The sun it set, each day just like the one before, but there was something in the way the autumn twilight lit the backs of the amber trees that awoke memories of the fires that had once held Hogwarts hostage. Always when the fall of every year saw him through the season, Gale locked himself away each night pinning for the winter to come. In the earlier days of October he found friends in the slips of shadows, and the vacant streets of Knockturn Alley. However, when the flashbacks happened, or the memories got the better of his sanity he kept in his chamber; kept in his window.

’You can’t rely just on magic, Gale, you’ve got to have something to defend you when even that is gone.’ The boy’s voice was warm with compassion, yet as serious as the constant glare across his dark eyes. ‘Now come at me!’

The song of swords carried over the stone, ancient and old, and like this castle it seemed often too cherished to be real. This was what books were written about, and legends remembered. He knew Arthur, like the legends before him would play a part in the years to come, and when the battle came to the stone steps of Hogwarts he for only a moment truly felt like a knight defending his king.

The stone was cold now, as it cradled him in the window, and Gale wondered where the warmth went. Had he truly sat there that long? His hair had been wet, drying in the braid that had nearly fallen loose now as he watched the sun sink behind the horizon, and slipped into the past.

He gave a little gasp, having not realized how his hands burned from clasping the edge just as he had once the hilt of his blade—the wand of the family tree. Though the sword lay in shadows against the wall, Gale felt as though he could feel the weight of it in his arms, and when he lifted his hands to look the flash of his flesh raw and red replaced the little silver scars of what truly remained.

“Oh god,” He spoke out a prayer on his lips as he let his face fall in his hands, and felt as though at any moment he was to be ill. Up until now, the episodes didn’t last this long, and up until now he had felt he could make it through the school year without any help. However, just as his bare feet touched the floor he had to get to Maiko; she would be awake, right? She had to be. In a flash, the silver of his blind eye moved over the room while the good one charted his course.

Nightingale, didn’t bother with silly things like shoes, or his robe. Dressed already for the night he was covered enough, and in his wake there was nothing but the lose binding of his hair and the sounds of the tiny silver bells he wore around his ankles.

The risks were great, he knew. Keeping this condition from the rest was one thing, but deep down he knew the greater risks were the students. He couldn’t be seen, and with curfew in effect he didn’t expect another figure when he rounded the hall in a near sprint.

’You were doing so good…

’I love you, you know that?’

It wasn’t until the stone forced the air from his lungs had he realized that he had hit the man so hard to fall, and in French he cursed through his teeth. The words came out like a hiss, and though he was without the leather that normally crossed his otherwise flawless face he looked up at the man.

Though the eye was blind, it still looked into the past. The stones of the halls all were black with fire, and stretched further now that he was on the ground. The shadowy figure wasn’t just a face, it was a monster, a dark phantom out to finish the task started those few fateful years, and as his heart pounded against his chest all he could hear was, Cover it up, cover it, Gale, don’t look. And instantly his hand came to cover the blind eye, the flawed vision blocked for a moment, and he looked up once more.

“Forgive me.” He breathed as he tried to calm down, “I didn’t see you.”

"Yes," said Atash sharply, staring coolly down at the stumbling man.  "That is evident."

The castle was cold that night, and he had been working later than he should.  As autumn marched on into the irrepressible chill of winter, the shadowy evening hours stretched their tendrils further and further into the last lighted hours of the day.  He had already discovered that it grew dark more quickly here, far earlier than it should.  At least in terms of latitude, Hogwarts and Durmstrang were kin; there were times when he missed the equity of life in a more southern country. 

Fridays were always difficult to juggle.  He usually worked late or into the weekend to make up for any lost time, but he had promised his time to an old friend tomorrow, and most of the staff was being required to supervise the school dance on Saturday night.  Sunday, he had resignedly set aside for dealing with any unexpected disasters.  From what he had already encountered with the students and his colleagues from the other magical institutions, he did not expect the Halloween Ball to go off without a hitch.

So he had worked late, and his own business had kept him later, and then, when he'd finally been returning to the Durmstrang quarters, that he'd heard the uneven fall of panicked footsteps approaching from around the next corner.  Atash had instantly been on alert; he'd had time to draw his wand and brace himself before stepping around the corner, but the figure who had collided with him had not been the expected panicking teenaged ruffian, but the one-eyed, white-haired Charms professor who resembled little so much as a ghost.

He stared at the man coldly, dark eyes moving quickly over him.  No threat.  Atash had been more prepared for the collision than the blinded wizard had been, but it had still been enough to knock him back.  Silently, almost surreptitiously, he checked the bracelet on his left wrist, and then returned his wand back to its place at his side.

Only then did he look the other professor over more closely.  Kesali -- some sort of Romani, from what he had been able to pick up.  He was one of Atash's several counterparts here at Hogwarts, a spell casting instructor who specialized in Charms.  But the pale, moonlike man was not as outgoing as Professor Sandusky or Counselor Biladeau-Yukawa -- he'd met him, but had yet to really engage him at all.

