiter. Layton coughed, straightening his hat.

"Energetic, that one… I'd prefer some tea, if he wouldn't mind."

As many of the guests were already enjoying their meals, a man stepped up to a slender podium as the lights were dimmed slightly, a few focused on the stage. Laura recognized him as the man who came to Professor Layton's office and shook her hand after winning the scholarship, Mr. Chancey II. He smiled, looking down at his notes. He seemed a bit more harrowed than he had the day of the announcement.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight's beginning ceremonies for the 35th HEFF conference. Let me introduce myself as Edward Chancey the 2nd, the current coordinator for this event, and sponsor of many of tonight's award and scholarship winners." He paused briefly to allow the audience to applaud. Laura wondered silently how crowds always knew when to commence clapping. "We will start with a brief word from…"

Laura was already stalking from her part of the room, eyes roving throughout the crowd. She knew nobody there, save the Professor and the Headmaster. Things like this were no fun whatsoever, and she silently wished she could be back in her hotel room watching the Science channel, or perhaps exploring the place if only on the grounds that the interior decorating was beautiful to look at. After a good ten minutes of some well-known benefactor of some well-known college, Chancey's introduction to the QwiqLogiq scholarship reclaimed her attention once again. Her stomach felt like it had swelled up into her throat.

"Now, this year's recipient is a bit of a change from the expected. Many candidates within the University could have ended up the winner, but in my heart I knew another candidate existed outside of the Gressenheller pool, another candidate who had done more than just the minimum to fulfill the criteria. One who did this all without even trying to gain an award or recognition. I'm not so sure this person even believed they could end up with this recognition, however, circumstances dictated it be so. Fate is a funny thing.

" The winner attends Grissom's College for Women, but is attending advanced engineering courses at Gressenheller University of London."

Laura tensed up, hearing the description; she felt self-conscious in the matter of a second. As the announcer relayed a concise history of herself to the crowd, Layton watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Laura, relax." He pushed a small cup of tea on the table towards her. "Remember our discussion in the car."

She glared at him unintentionally, but her instincts were getting the better of her as her emotions were going haywire.

'Idiot, the discussion where I felt insulted, yet you never explained why it wasn't insulting?'

"If you'll all please join me heartily in congratulating this year's QwiqLogiq Mathematics and Engineering Application scholarship recipient (whew, what a mouthful!), the multi-talented Miss Laura Haris."

Stiff and numb, Laura traced a path around the round tables in the room, deafening applause filling both of her ears as it bounced around the room. The place seemed much larger now that she had to navigate through it when everyone was occupying every single chair. She may have accidentally knocked off someone's sweater from the back of a chair, but didn't bother apologizing: she was much too focused on walking and shaking Mr. Chancey's hand correctly. Hands clapped all around until she finally reached the small stage that the announcer stood on.

"Congratulations once again, Laura. It's an honor to have met such a bright and wise young lady. You are truly deserving of this award." He continued clapping, signaling the room to follow suit. Laura turned and slowly faced the crowd, smiling awkwardly as she was given a large golden trophy, the symbol for the QwiqLogiq scholarship sitting atop a cylindrical tube that had Gressenheller's motto inscribed into it, the Latin twisting back and forth around the metal. She shook Mr. Chancey's hand and accepted a large bouquet and paper award from a stage assistant who ushered her to stand close to the sponsor and face the crowd for pictures. She blinked multiple times as cameras flashed in her direction, many belonging to the press, their large tripods stationed directly in front of the stage.

'Is this all really necessary…?'

Mr. Chancey whispered down to Laura. "Do you have anything you'd like to address to the crowd?"

"Is it customary to do so? I didn't really prepare anything profound…"

"A few grateful words should do the trick." He held a hand towards the microphone, instantly sending a fear response through Laura's system.

'I hate improvising! What do I say, who do I thank?'

She cleared her throat, waiting briefly for the applause to die down.

"I'd like to thank you all for your enthusiasm," she started, her voice quiet even with the help of the microphone. She planned out her words in the span of mere nanoseconds, hoping her wit would carry her through enough to not be quoted as a blithering dunderhead. "This is obviously a prestigious scholarship, one that I don't feel I quite deserve, but am extremely grateful for. Firstly, I'd like to thank my parents, who unfortunately couldn't be here tonight ('although I probably could have attended college without them…'). Secondly, the faculty and staff at Gressenheller University who allowed me to participate in their engineering competitions last year. And last but not least, my professors, especially my mathematics and engineering ones, and…" She paused, trying to scan the crowd for her table, hoping she'd catch a glimpse of the familiar wool cap. "…my archaeology professor, Professor Layton, who has encouraged me continuously throughout this semester despite my lack of skill in his course. He's out there in the crowd somewhere, lost in a sea of people." She held her hand over her eyes, pretending to scout the room, getting a low rumble of laughs from the crowd. "Thank you all for your presence tonight, and enjoy your evening."

Nodding curtly, she left the podium and walked down from the stage into the mass of applause once again. She didn't realize where she was walking, instead only worrying about how stupid she sounded singling out Layton.

'Why did I do that? Why on earth did I do that? Encouraging me continuously, I said, oh encouragement, my foot! What a joke this all is, I sound like an emotional greeting card the more I spend with that Neanderthal!'

After circling many tables she finally found her own as the clapping subsided, Mr. Chancey moving on to the next announcement. She eyed her teacher before sitting heavily in her chair. He gave a few light claps and laughed quietly.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I'm sure I sounded ridiculous; I wasn't expecting that at all." She closed her eyes and rubbed her arms up and down a few times to shake off the prickly feeling in her skin.

"It was fine, I assure you."

Laura's limbs quivered slightly, her shaking fingers really showing the attention high she was coming off of. She wondered if he'd paid good attention to her miniature speech or not, as he never mentioned it further. Grabbing her fork, she made to finish the rest of the meal on her plate as the announcements went into awards for faculty. Several people walked to the stage, preceded and followed by applause as it was for her. She paid no attention to names or achievements made.

