He'd left the letter unwritten for almost a week.  There was plenty else to keep busy with here at Hogwarts.  New colleagues to meet, a new system to adjust to; the beginning of preparations for the essential Second Task, necessary to preserve Durmstrang's lead.  The minutes and hours and days had slipped into each other, and he'd left both his thoughts and the inkwell untouched.  But the silence could not go on forever, and if word was going to eventually come, it was better if it came through him.

It did not take long to translate the thoughts that he'd been gathering into the precise parallel lines and neat loops of calligraphy.  He kept the message short; folded it and addressed it.  His preference would have been to send this letter by floo and be done with it, but from Hogwarts, the distance was too vast -- and besides, with so many guests in the castle, he had no doubt that the fireplaces were being watched.

He'd waited for a break in the schedule to climb the stairs to the fifth floor.  Most of the students would be in class, not that it mattered.  Still, Atash kept a careful eye out as he ascended the cool stone stairwell.  Even with its constant magical fires, Hogwarts still seemed drafty, but the letter still felt warm in his pocket.

He would have followed the smell of drifting downy feathers and musky droppings directly to the owlry if the dull thudding sound hadn't caught his attention.  The professor stopped, frowning slightly, as he peered at the open doorway of what appeared to be an empty classroom.  There was no reason for anyone to be in there; for all he knew, it was one of the castle's ghosts.  But his curiosity was piqued.  He glanced briefly at the fingers of his left hand, examining the stones on the rings, and then stepped inside.

"I do not think," he said precisely, carefully enunciating each English word, "that this is the location of the study hall."  His expression was unsympathetic as his gaze found the tall, lean figure already in the room.  "Do you have somewhere that you are supposed to be, Mr...?"

Zel bent over and picked up the stack of books that he had knocked over, muttering to himself. This school year was not exactly going the way he had hoped. Part of him was happy that he didn’t have the weight of his secret bearing down on his shoulders, but another part of him felt violated. Tulojow had written him a note to get him out of classes, though he only went to specific ones: Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, and sometimes DADA if he felt up to it. Today, he wasn’t feeling much up to anything. It was Monday, and he didn’t feel like he was missing anything important.

When he heard an eerily clear voice, the werewolf jumped and turned to look at Atash. He vaguely recognized this man—was he one of the professors from another school? Probably. “M-m-my name’s Zel Trumble, sir.” Zel murmured, looking down at his hands as to avoid eye contact with the other male. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling. He felt like he had been caught doing something that he wasn’t supposed to be doing. That was only half true.

“And… Th-there are places I could be.” He finally put his hands into his pockets, “I just don’t want to be there.” That was as honest an answer that Zel could have given. Some students may make up some sort of illegitimate reason to be in an empty classroom during classtime, but the albino did not much enjoy lying to authority figures.

The boy looked like a ghost, as if a poorly placed draft would send him drifting away.  There was nothing confident or competent about him.  Was this how Hogwarts students regularly behaved?  If so, it was no surprise that they had fallen so far behind after the First Task; the need for a counselor to soothe their troubles with magical balms suddenly made sense.

"I did not ask if there were places that you could be."  He regarded the boy's face severely; if the teenager was trying to avoid proper eye contact, then Atash would not let him escape it so easily.  "I asked where you are supposed to be.  It does not matter if you want to be there or not, Zel Trumble."

The familiar name, the pale features...this was the werewolf boy, allowed to attend here alongside the other students.  The cause of the great ruckus in the Great Hall; the inspiration of so much tension between the native Hogwartians.  He hadn't paid much attention to it, other than noting it as a possible area of interest.  It was a peculiarly British quirk, accepting these creatures amongst their children.  But it was one that they had all agreed not to challenge.  At least this werewolf boy did not look as though he wanted to claim the more bloodthirsty qualities of his nature.

At the moment, the tall, gangly, fidgety youth did not look like he wanted to claim much of anything.  Atash regarded him silently, his brows knitting slightly after a moment. 

"Stand up straight," he said quietly.  The words were no less expectant or demanding, but the tone was less harsh, more subdued.  "Look me in the eye when you speak to me.  Do you hide often, Mr. Trumble?"

There was no denying it. The Durmstrang professor was intimidating. Part of it was his severe expression, and part of it was the natural authority that came with being a teacher. Zel didn’t know what to think of the guy. He didn’t want to ask the question as to hwere he was supposed to be, and honestly he had lost track of time. He didn’t know exactly where he was supposed to be. For all he knew, it was a break time. Zel had no intention of going to any of his classes, and he didn’t particularly feel like it. He didn’t like the idea of students staring at him. With his looks, he felt like he stood out enough; he didn’t need the whole werewolf thing on top of it.

Zel straightened up; when he stood at his full height, he felt like a giant, towering over the Durmstrang professor. He was sure that he had a solid ten inches on him. At least he wasn’t as short as some of the other adults around. There was a long, uncomfortable silence before his pale blue eyes met Atash’s dark ones. Oh, the Hufflepuff absolutely hated having to tilt his head down to look at people. At least the professor’s tone was less harsh than before.