But now, the other man had sprawled back on the floor, breathing hard as if in a panic.  The hallway was dark, merely lit by the moon shining in from outside -- it was due to be full in a few nights hence.  Its silvery light playing across the corridor made Kesali look even paler than ever, his one blinded eye like a white beacon, peering into the darkness.  Atash had seen far worse scars in his time, but the lack of an eyepatch made the wizard seem diminished, almost naked.

Atash frowned.  Stumbling through a corridor in the dark was not odd in itself; he was surely not the only staff member here who had his own concerns to address after hours.  But running implied that there was something to escape from.

He eyed the other man as if judging whether he should extend a hand, although his expression had relaxed into his usual guarded politeness.  "Are you all right?" he inquired mildly.

Almost Full Moon.

His thoughts traveled there of the world outside them, drawing strength in La Luna as if she were the only force left strong enough to keep his sanity. Silver webbing like a silk spinner, Gale’s hair fell around his face just the same, and though spiders often trapped their prey—Gale wished only to be free of this man; his enchantment, and dark amber eyes.

Maker… His mind whispered while the rest of him went stone silent, and from his place on the floor he felt as though he were part of the stone.

Atash Hendurabi, Durmstrang Professor of Spellworks held more hearts than a deck of cards he was certain, and as his own hammered in his chest he realized it wasn’t just from the spring. Atash was mysterious and dark, yet the very essence of the sun clung to him while painting his skin with sand that slipped through God’s fingers.  His people had feared them, and despised them all the same. A land without winter didn’t mean it was without death, but the suffering was much different; Ancient fools who didn’t know how to let go of the past.

“O ushalin zhala sar o kam mangela…”[1] He whispered in a language that was compiled from as many cultures as he, and rolled from his tongue like a prayer while he pressed his head back on the stone to stare at the ceiling.

But now, the other man had sprawled back on the floor, breathing hard as if in a panic.  The hallway was dark, merely lit by the moon shining in from outside -- it was due to be full in a few nights hence.  Its silvery light playing across the corridor made Kesali look even paler than ever, his one blinded eye like a white beacon, peering into the darkness.  Atash had seen far worse scars in his time, but the lack of an eyepatch made the wizard seem diminished, almost naked.

Gale laughed, the sound quiet, nearing madness, and as rare as an enchantment that would actually work. In this bit of release the only bits of his true age appeared in little lines around his eyes, proof that there was in fact a time when he knew such laughter—such happiness—sanity. This bit of freedom made him feel all the more exposed, and that little white beacon suddenly didn’t matter.

The eye far too often hidden from the world had died a long time ago, the color drained when the spell sealed it, and leaving only it’s its path a winter white orb that had often been rumored to foretell the future. Gypsies, tramps, and thieves. His dark lashes seemed to be made of ink in comparison to the white light, and even when he closed a thin lid over the surface it appeared to glow beneath.

“I’m fine,” He lied standing then to his full height, and sobering severely. Atash was taller, but Gale wouldn’t’ give him the chance to ever look down on him again. He held his shoulders back while lifting his chin, and even the long shirt over his sleep pants he wore like King’s gown. However, standing this close he could almost feel blinded by the sun again—the sunlight that Atash wore. Even his scent seemed to mix with old books and an ancient sun.

“Did I hurt you?” A laughable question, but one Gale asked with very little concern. If he had the dry nature of his tone and the bitter way he cursed his face for blushing, made it appear he was just going through the motions. One person asks something, and you answer. You ask something in return, and get an answer. This was how conversations worked…if he remembered correctly.

Gale closed his eyes a moment to try and stop the tension from building further. The pain was nearly blinding as he came off of his rush, and now he worried he’d grow sick from the stress. And when he took another breath he drew his arms over his chest as if to try and replace the cold with warmth. And then it donned on him…

“What are you doing out after curfew, Hendurabi?” 

1.	The shadow moves as the sun commands.

The Charms Professor's demeanor had shifted quickly, from inherent panic and mutterings in a language that Atash did not quite recognize, to an almost defensive stance as the pale man reclaimed his feet and rose to his full height.  That last question had been thrown out like a dagger into the darkness, dangerously probing.  Even if it was meant with only innocent intent, it was far too close to a challenge for the Iranian mage's liking. 

He regarded the ghostlike man for a solid heartbeat, his shadowy expression unreadable even in the faint moonlight.  Without a word, Atash shifted position and returned his hand to his wand.  It took seconds to free it from its momentary confinement, and mere seconds more to raise it up again as he resumed the familiar spell casting position.

"You might want to cover your eyes, Professor," he said politely, his diction clean and crisp.  Raising a hand to shield his own vision, he waited and then added in a murmur, "Nebű."

Every major linguistic family of spell casting had a unique, uniting feel to its magic.   He'd studied many of them in his travels, and aside from the Old Persian and Avestan spells he'd grown up with, it was the surging power of Semetic castings -- Akkadian, Aramaic, even Hebrew -- that had always resonated with his abilities the most.  As an Akkadian spell, Nebű did not bring forth the refined light that those used to Lumos might expect. Bright, blinding luminescence exploded from the tip of his wand, as if a brilliant solar chariot had suddenly surged to escape its bonds and burst into life like a miniature supernova in the air between them.