The Professor adjusted his hat, a frown at his lips as Chancey's description soon fit him. Laura watched him intently as the list of successes and accomplishments grew larger. He pulled his hat further over his eyes after each list entry.

"It's really not laudable," he said with a sigh.

The dreaded twinge, again, Laura groaned internally. His modesty was quite admirable, and could she say…endearing?

'If I were one of those lumbering monkey-girls from school, I suppose I might use colloquial and say cute. For God's sake!'

"A boon to the archaeological department, and a truly brilliant mind on the field, Professor Hershel Layton is up for a sort of promotion next year, and should he accept, will be the youngest professor that Gressenheller has ever had. I wish to introduce you to Professor Layton, and if you could join me in congratulating him for all these various achievements…"

The Professor stood up quickly, winding through the tables and arriving at the front near the stage more quickly than Laura had; perhaps he was used to these things, she mused. After shaking Chancey's hand, he stepped to the microphone, not even needing a cue.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. It is quite the humbling experience, being talked about at length as if I had just invented the light bulb or something profound—" pause for minor laughter and clapping, "—no, no, on the contrary, I merely have invested my indelible love for the field, as any good archeologist would do. Let us remind ourselves of why the department even exists in the first place by showing our praises for all those involved, if they may stand and be recognized."

Several people stood, dotting the room with Layton's fellow colleagues. More applause. Layton smiled before leaving the podium to the announcer once again. He returned to his seat with a trophy the size of a paperweight, and about as heavy as one as well. His name was boldly engraved.

"Nice prize," Laura said with a slightly sarcastic smile. "Your list of achievements is inversely proportional to the size of your trophy there."

"I might warn you that your arithmetic prowess may be wasted on me if you use any more difficult of mathematical jargon," he uttered quietly with a laugh, putting his trophy in his jacket pocket.

"I'll be sure to steer clear of calculus for your sake then."

"The rest of your talents, however, are perfectly acceptable."

She looked at him, slightly puzzled. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Acceptable to waste. Perfectly acceptable to waste." He caught her off-guard with a particularly disarming smile. It felt gentle, as they typically were, but it almost was a hint left behind for her to use.

"Speaking in puzzles again. I'll talk maths if you don't stop talking puzzles."

He laughed and poked at his plate once again, thankful that the room was dim enough to hide his flushed cheeks.

'Maybe it's just the fervor from receiving an award, yes, that's it. I had best stop before I put my foot in my mouth…'

The Headmaster made rounds to several tables throughout the evening, returning to Professor Layton's often. He had drank several too many cups of something, as had the Professor, but Layton's only resulted in an extra trip to the latrine. The Headmaster's resulted in a red faced happiness that seemed almost impossible to break.

"And now, Hershel, it's time for the dancing! It's in the room just adjacent. If only my wife were here, she loves ballroom dancing."

"I was born with two left feet, Morris," the Professor said, shrugging.

"Nonsense! You're an English gentleman, Layton, a gentleman. Surely you can dance. Perhaps not as well as myself but…" He took a swig of something dark red out of a crystal glass, smacking his lips audibly. "A bit dry, perhaps I'll try the other bottle…. Well, anyway, you'll be there to see my skills, won't you, old bean? A little competition may get you to show off yourself!"

He scurried off towards a waiter carrying a tray of mugs and fluted champagne glasses.

The Professor waited patiently for Laura, who had since excused herself to the washroom.

"Surely, she's not the dancing sort. Perhaps it's best to watch the Headmaster briefly, then return to the hotel."

Laura returned, purse in hand.

"Women's bathrooms are the worst. A line reaching down the hall. I analyzed the same wallpaper pattern for around five minutes before even stepping foot in the actual bathroom! Quite nice wallpaper though, reminded me of fractals." She settled into her seat shortly before the Headmaster's hands gripped her chair firmly, causing her to jump.

"Apologies, Miss Haris! Seems I caught my foot on a loose tile…" He looked under him as if to chastise whatever breach in tile conduct caused him to trip. "But let's focus on the important things. Persuade your professor to join the crowd in the room next to this one! Surely you enjoy a good dance and a bit of live music. It's all for you and all those present who've achieved so much! Enjoy yourself!"

She nodded, smiling her thanks. "I appreciate it, but I've never danced, and I don't feel inclined to do so."

"Never danced?" roared the Headmaster, almost insulted. "Well, then, I'm deciding for you! Come, come, you two, off with you!"

With a violent shake of their chairs, both Laura and the Professor rose without another word, shoulders firmly held by the half-drunk Headmaster.

"Really, Morris, is this any way to treat your—"

"Quiet, Layton, it's for your own good! A man of your upbringing enjoys a good dance once in a while. If there's one thing you can teach a lady, it's to teach them how to dance with you." He winked at Laura. "This one here is a real talented one. Lying dormant is a real Fred Astaire! No, you wouldn't believe it, but he's a bundle of sticks—I mean, skills—this one! Haha, bundle of sticks…"

"Honestly, Morris, your drink is making you more bold than your claims," the Professor grumbled, finally allowed to stop outside an entrance. "Perhaps you'll show us you own hidden skills first."

"So be it!"

The room looked like the previous one, except without tables and chairs and a marble floor. Instead, a golden wooden floor reflected a group of dancers, flying over their distorted selves in a series of waltzes. A short stage was on the opposite side of the entrance doors, placed in front of several floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a view to the streets outside. Darkness had descended, and the street lamps were already burning brightly. The room's lights shown on a polished white grand piano, its pianist slamming against the keys and moving to and fro along the black and white span with a natural agility.

The Headmaster walked ahead of Layton and Laura.

"Now then, tell me this doesn't make you want to get up and move around! Say, Cherise, darling, be a good sport and help me show this youngster how the dance is done." He grabbed a startled older woman, and spun her about, waltzing her into the middle of a sea of people.

Professor Layton chuckled.

"Don't worry, that's actually his cousin," he said quietly in response to Laura's terrified gasp. "Well, I will say he's very good about it, dancing. He had me going for a bit, I wasn't sure whether he was bluffing or not."