“Just lately.” He replied, forcing himself not to stutter. There was the slightest hint of a German accent, but nothing too drastic. “I never really… Liked being around people before, either.” Zel didn’t want to make it seem like what he was doing was out of the norm for him, though it most definitely was. “It’s too cold outside to swim.” He stated, as if that explained why he was inside of an empty classroom in the middle of the school day.  Out of habit, his eyes shifted away from Professor Hendurabi. It was almost as if he was incapable of maintaining eye contact for more than a few seconds.

His gaze was focused intently on the boy, his brows knitting slightly.  The fight in the Great Hall had been much discussed among the integrated staff; the counselor had mentioned it first and then Maras had relayed it, stiffly recounting that Hogwarts students preferred fists over hexes.  Disturbances were not unusual at Durmstrang, but they were also never conducted so openly.  To attract so much attention would have been seen as the greatest sign of disgrace.  Disagreements were handled privately and effectively, and the process of it taught its own important lessons.

And then there was Hogwarts.  Where werewolf children hid in empty classrooms because it was too cold outside to swim, and school staff softened blows instead of preparing them to bear them.  To say that the system appeared to presenting mixed results would have been a mild criticism.

"Only if cold deters you."  He kept his voice mild, his eyes fixed steadily on the teenager's.  "Does the hiding help, when you have tried it lately?"

He laughed bitterly at Atash’s question, stunning himself. Zel didn’t expect such a reaction from his own body, though he really did not know how he would react to anything at this point. Merely a week ago, he would not have predicted that he would hide in classrooms to avoid talking to people. Zel knew that he was shy; he never thought he was that shy. “The hiding helps, it’s the staying hidden part that doesn’t. Can’t exactly run from my own thoughts now, can I?” He shrugged, and then looked down at his feet bashfully. He felt like he was only showing the Durmstrang professor how much of a wimp he was, and was thus giving Atash a bad impression of Hogwarts students.

“Not all students are like me.” He mumbled, “I’m not a good example, so…” Zel was proud of going to Hogwarts, he was happy to be able to get an education here, to have the experience of meeting students from different schools and from different backgrounds.  “What are you going to do now?” Zel wasn’t sure if Atash had the authority to actually do anything, but Professor Hendurabi  being a guest to the school and an adult figure, Zel would easily listen to the shorter man. If Zel was a pack animal, he knew he would be one of the more submissive members.

He couldn't help but find himself silently disagreeing with the boy.  Not because he doubted his assessment of the situation -- but that Zel Trumble was indeed a prime example of a Hogwarts student, because these were the lessons that Hogwarts taught.  That running and hiding were acceptable if facing the world seemed worse.  That resilience and self-confidence were not skills that needed to be practiced.  Not only did the school sort so young, but it defined its students as much as the personality traits that they were not as it did the few traits that they were expected to be.

At least the werewolf boy had stopped stammering, even if he still seemed unable or unwilling to make eye contact.  Another skill that the professors here seemed unaware that they needed to teach.

"Look at me," he said again, and waited.  "I am going to tell you to go back to class.  Beyond that -- it depends.  So you've discovered that staying hidden does not help," he said evenly, his eyebrows arched.  "What will you try instead?"

Zel looked up at Atash. If this was the way Durmstrang professors acted. He wondered how different his father’s schooling had been at Durmstrang compared to Zel’s own at Hogwarts. He didn’t want to go to class, and his body tensed up at the mere mention of it. He was very certain that he did not like this professor, though he supposed that it could have been worse. After all, it could have been the counselor, and there was no way he wanted to deal with her. Hiding didn’t work, yes, but it was much better than being around people. The werewolf didn’t expect Professor Hendurabi to understand this.

“There’s not much left to try.” He muttered, looking away again after he spoke. “I already talked to people. It doesn’t help.” Zel assumed that Atash knew everything about Zel’s situation, with him being  a werewolf—with him being bitten by his own sister. “There’s nothing for me to gain if I go to class right now. I’m not going to learn anything.” The Hufflepuff shrugged. It wasn’t that the content of the classes were not informative, it was more that Zel knew that in his current mindset, he simply was going to have a harder time retaining new information. He knew he’d beat himself up over it later, when he had homework to catch up on—but that was the least of his worries.

Then, he realized—he wasn’t sure if Mr. Hendurabi was a professor at all. Beauxbatons had a counselor, right? And so did Hogwarts.

The last thing he wanted to do was get lured into a discussion with another one of those types.

“Y-you are a professor, right?” He asked quietly, looking down at Atash with suspicious eyes.

Nothing obviously changed about the mage's expression, but somehow his features were a little sharper, his eyes just noticeably harder as he regarded the werewolf youth.  The last question -- and the unspoken challenge that it implied -- had clearly eroded any lingering traces of patience.

"Yes," he said simply, eyebrows rising minutely as he held the Hufflepuff's gaze.

There were so many answers that he could have given -- so many counters that could be made -- but laying out an argument for the boy would have simply turned into a lecture or worse yet, a debate.  Professor Maras was correct.  The students here seized on any opportunity to discuss things; they did not reason for themselves, but clung to what they wanted to believe.  Heaven forbid that they ever face any real adversity.  They'd likely find most of the school hiding out of sight in some forgotten classroom.

"There is plenty to learn in this school besides magic." Atash enunciated each word harshly, his accent considerably more pronounced.  His stern tone and the hard set to his jawline left no room for argument.  "See if you can figure out what it is.  Go to class, Mr. Trumble."