The blinding spell quickly coalesced into a bright, glowing ball and settled into position, floating slightly above the level of their heads.  Atash let it hang there, pulsing in slow rhythm as it rotated like a small, brilliant star, and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the change in lighting.   Now that the hard, merciless radiance from the Akkadian spell casting had struck the hallway, he could better make out the details of the Romani wizard's appearance.  Kesali was clothed in what was -- he hoped -- his evening dress, a flowing shirt over equally loose pants.  It was as if the other man could not stand any sort of restriction or control whatsoever; as if he clung to the sensation of freedom so that nothing else could press close.

"I was not aware that the curfew extended to professors," said Atash mildly.  His dark eyes shifted carefully over Kesali as he spoke, moving methodically, analyzing and taking in the details.  The Hogwarts professor still had the wild look to him as if he'd been breathing hard mere moments before, though he was more controlled now.  Fine, indeed.  The mage gave him a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.  "But no, thank you, I am fine as well.  I have walked away from far worse encounters."

There was something odd about this entire run-in -- why Kesali would be racing through the hallways in his dressing gown at all, to start with.  Atash hesitated, pausing for a moment as he silently considered, and then raised his eyes to meet the other man's gaze.  Not probing, not searching, not attacking -- not yet.  For now, simply observing. 

"Are you certain that you're all right, Professor Kesali?" he asked with a concerned frown.  At his side, he kept his hand closed lightly around his wand.  "If you're feeling ill, I can fetch the Healer.  It isn't safe to stumble about alone in the dark."

’I have walked away from far worse encounters.

The first bit of Atash’s voice that drummed against his thoughts. Until then, Gale stood with his eyes never once leaving the mage. His heart beat wildly in his chest though he felt he could count each beat with every breath he took, and even the spell seemed to come as if frozen in the air.

 “You didn’t answer my question,” Gale didn’t move, and though the realization that he left his wand came forward he suddenly didn’t remember how he even came to stand before Atash. Even when the man raised his wand, Gale only curled his hands into hard unbreakable fists. Would he truly challenge the man of magic with such tiny things? As ancient as the world of magic may be, nothing came close to ever making Gale understand that all couldn’t be stopped with just his hands alone. He’d wrap them around this man’s neck, squeeze the air from him while crushing what he could in way of defense, and as the spell whispered from this beautiful creatures lips Gale did nothing more than narrow his eyes.

’You might want to cover your eyes Professor. Still the mage’s concerned words played in his thoughts, raced through his veins heating his blood, but Gale didn’t move—not once. And when the explosion of stars erupted above them, he allowed himself one look—a glance, that in that few moments worshiped the show. The light did wonders for his complexion, the display of power mirrored in his both, but ignited in the one that could show life. Nightingale, even smiled a little as he watched the show, wanting to open his palms—his windows to the world—his maps (shoes—and ships—and sealing wax, cabbages—and kings) to feel the way a star might feel if one truly had the power to bring them down.  A childlike look filled him then, amazed at the display, and wondering if this was what it felt like to stand beside the ocean—he felt so small.

“It’s beautiful.” He whispered taking a step closer, and allowing himself to stare blindly in the light, The little movement caused the anklets around his bare feet to sing out, only adding a little more show to the display of stars. The silver bells there braided in on flesh colored threads twinkled, and he laughed again as the spell changed into an orb, “Very good.” He said proudly, as if speaking to one of his students, “Where did you learn this?”

Charms truly were his only specialty. It was easy to make an object do as he wished, or to change the moods of those around him. But when it came to such spells as this he was never one to deny he had much to learn still. Lightly, he patted his chest and then his pockets only to realize his glasses were not there. As a matter of fact…he wasn’t wearing his coat. Wait…

” li' ha' eer!”[1]He cursed and covered his mouth, and the sudden blush that rushed his face made him dizzy as his heart finally caught up with his body. Oh saints? Oh maker! Was he really standing out in the hall way in his night clothes? Panic sat in again, and he turned to claw his way back down the hall but failed.

’Are you certain that you’re all right, Professor Kesali?’ Gods, didn’t he shut up? Couldn’t he see he was in his nightgown! ’If you’re feeling ill, I can fetch the Healer.

“No.” He snapped his head back to the man, “No healers. I’ve seen enough. I’m fine. I was just…I was just…well…I wasn’t stumbling,” Running really, The last part he admitted in a whisper, and one that sounded as though his heart was breaking to admit it. However when the next bit of words left him he almost fell to his knees with the confession,

“I was dreaming.” Horrid things, like… “The Castle was burning, and falling again.” He spoke then from his hands as he buried his face in palms, the word ’again’ enough to give away what it all meant. A nervous habit of his was to play with the ends of his hair, and as he ran his fingers down his face one hand went back to brush over his braid.

In his youth he would have simply laughed this off, he would have turned to Atash and told him how ridiculous it was to worry. He was Romani, he grew up in a place that survived with only a few coins and lots of laughter. Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust And he would have brushed off his attire as a ‘Whatever you’ve seen it before.’ But now all Gale could do was stand in horror of his actions, and turn to in fact stumble in the dark back to his room.