It did look very natural, the fluid movement over the polished and shining floor. Regardless of whatever preexisting notions she had about dance, it was almost so mesmerizing that a part of Laura wanted to try it herself. She could feel herself flying about, almost defying gravity, heart soaring.

"Shall we give it a go?"

Laura shook her thoughts off. "Pardon?"

"Would you like to try?" repeated the Professor.

She shook her head violently, surprised. "N-no! There's no way I'd put myself out there like that! He's been trained apparently; I don't know the first thing about dancing."

"Would you believe me if I told you it's not necessarily about training, but simply responding to the music? I know you're capable of that, more than capable." That smile, Laura thought, half angry at him, half at herself for not steeling herself against it.

"Well…" She looked at the crowd, at the piano, then back at him. "Let me use the restroom again. I'll think about it."

"I'll just wait here then."

Laura rushed to the washroom, just off the area of the bathroom stalls. A flock of uppity women arranged their tresses and reapplied make-up in front of the mirror, talking about some man out and about in the crowd. Laura shut her mind off and stared into the mirror, pretending to wash her hands.

'He can't really be expecting to dance with him… I suppose it's nothing more than dancing to those watching but…somehow it feels a bit more intimate than an innocent dance, I don't know why. I'm starting to feel afraid, afraid of being around him. I keep feeling comfortable, then when I get too deep, I want back out again. Not because of him, but…because of my own responses, my emotional responses.

I never know what to do, and the only person I could ask is the one causing the problem!'

The women retreated from the counter, giving the mirror one last sweeping look before leaving. One of them had left a tube of mascara and container of blush next to the sink. Laura eyed them briefly, wanting to chase the lady down and return them, but another group of women rushed through the door again, about to take the former's place.

She grabbed the articles and hurried into a stall. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out a small mirror and set it on a pull-down shelf on the stall's wall.

"I've never done this but…if I'm going to make a fool of myself, I might as well mask myself while doing it."

The Professor chatted briefly with a few colleagues and fellow faculty members before feeling concerned. He checked his pocket watch.

"Quite the bathroom break. I suppose it's the line, once again." He turned when someone cleared their throat just next to him.

"If you're going to invite me to dance, then you'd better do it properly."

"I beg your…pardon?" He immediately chastised himself for whatever it was he just felt, but it sent guilt through his insides. Something along the lines of attraction, however mildly. His student somehow transformed herself into someone more stereotypically suited for such occasions, dark curls pulled back loosely, her eyes darkened by…what was that stuff again? He knew what it was, but…mind blank, he couldn't retrieve the data quickly enough. Whatever it was augmented the wisdom in her eyes by her several years, and made them very difficult to get out of.

'Women's bathrooms are dangerous places…' he thought.

"I mean, ask me formally. Isn't that how it's done in the movies?"

He stared at her, confused, then laughed loudly. "I dare say, if this were a movie, you'd be dancing with someone a bit more learned than myself, and perhaps someone a little less puzzled."

"Puzzled?" she repeated, curious.

"Never you mind. For your formal standards, I'll acquiesce." He held out his hand, chuckling as was the usual. "Laura, may I have this dance?"

She paused, pretending to think it over. "You may. But I must warn you: this might be painful." She took his hand, wincing slightly.

"That's not very movie-like. Isn't everything supposed to be perfect in every way in the movies?"

"I've never danced." She felt him pull her closer, accelerating her heart beat unwillingly. "Must I stand so close? I'm a bit claustrophobic," she lied. In reality, she just wasn't used to human touch, and the feeling was a bit frightening, even if she couldn't quite explain why.

"Well, I wouldn't want you falling on this hard floor, so it's only expected that I keep you secure, wouldn't you agree?"

"…I suppose so."

'But that scent…it's much too annoying, intoxicating even…like that stupid, bloody sweater.'

He placed her hands appropriately and swung about slowly, helping her fixate on the current rhythm, belonging to whatever song was playing. It was a medium pace, some sort of jaunty waltz.

"Is it difficult?"

"Well, it is quite difficult," she mumbled, not meaning the dancing part.

"You seem to be having a hold on it. You haven't stepped on my foot—ouch—yet…seems I spoke too soon."

"I'm so sorry, I just…" she glanced around at the others dancing about them. "This isn't…inappropriate, is it?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, after all, is it strange for…well, you know…you and…well myself…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "It's nothing. I suppose it's nothing."

He laughed, his pace becoming faster. "Well, you needed a partner, didn't you?"

"I didn't need one…"

"You wanted to learn, didn't you?"

"I was pretty much forced!"

He shook his head. "Is that so? Indeed, you could have declined. My feelings would have remained intact."

Laura paused, staring at the zipper on his sweater, then looking back up. "Would they have?"

His pace slackened as he wondered whether to be truthful or not. It was a difficult decision as her eyes were set on his like a vise on his conscience. "Well, it might have taken a blow to my pride, considering you might not trust my skills—"

"You're lying," she interrupted forcefully, a note of disappointment in her voice that contrasted the upbeat notes now flying from the piano. "I watched you as they read your description earlier, your list of achievements. I highly doubt your pride would be offended. You're very modest."

The Professor smiled. "You might be too astute and observant for your own good."

"Those traits haven't let you down, have they?" she pressed further, resolute to make him feel just as nervous as she was feeling. It was worse than when she talked with him in the office. Now, there was barely any space between them, and it felt suffocating, physically and mentally.

"I have a feeling they might someday, but as for now, no," he said reassuringly. "As for your concern, this is nothing more than a professor teaching his student, as is a teacher's duty, and nothing more than a gentleman giving an eager young lady a chance to grace the dance floor, as would be his duty." He caught the change of Laura's expression, her eyes falling away from the current situation. She was lost in thought. "Is that correct?"

She nodded, somewhat reluctantly. "Yes, yes I suppose that's what it is. At its basic level, that's really all it is." She looked up again when they suddenly stopped dancing, the rest of the crowd flowing around them seamlessly.

"Now that you have a handling on this, let's say we pick up the pace and test your aptitude a bit." He turned her gracefully back toward the center of the floor.