In passing of a small table he bumped the bit of iron figures off of it, and the sound rattled down the hall—echoing as it went. Gale covered his mouth to suppress his gasp, and turned back to Atash with his light. Now he was going to give them both away if he went any further?

Finally, he closed his eyes and threw his head back to speak in French this time,

“Vous ętes toujours dans un ręve, Nightingale. Vous ętes dans votre lit.”[2]

1.	By the gods
2.	You are always in a dream, Nightingale, You are just in your bed.

He had not answered the question the first time, and he had no intention of giving Kesali more of an answer now.  As far as he was concerned, it was none of the other professor's business what he was doing or why he was about so late at night; even if the explanation were entirely innocent, he would still refrain from sharing it.  It would take a lot for the Iranian mage to encourage anyone to feel as though they had a right to pry into his affairs.

But Kesali did not seem to linger on his lack of a response for long.  He hadn't looked away from the spell; the Nebű globe still hung between them, silently and slowly revolving.  It would not have surprised him if the wizard had not seen its casting before.  The only Eastern spell that seemed to be commonly known throughout Europe was the Killing Curse; on top of that, most Semitic spells required an understanding of the underlying language before they would work most effectively.  But this was not the time or place to launch into an explanation.

Standing here, watching him, it did not take Legilimency to realize that something more was wrong.  The small, pale man seemed to ebb and flow in temperament like the tides; as changeable as the moon that he so resembled.  He skipped in and out of focus, bounced from language to language, including the odd sounding one that Atash still couldn't recognize. 

His assertion -- No healers, I've seen enough -- was not reassuring.  Atash merely raised his eyebrows, regarding him solemnly, as unmoved as his opposite was mutable.

The man before him was not well.  He said he had been dreaming -- everyone had nightmares, but very few went racing through darkened corridors in a panic at close to midnight.  And this business -- The Castle was burning and falling again.  Atash did not like to think of himself as a superstitious man, but he glanced at his left wrist again, watching the jewels on the bracelet there flash in the spell light.

Kesali stared at him with a horrified look, and then seemed to turn in a panic to go.  Atash tightening his fingers around his wand, clenching his jaw in frustration.  It did not take much foresight to anticipate that this could turn into a very bad situation.  Kesali, clearly unstable with a poor grasp on what was happening around him, could easily launch accusations at him in the dark.  And then there were others here... -- Gerard Gries would certainly love to back them up...

He let out a slow breath, and then leveled a cool look at the other man's back.  Now he'd slipped into French.  No.  He was not going to be left to stumble about with tales of who or what he had seen.  Atash knew where Counselor Biladeau-Yukawa's quarters were, close to her office.  If he could not convince Kesali to accompany him there, then he would go himself to fetch the witch.  Let her deal with her fellow Hogwarts colleague.

"This is not a dream, Professor Kesali," he said firmly.  He would not let the pale wizard slip so freely out of reality.   In his rolling accent, the words had a harsh lilt to them, as if they were driving through to anchor the man to the present.  "Ce n'est aucun ręve.  You are not in your bed; you are standing in the corridor at Hogwarts in your dressing gown."  He kept his eyes warily trained on the other man's back, listening for other sounds in the corridor, ready to move, his wand still in his hand.  Alert but not openly threatening.  "And you do not seem well to me.  I think that we should fetch Miss Biladeau-Yukawa."

”Vous parlez français aussi, Chakano?” Gale asked over his shoulder, smiling as he did, and touching the corner of the stone as he turned to face the man again, “Full of surprises hmm?” The last word wasn’t French, but perhaps it had been once upon a time. But still he spoke it as if it were, fixing and facing in and out of the various cultures like a box of jewel; Each one precious, but none of them any less valuable than the other. “And what else? What other languages does the Master of Durmstrang speak?” In this Gale sobered, closing his arms again over his chest as he pressed one shoulder to the stone. It was as if he pulled back down the veil he wore, the mask that hid away his suffering, but watching Atash now—tense with his right to be, Gale couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m fine, truly. I’m humiliated. Standing before such a secretive serious man in my night clothes, and having him on edge…I’m not insane, Professor. I’m simply having a trouble…ah..How you say?” With a pass back and forth of his hand he searched for the right word in the right language, and with the best meaning…”Forgetting. I am having trouble forgiving, and with the full moon so close? I was actually heading to Miss Biladeau-Yukawa's quarters...I think. But it now it seems like a bad idea."

Gale let his eyes travel over the man, and stopped at how he held his wand—noticed the tightly clenched jaw, and how harshly the other Professor held his shoulders. When you lived with tramps and thieves, you learned to know when another man was on edge—when he lied, and when he told truths. Something wasn't right here, and the thought thrilled him. Anticipation fired through his blood like little bolts of lighting, and Gale wondered if he had such a force that could in fact restart a dying star. Chakano.