"What? Wait, what are you doing, I can't go that fast! I don't even know what you're doing! What I should be doing!" She tried slowing him down, but felt helpless against his resolve. "Just because the tune is fast doesn't mean we have to—"

"Those around you can see whatever you want them to see, you control that much," he said, a small twinkle in his eyes as he increased their pace in intervals. "However, Laura, there are some things you just can't always control initially. Whatever you feel in the current situation, if that's how you want to perceive it as, then let yourself enjoy that much. Does it really matter what those around you may think?"

"I…suppose not…"

"If I may label it, you could simply dance with blinders, to put a phrase to it. And as for not knowing what to do, just take my lead.

It's my job to teach you."

---

A slender young man stood near the entry way, standing stiffly on the small balcony that overlooked the dance hall. He scoffed, smiling maliciously out at the room, then back at another man standing near him.

"Seems we have a ballet history, the bloomin' dullard." He looked out at the dance hall, eyeing Professor Layton, sneering. "Caught quite the little minnow, he did. Laura Haris. A bit too close for a professor and a student, don't you think, Percy?"

"Looks like a clean, proper dance to me, Edward," Percy admittedly honestly. "After all, it's Hershel Layton. The man has nothing so close to a smudge on his resume."

"Perhaps. At least, not yet." He let out a low laugh, almost on the brink of maniacal. "Little bitch, thought she'd hide her identity with that get up? Who's she trying to impress? Or maybe hide from? Say, Percy, ever been drunk?"

The other man shook his head nervously, hands shaking. "Edward, you're starting to sound a bit paranoid. I don't think she's hiding her identity, or impressing anyone."

"Answer my question!" Edward snapped, pupils retracted as the light from a wall sconce flickered in his eyes.

"Well, not recently, no. Nothing good comes out of that, you know, being drunk. Don't you care about what our parents would think?"

Edward snorted. "Our parents? My mother is a weak wench, poor soul, and my father, a blazing lunatic. The man doesn't know genius when he sees it. As don't the professors. So to answer your question, no, I honestly don't give a flying bloody fuck about what our parents think."

He fingered a small vial, cupping it in his palm.

"I'm about to weigh in on one of Professor Layton's weaknesses," he said softly, glancing around him to make sure no one was listening.

"And what would those be?" Percy asked, unknowing.

"You'll find out soon enough. That goody two shoes won't know what kicked him in the asshole. It gives me a thrill, knowing he will experience a humiliation the likes of which I've had placed on me. Maybe a bit worse. I feel a slight sense of guilt…oh wait! There it goes." He giggled, an evil glint in his eyes. Percy cowered a bit, unable to face him directly.

"What do you plan to do?"

"A grand undoing," he said with a sort of airy growl, arms raised to the ceiling. "Something that will take years if tonight doesn't go as planned. But…that is just as well. Plan B is actually a lot more desirable. However, I couldn't pass up this opportunity. The cogs are moving. Regardless, I'm patient." He pocketed the vial. "Now then. Let's see if the Professor and his darling kiss-ass beauty can handle a bit of tabloids. All it takes is one instance of pedophilia and his career is dead. As dead as the rocks he digs up."

He turned to the balcony ledge, resting his palms on the railing. He chuckled several times, each laugh racking his body.

"Not yet 18, little Laura. It's just perfect enough."

Percy wrung his hands together, unsure of whether or not it was in his favor to continue keeping up with the Jones'.

Or the Chancey's.

---

It was an ethereal experience, almost out of body. Being pulled back and forth, spinning, floating, soaring almost, dancing was something never considered, but it was fulfilling in ways Laura never felt she would ever need to be fulfilled. Mentally, it was as close to flying as she could ever get; her spirits felt so light, she might as well have spun off into oblivion, had the Professor not been holding her as tightly as he was.

He was right; she needed secured. The amount of centripetal force experienced during all of the spinning would have sent her flying off into the crowd like an unbalanced centrifuge. But her feelings couldn't be contained, and she let them continue to swirl about without analysis. And for that moment, the allowance to take five: that was what she was most grateful for.

She disregarded the lookers-on, now clapping and cheering as they were most likely the only two in the entire room capable of handling the instruments' musical battle. She didn't even know if it was a tango, a waltz, a jazz number; she wasn't even thinking. It was almost transcendent, as if neither needed to think about the other's movement, everything flowed into place perfectly. He didn't look it, but it was certain Professor Layton had more flexibility and stamina than he let on.

Laura met him back in the middle for one last set of steps, another spin. Her eyes met his temporarily, and for the moment, there was nothing antagonizing about what she felt inside. For the moment it was okay to accept that she loved being in his presence, no matter the circumstance. Perhaps it was the energy, the chemistry, whatever happened to the brain when lending the body to such spiritual uplifting, but whatever it was, it was almost sobering and elevating at the same time.

In a matter of seconds, it ended, ended without all the fanfare just established in their flurry motion. They were close enough to feel the breathing of the other, both only then realizing the stress just put on their bodies. Everything slammed back to earth, emotions grounded, mind and body again on the same plane.

Laura let out a small nervous laugh, suddenly feeling embarrassed to look the Professor in the eyes. What had she just done?

Those around clapped and laughed, many slapping the Professor on the back and giving long-winded compliments. He accepted them politely, but inside, a hurricane of emotions had been washing through his viscera. He somehow felt different in those moments in a way he never had before. He watched as his student shyly took compliments from those around her, graciously noting that she wasn't as good as 'the Professor'.

'Professor…yes, that's what I am. I was just teaching her something new, as my job dictates I must.'

Headmaster Ginlade made his way through the congregation of people and grabbed him by the shoulders. Astonishment was plastered across his red face.

"Hershel! Hershel, my good man! Look at you! What did I tell you, a right Fred Astaire! And our brilliant prodigy, Miss Haris! You learned that much in one session? Tell me you had prior experience!"

She shook her head, laughing as she followed him to the exit. "I tell you, I have not."

"Layton, are you sure you're in the right outfit? Suppose you should teach dance at Gressenheller, or Grissom's…"

"Good Heavens, Morris! You're too flattering. And I'm sorry, I can't take you up on that suggestion," he laughed, lifting his hat and wiping his brow.

The rest of the walk into the hallway was a blur, those present all trying to get a look or a handshake with either Laura or Professor Layton. Laura ducked out of sight, finding the attention to be more asphyxiating than the dancing. She felt guilty leaving the Professor to the desires of the audience, but was relieved when it let up quicker than it started.

"You emerge unscathed!" the Headmaster bellowed, laughing deeply, pushing Professor Layton through the door and into the hall. "Are you really returning so early?"

Nodding, Layton smiled at Laura. "Indeed, I am in need of a refreshing shower after that display. If you'll excuse me. Thank you for this fine evening, Headmaster."

"Be sure to grab a hot drink as you go out. It's chilly out there! Do you need a cab?"

The Professor shook his head, removing his hat and fanning himself with it. "Hardly. This place feels like a sauna."

They walked to the exit and requested their coats, Laura additionally collecting her award paraphernalia. While waiting, a lean young man with a tray walked up to them.

"Retiring for the evening, you two?"

Laura nodded.

"Indeed we are, young man," Layton responded, taking his coat and putting his arms into it. "Have you been helping out this evening?"

"Yes, I have been. Would you allow me to do you one more service before you leave?" He offered his tray to them, two disposable mugs steaming from the top. "Please take a drink, courtesy of Big Ben Catering. And do take care outside, it's quite cold."

Layton eyed the tray carefully, then the waiter. "Tea?"

"Rather, it's cider."

"Ooh! I will take it if it's apple cider," Laura squealed, surprising the Professor. "It's really the only warm beverage I'll drink." She grabbed a cup after putting her coat on. "Thank you so much."

The young man pushed the tray towards Layton. "And for you, sir?"

He shook his head, a queer smile on his face. "No thank you. I'm already quite warm, I'll make it to the hotel without freezing."

Chuckling, the waiter earnestly continued. "You say that now, but later, you'll surely regret it. Perhaps your friend here wants two?"

"One is quite enough," the Professor answered for his student. Laura was about to respond, but closed her mouth. "Thank you for your kindness. Good evening."

The cold air hit sharply into their faces, turning both Laura and the Professor's cheeks a bright shade of pink. Small snowflakes started to fall slowly to the pavement, instantly melting. Laura held fast onto her cup.

"Lovely. I'm glad it's real cider and not that stuff from a packet that you add water to."

"I'm glad you enjoy it. However, don't you find it odd that no one else seemed to be served at the end?" he asked, staring into the dark sky.

Laura looked into the steam coming from her cup. "Hmm, now that you mention it, that is strange indeed. Perhaps they were catering to us because we won awards?"

"That's a decent observation, one I hadn't thought of, but it doesn't eradicate my suspicion."

He pulled out a pair of gloves, quickly putting them on. They walked quietly as Laura sipped her drink. The Professor hopped to her other side, nearest the road.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, giggling.

"It's only appropriate for myself to take the side nearest the road. It's the most dangerous part, after all."

She laughed. "I'm not a delicate flower, you know."

"Still, it's—"

"Your duty as a gentleman?" She turned and smiled.

"Well, yes, that's just as I was going to say." He returned the grin. "Completing my sentences now, are you?"

Laura took in a gulp too quickly, burning her tongue. "Ah, bloody hell, oh my, I'm sorry!" She put her hand to her mouth. "I didn't mean to say that."

"A sharp tongue to match sharp wit is not the best combination," he said, a tone of admonishment in his voice.

"What? Well, I… Is that a compliment or… Oh, as if you've never slipped!" She took to avoiding sidewalk cracks and ignoring him temporarily, but the Professor somehow always regained her attention.

"Say, does that cider taste any different from usual?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No, why do you ask?"

"I still can't get over the fact that we were served out of all those people."

"Perhaps you just didn't notice those who were given a drink," she insisted, shrugging. "Too bad you didn't take one. Now you're forced into your gloves, you're so cold!"

"Oh well. What do you plan on doing once we arrive back at the hotel?"

Tossing her cup into a nearby rubbish bin, she rubbed her hands together and blew warm air against them. "I suppose I'll get cleaned up. I'm a bit eager to watch television again. I don't have one at home."

"Is that so?" Layton asked, thoroughly shocked. "I thought everyone had a television nowadays."

"My father doesn't think they offer anything useful. He only uses one when he's keeping track of his voter tallies, and that's at the neighbor's house."

"I see." He looked back up into the dark abyss, hoping to see stars. "A lovely evening. It's only 8:30. Shall we take a detour?"

Before even waiting for a reply, he turned down a main road, the street lined with Christmas lights. All the trees along the sidewalk were strung with lights and silver garland, the storefronts decked with holly and other ornamental decorations.

"More than a month away and it's already so festive," Laura observed, sighing.

"Hmm."

As they passed by store display windows, Laura wondered what she should get her parents for the holiday this year. Each year she tried to find something fitting for them, but there really was nothing they wanted, nothing they needed even, except for Christmas candy or gift cards. Luckily, they were the only people she ever bothered about concerning gifts, but this year…

'I have to get the Professor something!'

She watched to see if anything caught his eye. He never made so much as a passing glance at all the displays, never showing more interest to one thing over another. She wondered whether he was swamped with gifts during the holiday season, and whether it would even make a difference, should she decide to give him something.

"Professor Layton, how do you celebrate Christmas?"

He slowed his walking speed, turning towards her slightly. "Well, I attend a church service in the evening, and typically I have been visiting Dr. Schrader, a dear friend of mine, afterwards for many years. Several other faculty members join us as well. Last year, Dean Delmona from Gressenheller came, as well as Headmaster Ginlade, actually."

"Do professors give each other gifts?"

He thought a moment. "I suppose they do, but I don't recall anyone doing so last year. Oh yes, actually, we did. We exchanged our most favorite essays from students in the courses we had taught in. It was a real laugh, since most of the essays were honestly awful."

Laura frowned with dissatisfaction.

'Not the answer I was expecting, but…'

"I see, how about your students?"