“Are you in some sort of trouble, Atash?” Using his first name wasn’t a privilege he took lightly, nor was it given. However, Gale’s question wasn’t one you often asked a man who held a very powerful weapon, while standing in your night clothes.  His eyes flickered between the other’s dangerously as he pressed from the wall to close the distance between them. Like a moth to the flame, he didn’t care if he got burnt.

“You are so tense, Chakano. Afraid of the dark? With powers like this, and your star? Hmm? Or is that you are breaking a rule, and it kills you to do so?” No, this wasn’t the sort of man who would dance at midnight round fires that burned on the hillsides. He would sleep in sands long before sleeping in trees, and now Gale wondered who in fact the lost one was.

Feeling as he did, watching this man, and wondering through the wayside Gale realized this was the closest he had come to being himself in years. And suddenly standing in a corridor of Hogwarts, even in his night clothes didn’t seem to matter.

"Maybe it is you who needs to see Maiko? Or perhaps we should wake up a Storm? Or even Reid?" He asked carefully though sarcasm could be noted, "Or let me get dressed and help you?"

The last word, again, was one that Atash did not recognize -- not French, but some lingering trace of another language, one that he had not encountered and did not understand.  But the sound of it was far too close to a nickname, and he regarded the other man with narrowed eyes.  A meeting in the dark was no reason for familiarity.

A smile passed over Kesali's face, and for a moment, as the younger man launched into an explanation, Atash was prepared to let it go.  Humiliation, he could understand.  If Kesali had recovered his wits enough, the gracious thing to do would be to allow him to continue on his way; although he was not quite certain that the other wizard was not a threat in himself, it was not really any of his business what the Charms professor and Maiko Biladeau-Yukawa chose to do behind closed doors late at night.  He nearly relaxed, nearly nodded for the other man to continue on his way, but Kesali's mind had obviously already raced on ahead. 

The accusations were suddenly flying quickly as the Charms professor tried different angles of attack.  Kesali seemed much more awake now, his words barbed in raw emotion, as if the thought of a challenge had grounded him back in reality.  Atash met them with a hard, icy look.  He was not here to explain or to argue or to counter.  Only those who were themselves afraid were so quick to assume such fear in others.  Kesali was presumptuous;  as he himself had said, he had been caught off guard and humiliated in his panicked race through the castle, and now he was seeking to prickle his humiliator in turn. 

But he would not have any of it.  Atash regarded the ghostlike man coolly, his expression unreadable even in the shining light.  Fear did not come in cold, dark hallways that were safely enclosed within a castle, no matter how late the hour. 

"If I were in trouble," he said in a quiet, even voice, enunciating each word carefully, "or if I were interested in breaking rules, Professor Kesali, then I can promise you that no one would stumble upon me in a dark hallway.  And I would appreciate it if you would address me with the same respect that I have shown you."

The brilliant ball of the Nebű spell was still floating in the air between them, rotating silently as its bright light warmed the cold lines of the shadowy corridor.  Atash gave a sharp jerk of his wand, and in an instant, the casting had shattered: burst into hundreds of sparkling embers, twinkling like the last remains of a dying star as they showered toward the ground, plunging the hallway back into darkness as they too were snuffed out.

"I was heading back to my quarters for the night." He spoke each word clearly, his tone cold and unforgiving.  The light from the now-dead spell still burned brightly on his vision, but he ignored it, staring through the darkness at the outline of the ghostlike man. "If you do not need my assistance, then I will continue on my way.  Wake up whom you wish, Professor."

He was afraid, Gale let it show in the way his little hands fell over his biceps as if chasing away a chill that only he could feel. Atash was very right to think him presumptuous, and right to think him humiliated. However, now Gale was more than just that. Anger quelled inside him that wanted to escape him by the way of laughter--madness that was more of his rich passions and less of his bitter desire. And just as he started to speak again the, Atash with his cold harsh words, Gale felt them lash at him like a whip with barbed tips.

'If I were in trouble, […] or if I were interested in breaking rules, Professor Kesali, then I can promise you that no one would stumble upon me in a dark hallway.'

Gale felt incredibly small, by way of the world and by standing against this man. He in all his glory, speaking to him as if he were a child, but forgetting to use the gentleness that often came from an instructor. It was ridiculous to feel so, but standing as vulnerable as he was now--without his wand, without his cloak, and without his sanity, Gale felt very much he stood before Judgement.


"Is that so?" Maker, he was beautiful. Beneath the white light of the star and the way it warmed the amber of his skin, and cast a silver light over the raven black hair. He wanted to laugh, but wouldn't dare dream of it. Nightingale, found it hard to keep his anger, and when it subsided his eyes watered in the light--the humiliation. But instead of tears he smiled, smirked really a dangerous sort of pull on his lips that perhaps might have made any other question the darkness that was now fading around them.

"You and your Star, Professor. Should go back to bed. You can take your pretty eyes, and your dark hair. Take your stern glances and your cold words, but leave the light." As the star faded, Gale stepped forward his vision blurred by the quick lack of light, and he held onto the other man's sleeve for support.