"Now that is a different story. Typically, I get presents that range from baked goods, homemade candles, tea paraphernalia, winter garments like gloves or scarves… Those sorts of things. Any reason you're curious?"

She shook her head, trying to remain convincing. "No, I just wondered if it's annoying to get presents from such a large source. Surely, you must get swamped!"

"Well, not everyone gives me a gift, and let's just say some of them are not quite as savory as I'd prefer them to be… Some students have a strange sense of humor. Those get tossed out."

Laura became quiet, wondering what unsavory sorts of things someone would give to their Professor, when she thought of what people like Millie would give.

'Probably a box of condoms or something derogatory. All anonymously of course.'

"Well, we're back." He held the door open for her and they walked to the elevator.

Laura put her coat carefully onto a hanger near the entrance of the hotel room and walked slowly to her joined room. Layton followed suit, removing his coat and sweater. He left his shoes at the entrance.

"Laura, aren't you going to take your shoes off?"

She nodded, but continued to her room. Walking over to the sink, she leaned against the cabinet, looking herself down in the mirror. Her eyes began to feel hazed over, as if miniature clouds were floating across her pupils. Surely she wasn't so tired that it would just hit her all at once?

Splashing her face, she tried to cast off the heavy sensation now creeping through her arms. It was as if it started in her brain, a warm, spreading sort of feeling, traveling through her brain stem, and down into her shoulders, her biceps. It was like a heat wave creeping into her blood, leaking into all the capillaries like ants scurrying in an ant hill.

Layton walked into her room.

"Laura, did you hear me?"

"Huh?" She gazed over at him from the sink.

"I asked if you'd like some tea. I have some made cold, if you'd like."

She smiled dopily. "Oh, yes. That sounds awfully delightful." She tried to walk straightly to her bed, sitting heavily upon the maroon bedspread.

The Professor stepped towards her cautiously. "Laura, are you feeling alright?"

She raised a hand to her forehead, trying to discern her temperature. "I might have a fever. There's…a strange heat behind my forehead. It's as if I'm thinking on overload, but…I am trying to fight it off, like… My brain is going a mile a minute and I can't help but just talk about it but I don't feel I'm controlling it and—"

Layton rushed to her side, sitting down next to her. He felt her face with the back of his hand.

"You don't seem to be warm, as with a fever, yet you look flushed. And not from the cold. Laura, look at me directly." He held her chin up so that she'd look straight at him. If it weren't for the necessary urgency, he would have perhaps been more easily captivated, but now, he was searching for answers.

Her eyes seemed dead as she gave him a strange grimace.

"I think…there's something wrong with me… I'm not quite thinking straight, Professor. I…I don't know what's going on."

She tried to stand, using his shoulder as a support. Grabbing her arm firmly, the Professor attempted to steady her. It was like trying to keep a large baby from taking a dive into the floor while learning to walk.

"Laura, you need to stay seated. It's not safe for you to attempt standing."

"But, I can't just sit around all night! What will everyone say? Come now, Professor, it's much too early to sleep." She fell forward onto Layton's legs, palms slamming into his thighs. He winced and yelped in pain as her nails dug into him, trying to stabilize herself.

"Come now, Laura, do your best to—blimey, what on earth!—good Lord, this is not good." He finally got her to lay down on the bed, eyes listless. Her lips, however, remained in a perpetually crazed smile. She laughed dryly, her giggles slowly developing into a quiet yet hysterical cackle.

"Professor, there's definitely something not right. I can't recall your first name."

He stood at the edge of the bed, dumbstruck. "My first name? What in creation does that even matter?" He felt completely hopeless. Whatever was happening to his student was frightening, and it was getting more bizarre and creepy as the seconds went by. Her complete change in personality was sobering, as she no longer had the proper, traditional mannerisms that he had grown accustomed to. For a moment, he felt a real sadness, as if the girl he'd just been walking with, talking to, had vanished, and he had no way of getting her back.

'Is this what it feels like to lose someone close to oneself?'

Then he immediately thought of her father, a strict man of very little patience. He was certainly awaiting a call from his only daughter.

"In this condition…?"

Laura weakly sat up, facing her teacher. He broke out of his self-pity and crawled next to her, trying to get her to look at him squarely in the face.

"Laura, can you hear me?"

"Do I? Yes. Yes, I certainly do, do, do. Haha! That has a nice ring, ing, ing to it."

"Do as I say: breathe into my face."

She looked at him puzzled, but with a sideways grin. "Breathe, into your face? That sounds like something some weirdo kinky guy would say."

There was no time for analyzing her conversation of choice, as he grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit still somewhat. "Listen, do it! Breathe on me!"

He tried to discern whether any toxins could be sensed when she breathed out, but couldn't detect anything foreign.

"I don't think it's alcohol..."

"Say, your name is Hershel, right?" She laughed as he tried ignoring her. "Do you ever get called Hershey? You know, Hershey, like the chocolate company over in America? Is that what your wife calls your? What your girlfriend calls you? Do you even have a girlfriend, Professor Hershey?"

He sighed. "Laura, I just wish you'd fall asleep and work this out of your system."

"Work what out? Your failed relationship with your girlfriend? I don't know how to keep significant others, I don't ever have boyfriends!"

He walked to the main door of the hotel room and locked it securely. He didn't want anyone coming into the room unannounced. The situation was already frightening as it was.

With a tremendous amount of effort, Laura scooted herself to the edge of the bed and planted her feet firmly onto the ground.

"Say, it's quiet, it's just us. I'll teach you how to be a good boyfriend. I'll tell you what you need to do. Look, there's even a bed!" She giggled insanely to herself. "Wait, sorry. I don't have any experience. I was never good at biology either."

"Stop it. You're only speaking nonsense. You aren't Laura," he told the chilling girl in front of him. She made him shudder, disgusted that she could say such things aloud with the same innocent face as his student. He'd never been faced with such a thing, such a repulsive situation. To say the whole matter was unnerving would have been an understatement.

He made up his mind that he couldn't stand it any longer, and grabbed a small cup from the counter. Resolutely he filled it with water and threw it at her face. She dramatically fell backwards against the bed, quite taken aback. She pulled herself up, staring at him incredulously.

"You…you threw something at me?"

"Laura Haris, it seems that your drink was spiked with something undetectable by human senses. You are currently a slave of your own mind, yet I beg you to see past the clouds and try to listen to me carefully. I—" He stopped suddenly as Laura began to sob uncontrollably, her cheeks reddening as she choked on her own tears. "What in blazes…?"

"You actually, threw something. At me." She looked up at him, a fear in her eyes that appeared animalistic. "You…you hate me!"

"No, no, no, Laura, please, listen to me, I merely—whoa, steady on!"

She wailed, her face stuffed into her hands. "Oh, I can't believe this, how silly I've been! I shouldn't have ever taken that cup, I can't even think, I just…I, oh, I was supposed to call father, and now I'm a wreck, and the awards, the trophy, all of it, it's all just a sham—where are my treasures, my trophy, my bouquet, my award? I forgot them! It's all for naught!"

Layton exhaled heavily, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Laura, I'm very sorry I threw water at you. I just…I really didn't like what I was seeing, and I really don't know what to do. For once, I'm a bit bowled over. I wonder when the Headmaster will return, surely he might know a bit more information about those drinks…"

Laura shook her head, an almost normal smile stretched across her face. "No, no, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm appalled; I don't know how I'll face you in the morning, when my mind is clear. I just, it's like someone is controlling my movements, things that enter my mind. It's like the dam to my subconscious literally has burst, and things just come out, unfiltered. I've…never felt like this, I want to be in control and I just…" She stared off into space, her face slowly contorting as if she were to cry again. "I'm so, so, sorry. I should be able to control my own mind, but…but it's just impossible! I want to die!"

"Don't talk like that!" The Professor sat next to her and shook her shoulders gently but firmly. "It's not your fault, Laura, just try to stay calm. Look at me. Listen, I have a friend staying here this evening. He's an expert in chemical substances, perhaps he can figure out what is wrong here. If my hunch is correct, I believe you were doped up by something in that drink. I'm not sure who would do such a thing or for what end, but I can only imagine what would have happened, were we to both consume it." He silently was thankful for his intuition, but wished he could have gotten Laura to decline. More is the pity. He sighed. "I don't want to leave you here alone, but I should go and find him. Do you think you can stay here by yourself?"

She nodded, leaning against the headboard. "I'm…a bit worn out now, I think…I should be alright. Don't be concerned about me."

"Well, that's one request I can't fulfill," said the Professor with a worried smile. "I'll be back soon. Just rest." He turned to leave.

"Um, Professor?"

"Yes?"

"Whatever I said before, I vaguely remember it but... Please just…disregard it. I wasn't in my right mind."

"I won't even give it a second thought. Now then, rest."

Her eyes closed slowly, watching him through a ribbon's width of visibility. He smiled and turned to leave again. "Professor, one last thing."

He swung around again, becoming impatient. "Laura, I should really hurry to Dr.—"

"Why are you doing all this?"

"Doing what, helping you?"

"Yes. Caring about the situation. Is it because you might lose your job if you don't? You know, actually, most people might just let this go. You might become a suspect, should the police find out. Maybe they'll think that you drugged me."

He smiled, amused. "Laura, you do realize that people are more important than careers. I'd rather see you well and yourself than fuss about my job. Besides, there's nothing to worry about, concerning myself. I already have too much evidence to refute against such a claim.

And to answer your question, I'm not doing this by force. I'm doing this as a good friend."

He left it at that, and walked into the other room. Laura heard the locks sliding back, and the soft thud of the heavy door close. She busied herself with a pattern in the bedspread, trying to run her eyes along the seemingly infinite threading. Losing her concentration at the vertex of a diamond and the cross-section of a zigzag, she sighed into the sheets, the warmth of her breath pushing back against her cheeks. Just as she was surrendering to the falling sensation between consciousness and dreamland, the door in the other room opened, almost inaudibly. She expected someone to enter into her area, but instead she saw the light go out, heard a shuffle of sheets, and then the door opened and closed again.

Silence. Although she still was coming off of the climax of the drug, she started speculating who could have come into the room. Her mind was slowly growing accustomed to her normal speed of thought, the cogs oiling up once again, the familiar whirring of dozens of thoughts, possibilities, options flying about, rebounding off the walls of her brain.

The door opened again with a slight squeak, accompanied by the low whisper of her professor. She heard another person grunt in agreement. Both entered the room in haste.

"Laura, are you awake? This is Dr. Grum. He's a specialist in medicine and harmful substances, and he's going to try to discern what it was that you consumed earlier." Layton helped her sit up, casually removing her hair clip and pulling her hair away from her cheeks. She felt herself blush, but was certain her face was already red.

Sitting up, she realized she wasn't yet rid of the substance, as she felt light headed and weak. She glanced quickly at the doctor. He sported a large pair of glasses with thick lenses to match, and a black pointed goatee. His hair was dark and curly, giving him the appearance of a dull clown.

"There, there, Fraulein. Nahsty beet of drugging we got here, ja?" He checked her vitals, pressing a stethoscope to her chest while holding a flashlight to her eyes. She blinked, feebly shying away from the beam. "Ja, your eyes, hmm. And your heart rate is racing, do you feel tired?" She nodded. "Hmm. When did you first drink?"

"It was about an hour ago," said the Professor. "She probably finished it after seven to eight minutes' time."

"Fahst acting, very quick. I'm surprised you aren't out cold, with your body veight. Yes," he looked in a small pocket-sized book he'd opened in his lap, "certainly Sandman's Serum. Das correct."

Laura looked at him with amusement. "Sandman's Serum?"

"It is extremely illegal and strictly monitored in Great Britain, so I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. Sink of it as edible chloroform, it's potency makes it almost instant. And, unfortunately, it is impossible to detect when consumed, and even now vithin your body. Should I do chemical testing on you, I vould have a painful time trying to pick up on it. To be honest, I'm very surprised it didn't vork sooner on you. Meant to make you very loopy, followed by drifting into deep sleep. Someone vanted to play Sandman, apparently," said Dr. Grum, closing his book. "But, under supervision, you have nothing to vorry about. Herr Layton is a vonderful candidate to vatch over you. After a good night's sleep, you'll be like new in the morning."