"But before you berate me, make me feel even more pathetic than I am, a fool running around in his Nightclothes, you should at least buy me dinner hmm? Perhaps I'll get you to smile again. I'm rather…charming when I'm not crazy, Professor." Or blind, which he was right now. Gale released Atash's sleeve a moment to find the wall and wait for his good eye to catch up on the darkness now that it was without the light.


"But no…I don't need your assistance. Have a good evening."

This strange, pale wizard in front of him seemed as mercurial and changeable as the moon he so resembled.  Atash regarded him severely, his own expression unreadable.  First panicked, then unsteady, then accusatory, and now far too familiar.  Kesali was running the gamut of emotions tonight -- crazy, his own word choice, did not seem the most out of line description.

It was clearly not his problem.  He was not responsible for dealing with the Hogwarts staff, and from what he'd gathered from the Slytherin girl after he'd first arrived, the British school had been suffering from a high turnover of professors as of late.  If they were doing a poor job of vetting their new hires, that was not his failing to rectify.  He could continue on his way to the Durmstrang dormitories and leave this ghostlike man to wander the corridors, free to laugh madly in the moonlight or wake up whom he wished without nary a pain to his conscience.

Except...he was here, at this school, and that made it more complicated.  He was not responsible for Kesali or his behavior, but he was responsible for the safety of the students here.  There were likely prefects out patrolling the halls, or students breaking curfew, or other staff members like him who had been working late.  He did not particularly like the idea of leaving the Charms professor to surprise Maiko in her bedchamber.  Whatever the two might get up to by choice, and whatever respect he might have for the witch's professional abilities, Atash could not be certain if the counselor would be able to handle herself if this man's changeable nature swung in an unanticipated direction.

He was still considering, still debating, when Kesali took a step closer and took hold of his sleeve.  Atash's eyebrows shot up, and he gave the man a withering look that was barely readable in the darkness.

"I prefer to dine alone," he said flatly, shaking his sleeve out as he took a step away.  His wand was held slightly higher than it had been a few moments before.  "And as far as I know, your Great Hall does not take payment for meals.  You'll have to find someone else to display your charm."

And there it was -- a dismissal.  Atash pressed his mouth firmly closed, examining the younger man with a harsh regard.  He could wash his hands of this and be on his way.

Or he could shoulder this responsibility and at least see to it that things were dealt with appropriately for the night.

"Nebű," he murmured again, summoning the orb of light back to the tip of his wand.  "Counselor Biladeau-Yukawa's quarters are on the way down to the dungeons.  Come," he said sharply, starting off down the hallway.  The glowing ball from the spell floated in front of him, maintaining its position at a steady distance as it illuminated the corridor ahead.  "I will see you that far."

“I don’t,” He spoke, his voice crisp and clear though shaking just as much as his narrow shoulders. He was to the point of hysterics though his body was reacting differently. Gale dressed so often in layers, thick of a collection of different fabrics, like the cultures that heated his blood nothing matched. However, dressed now in the thin white of his night clothes his frame looked frail—broken. He shook, from his shoulders to his bare feet, Nightingale trembled, and was aware of it enough he hugged his arms around him. One hand moved to tuck a few strands of his white hair back behind his ear before he continued.

“I don’t like eating alone, I don’t like eating in the Great Hall either. I eat outside. And there are other places, Places outside Hogwarts.” Moving up beside Atash to follow beside him he felt so small again, and cold, even standing in the light of his star; the power was gone. It wasn’t as impressive the second time around, nor in his current state.

The air in the halls shifted, the warmth fading as if each silver toned step Gale took left behind a frost that would never thaw. A winder prince could be nothing compared to a man of a thousand summers, but Atash didn’t hold that same affection anymore. His cold words were far too direct, his motions too vividly void of an understanding, and no matter how hard Gale tried to read this man he couldn’t. Not in the state of mind he was in now, and not with the memories too vivid.

’Sing for me, Nightingale.’ A voice broke across his skin warming the naked flesh there until his back arched to meet the whispering lips.

“I’m not crazy, Professor.” The voice in which he spoke now didn’t have even an ounce of a song left. It was direct, and deep. As vacant as the halls, and seeming to belong to someone a thousand years older. He was rigid in his gate, regel as if a royal, and seeming to relax all over. His attire, even the rags that they were, wore like robes of silk, and he even lifted his chin proudly when he continued, “I just get like this when the moon is almost full, and it’s the beginning of the year. It’s hard to feel safe in something you watched burn.” When they passed the stone, Gale ran his fingers over the harsh surface, but pulled his hand away as if he saw something else beside the stone. It was as if a realization dawned, and he quickly pulled his fingers back to touch his face.

Naked. He felt naked, and quickly started to shadow the right side of his face by pulling down his hair.

“And I’m too old to charm anyone, other than my students.” He couldn’t help a small laugh, as he swayed in his step. The smile infections as he thought of his little darlings. He loved them dearly. Even Church. Even Kiba.

“After my tour was over, I thought I’d apply to Durmstrang to avoid this, but it’s home here you know? First place that wasn’t the back of a caravan.” Idle now in his emotions he watched the star again, and repeated the word.