He patted Laura on the head as he stood. "Vonderful. You have nothing to vorry about, Hershel. Though I can only imagine how frightening it must have been. It's a very strange narcotic. Some people react more strangely than you described to me about her."

"Thank you, Ludwig. You've been most helpful," he said appreciatively. "I'm surely in your debt."

Grum shook his head, holding up a palm-out hand. "No, it is fine. After all, it is my job! Luckily it vasn't something dangerous. You have a good evening, both of you."

He exited with a stiff wave and a broad toothy grin. The Professor sat heavily on the bed, sighing.

"Well, I suppose we have nothing to do now but get to sleep. It's been quite the night. How are you feeling?"

"Well enough, I suppose," she said, smiling jadedly. "First time being drugged, I have to admit."

"That's more than I can say for myself," he laughed. "Shall I call your father for you? We could just say you were busy with photographs and such, and you fell asleep early."

"That should do. I will call him in the morning to confirm that. And, needless to say, please don't mention all of this. He'll have Scotland Yard out to escort me back home, and I will never hear the end of it."

Professor Layton stood and walked to the single window, drawing the curtains closed. "Understood. If there's anything you need, make sure to call out to me."

She gasped, as if recalling something. "Oh, there's something. When you left the room to get Dr. Grum, someone entered the room. I thought it was you, but, even though I felt dizzy, I noticed the light go off, and a ruffling sound."

The Professor's brow furrowed. "Someone entered and turned off the light? What was the sound like?"

"It sounded like bed sheets, or fabric, like," she dragged her arm across the bed to simulate the noise, "like that. Something dragging on the bed. I didn't bother getting up to look, I apologize…"

"No, that's completely forgivable. But yes, I wondered why the light was off when I came back, I just wondered whether I might have shut it off and not remembered." He ran to the other room, looking about. "Yes, Morris' suitcase is missing. It could only have been the Headmaster."

He paced about, hand at his chin. "I wonder why he wouldn't have stayed, why he would come only for his suitcase. It's now around 9:30. Certainly, he should be back."

Laura felt her eyes closing without permission. She lazily watched her teacher walk around slowly, as if following a maze in the carpet. "Professor Layton, I'm a bit tired. Would you mind if I turned the light off?"

He raised his head sharply, neck cracking. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry. I was lost in thought. Yes, I'll switch it off for you." A flick of the switch, and the room was cast into darkness, a faint moonbeam leaking onto the carpet from the window.

She sensed him walk closer to the bed. "Thank you for everything this evening, I'm sorry it had to turn out so poorly," she said, almost a whisper.

"It's not your fault. Please don't feel responsible. I will check with the catering business and the conference center tomorrow, see if I can't find a bit more information. Someone wanted us drugged for some reason; I won't let this just rest." He handed her the hair clip he removed from earlier. "Seems I pocketed this. Bad habit."

"Oh, thank you. What is the plan for tomorrow?"

The Professor grumbled. "Ah, yes. I'm heading a workshop tomorrow for a few of the professors. I have to be there at 7:30 AM. You're free to do as you please. This area has a nice shopping district, if you like. I'll be finished for the day at 4:30. Perhaps, if you're up to it, we could explore the city further, by car even?"

Happy for the darkness, Laura beamed, confident the lack of light hid her face. "Oh yes, that sounds fun. I don't get to go out often to have adventures."

Layton laughed softly. "That may be the strongest answer you've ever given. Minor observation."

Blushing, she resolved to keep her tone in check. "Well, it's just…yes, I can get excited for some things, honestly!"

"I'll look into what's around here. Do you have any food preferences?"

"Oh yes, I suppose I have to eat. Well, I'll just have something inexpensive. Like, an apple."

"An apple?" he chortled. "Has that serum worn off yet?"

Had the room been a bit lighter, she'd have made sure he could see her scorn. "Well, my funds are limited. I don't have a monthly salary like you do."

"And that's why I'm treating you to dinner," he said in an unwavering tone. "Research the area tomorrow during your travels, and pick a place. I'll try to grab along the Headmaster, if I can find him. Regardless, I'll take you somewhere. And don't worry about the price."

He retreated to the door frame, pulling the door around until Laura could barely make out his outline. "Rest well. See you tomorrow afternoon."

She gave a small smile, even though she was filled to bursting with excitement. "Thank you again. Good night."

The door shut. Laura listened to his footfalls fade as he walked to various parts of the other room, obviously turning on the light as it bled underneath the door.

She was tired, the drug doing its final duty, but her eyes were wide open. Her brain was wide open. She felt her heart rate increase, but not as a result of the substance trying to leave her body. She was thinking about the next day, one of the few times she could explore on her own without anyone to bother her. She could look at anything, think about anything. And, to top it off, some of the time would be spent with the only person she trusted as of late.

"How exciting, I'm thoroughly thrilled," she whispered. "Oh my, I can look at stores, and read through books if there's a library, and maybe I can find a souvenir. Maybe I'll try something local, maybe a bakery, or a café." She lay on her back and imagined potential scenes playing out, the black ceiling acting as a screen template.

'I'm most eager for dinner, I wonder where to go? I can pick anything, but I do feel bad if he should pay. Although, father gave him quite a pick of his pocketbook. Suppose I should choose something he doesn't like? Well, I'll ask him about it tomorrow.

It's so exhilarating and complicated, it's as if it were…a…date…'

Nervousness entered her mind, the same nervousness she had each time after spending a particularly rewarding time with the Professor. It didn't matter if it were a review session, a tea sampling, a rugby game. Every time it was the same worrisome, vexing feeling she'd had after being around him for a certain period of time. It always came after the exciting and floating-on-air parts. The ones she would rather have. Not the guilty ones.

"Well, he did say that…I was a good friend. I'm just a teacher's pet, it's like that. That's all it is," she muttered, somewhat with confidence.

Somewhat knowing, by leaps and bounds, that she had a tendency to bury her treasures.

---

END.