Nebű,.. najmah…étoile…stella,” Finally Gale looked up to Atash again and smiled, “Chakano?”

He had committed himself to this task, and he'd see Kesali at least as far as Counselor Biladeau-Yukawa's quarters.  Anything beyond that would depend on how Atash decided he felt about leaving the two alone.  But the mage still found himself biting back a heavy sigh as he began to lead the way.  He would have much preferred to conduct this journey in silence, but Kesali did not seem particularly inclined to oblige.  It was unfortunate that Silencing one's colleagues would likely be frowned upon here.  That would have been a simple solution to the problem.

Kesali kept talking and talking as they walked, and he only half-listened, far more focused on finding his way through the darkness.  The glow from the spell made it easier to see what was immediately ahead, but Hogwarts Castle was not simple for strangers to navigate.  Atash frowned, keeping a careful eye on the walls and tapestries that they passed, checking in occasionally on his bracelet to make certain that no surprises were up ahead.

Had this man simply been searching for some poor fool so he could babble aloud at midnight?  The inanity was unending.  They reached a stretch of corridor that he recognized, and Atash quickened his pace slightly, his mouth pressed firmly shut.  He did not intend to pass judgement out loud on the likeliness of Kesali's alternate future where the wizard had gained employed at Durmstrang.

"Yes, I imagine that staying close to home all one's life is far preferable, " he replied politely, his expression a mask, still far more focused on the hallway than the other man.  If he remembered correctly, one of the grand staircases shouldn't be far up ahead.  "I will certainly have to remember that for the future."

The edge of the spelled light caught something in the darkness.  It was the stairwell.  Atash sighed and started for it, but Kesali hadn't finished speaking yet.  "Nebű,.. najmah…étoile…stella.  Chakano?”

His eyebrows lifted, but the mage otherwise refrained from letting his reaction show.  So the well-traveled Charms Professor spoke at least a few words of Arabic.  That was something to be cautious of in the future.  Atash knew he was often far too comfortable in assuming that he was the only one who was foreign.

"Not quite," he said evenly in English, eyeing the stairwell before them.  The light from his spell only reached so far; the steps stretched far beyond it, vanishing into the foreboding darkness.  Counselor Biladeau-Yukawa's quarters were near her office on the ground floor, and they were on the fifth level up.  It was going to be a long descent.

"Nebű is an Akkadian spell from Mesopotamia.  The root of the word means to shine."  Atash smiled faintly, as if he were amused by some silent, long-ago joke that couldn't be shared.  His dark eyes were still focused on the stairwell ahead as they descended.  "I would advise against using any castings based off of the root for star inside any building that you intend to leave standing.  Semitic spells are not known for their subtlety."

Gale was embarrassed, humiliated and ashamed. His nerves were shot, and the display of his constant shivering was proof enough of that. So of course he was going to speak. He would ramble about the color of the stone if it meant trying to ease the tension, or relate the topic onto something else. He wanted the distraction. He sit at Atash’s feet for hours if it meant he’d speak only of his star, and the spells of other nations. Gale loved to learn, and though the notion was a constant burden he was just now back to a point where he didn’t care.

Growing up on the go, schools were something of a fictional place. Classrooms were how you avoided the police, and enrolling into such places only an act of façade to keep the children out of the hands of the Courts. The Romani never lived any one place long enough to keep an address, so public assistance wasn’t a luxury they could afford either. His hands stayed dirty with his constant curiosity, and his lessons came from fugitives seeking sanctuary in one country or another. For now he let that little bit of information remain his, not wanting to be any more a fool in Atash’s eyes, but he had to bite back a question. Remember what for the future? Staying close to home? The way he made it sound was as if he had never known one either, and the idea made Gale take a seat at the top of the stairs as he watched Atash a moment go down.

---

’Maker, you are such a fuck up, Nightingale.’ The dark haired boy spat the words as he moved angrily through the halls. ‘You can’t even pass Charms class.’ Arthur wore his robe like a king, the green and gray emblem on the lapel his coat of arms, and his perfect scores his nobility. He walked with such deadly grace, and determination that Gale often struggled to keep up.  And often had to wade through Arthur’s admirers to even keep the pace. Students (and some Professors) fell to their knees to seek his acceptance, to be praised by the like of the Slytherian perfect, and Gale was much the same. However, where the rest were simply ants beneath the fine leather of his boots, Nightingale had what Arthur desired—connections.

‘I know. I just didn’t sleep well last night. I was up late working on decoding that missive you needed me to and-‘ He stopped quickly when the boy turned his venom filled eyes on the fool who followed him like lost puppy.

‘Don’t you blame this on me. It’s not my fault you are the only one I know who can read it. Don’t you think for a second if there were someone else I’d have asked them a year ago? If you need me to find someone else. I’m sure, Thomas wouldn’t care to trade you places?’ A silence settled between them, and Arthur watched the anger quell in the Hufflepuff’s eyes. Good. This was good.

‘No.’ Gale said with determination, and in an eerily stoic whisper, ‘I will do better.’

---

“Did they teach you this at your school Professor?” Gale ran a hand through his own hair a moment still seated at the top of the stairs. He wasn’t ready just yet to stand, and frankly the view was nice. Really nice. “I’m surprised sometimes I ever made it out of Hogwarts at all. But there was so much going on then. My education was interrupted many times.” Standing finally he moved to catch up with Atash, falling carefully in beside him. His hand stayed on the stone the entire way down, and he fought hard to keep his hold from going to Atash’s arm. It was simply so hard to see, and with his good eye failing more and more each year the darkness raised an entire new string of alarms.

“The Mesopotamia,” Gale recalled with a smile, “Birthplace of The Epic of Gilgamesh[1] has to be the oldest works of Muggle Literature I’ve ever read. It makes you wonder if he wasn’t just one of us you know? Two thirds god? One-third man? Seducing  a prostitute for seven days? Sounds about like a few people I know.” He smiled, nearly laughed until he looked up at Atash once more. The man seemed so serious, and annoyed all together. Gods…he really was a fuck up.

“Counselor Biladeau-Yukawa, will be expecting me.” He spoke much quieter than before, pulling his reserve back in, and erasing the feeling of familiarity from between them. Just because you ran into a man in the middle of the night, Nightingale, doesn’t make him your friend. “She is very gifted, and will probably be waiting at her door.”

1.	The Epic of Gilgamesh

“Did they teach you this at your school Professor?”

Atash raised and dropped his shoulders in an easy shrug.  There were plenty of places to learn things outside of a school, but none were locations that he would volunteer to this man.  Kesali, though, did not seem very interested in getting an answer; now he seemed to be talking simply to talk, to have the sound of something in accompaniment as they descended down the stairs.

If Kesali made a habit of this, no doubt that Miss Biladeau-Yukawa would be expecting him.  Even the quietest of footfalls sounded louder than usual on the solemn flagstones.  With any luck, they'd get to their destination quickly, and then Atash could wash his hands of this entire mess and return to Durmstrang's dormitories.  After, of course, making certain that the school counselor would be safe with Kesali -- however the two younger staff members chose to spend their spare time, he still had no intention of leaving them alone if there seemed to be any danger.

"Then I will be able to go quickly on my way," he said mildly, glancing toward Kesali.  They were passing by another floor now -- still at least one more to descend -- and the light from flickering candles in the perpendicular hallway added to his own glowing spell.  In the increased luminescence, the other man looked even more frail and unhealthy.  The light sent shadows dancing across his haggard face, glinted off the ring on his finger -- a strange, twisting lizardlike design -- and...

Atash stopped short, his eyes fixed on the other man's hand.  He stayed still, his face expressionless, and then his gaze slowly shifted to Kesali's face. 

"That is interesting jewelry," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.  His expression was a mask as he began to descend down the stairs once more, but this time with a sharper gait.  "Have you had it long, Professor?"

He hated the silence, and wanted to shake it from Atash—his impossible way of saying nothing yet still pointing out ever flaw he most certainly could see. The further they went from the moon the more the castle felt warm, and Gale realized that he must have broke out into a cold sweat as he shivered again. That hand glinting in the light, of the only jewelry he wore other than the tiny bells around his ankles. A ring, one recognized by this strange dark and handsome soul, and one seemed to catch his attention too easily.

So this is what I have to do to get you to speak to me? A lonely soul would go through desperate attempts to keep the company of another, but even he had his limits. No. There wouldn’t be an elaborate attempt to gain his affections by using the empire the figures of his past built. One that perhaps Atash had belonged to? Did he bare the mark?

A flash of silver burrowed deep in the center of his eye, the flicker of recognition enough to start a fire in his soul as a twisted little smirk pulled over his pale lips, but Gale tucked his hand back down to his side.

“It is isn’t it,” He stated plainly, running his thumb over the band. It had fit Arthur’s ring finger, but it was too big for his so he wore it on the middle.

Like the strings of a marionette he was pulled straight, a sobriety filling him that wasn’t there before, and even his twinkling steps silenced as his bare feet no longer stumbled over the stone.

’Have you had it long, Professor?’

“Longer than I care to admit, Professor.” He wouldn’t bother asking what the interest was in his ring, nor did he assume to know the answer. No, this was the sort of thing one did not just speak of, and truly he already made the mistake of even having it on. He wanted to laugh then, but refrained. Wondering if the man would need the proof of his true mark to believe that such a crazy little petite thing could have ever belonged to such an organization.

Reaching their destination Gale turned to face the man, with hatred in his eyes—both of them burning with it. They spoke of secrets he wanted kept, and threats that would be followed through if it ever got out.

“Here is my stop.” Thank the maker the moon was gone from Atash’s complexion, he was far too severe looking now for Gale to even think of the desire that filled his chest before. The warm amber glow of the lanterns did wonders for the other, but now when the past was pulled up over his eyes—Gale hardly noticed.

It was hard to look down on someone who was taller than you were, but he could feel the distaste on his own reflection. A trait Arthur had implanted in him, one that could make even the purest of blood feel like a dirty mixbreed.

“Have a good evening doing…whatever it is you do.”