Dreogan craned his head back, looking up at the towering trees of the forest. They hadn't looked so tall when he had been approaching -- he'd, in fact, laughed at the moniker "Forbidden Forest" when he'd first heard it, dramatically whispered in his teenage years.  And he might, in fact, have done so now: the cabin of the gamekeeper seemed comfortably nestled along its edge. One could even hear the birds twitter excitedly to one another.

He now wondered if the forest's size and sudden darkness was a trick of the eyes, some enchantment, or yet again, manifestation that Dreogan habitually projected outward his thoughts. Well, certainly it was true, Dreogan had not seen Tulojow in a good while; anyone might feel the same. Two years -- perhaps three. Dreogan was often traveling, as was Tulo, and they kept in touch from time to time. Enough to maintain a comfortable relationship. But Dreogan had been surprised to hear of the changes in her life. Particularly the injury. He felt he ought to have known about that, at least.

Whether attributable to his travels, hers, or . . . a misconception of the nature of their friendship, Dreogan was feeling distant from his father's dear friend, someone who had, in his absence, been free with sage advice. And now he needed it again. But first, he had to see how she was. Not that he'd let her know that. Like his father, she had her pride about her, sometimes like a robe of regality, sometimes like a veil. Projecting again, Dree. Dreogan cleared his throat as he looked around. Wondering what she might think of him. He wore suits these days. He worked at the Ministry; but of course she knew that. They had written about it.

It had thrown Dreogan into more of a turmoil than ever. Dreogan did not agree, in most ways, with formalised government. And to hear it confirmed -- and in writing -- . . . well, sometimes Dreogan had to remember that while he went to Tulo for honest advice, sometimes he didn't want the truth told to him.

He stepped up to the stone doorstep, looked about, feeling like a trespasser on Hogwart's grounds -- it would never feel like home like it did to most British wizards -- and knocked feeling, oddly, nervous about this. He'd written, of course, and she'd accepted the suggestion of a visit, but meeting her in a new place, in new grounds, on undefined terms. . . Dreogan never liked taking chances. "Tulo? It's Dree."

Sweat glistened along her hairline, a few beads of moisture broke free and trickled down her brow and over her cheek boned where it dried in a salty trail.  The day was quite warm but dry and the sweat evaporated almost as quickly as it formed.  A metal bucket issued resonating clanks in syncoped rhythm in time to her limp as she made her way across the grounds.  The interior of the bucket was still damp but empty, save a length of tubing coiled in the bottom of it.  Halfway up from the paddocks, her mind had become fixated on the prospects of a cool drink and, much like the proverbial carrot dangled in front of the horse's nose, it drew her along the trek. 

She knew she was running behind, but she felt assured Dree would forgive her.  Or, at least, could be convinced of it.  Though she'd been spontaneous and 'an unreliable live wire,' as the Ministry often graciously put it, it had been strangely easier to be punctual in her old live as an Auror.  She could just imagine her brother's rumbling laughter if she'd tried to complain about how seldom she arrived at things on time these days - if she managed to arrive at all.  "Animals don't keep schedules.  Nor do they honor them.  You should know that, even if your life as the fuzz has made you forget that." 

Rarely did she complain about the new path her life had taken.  She enjoyed the freedom she found in being left to herself to tend to the animals.  Far more so then at the Ministry, rarely did anyone butt in on her work or offer unwelcomed comments or criticism.  Though she rarely revealed it, she did miss her old life.  Perhaps, had it been her decision to retire to a more comfortable lifestyle she'd have welcomed it more.  But, it hadn't been her decision and, though the realization amused her when she was aware of it, her lack of control in the decision making was probably the biggest source of embitterment. 

While obviously even more matured and more refined then the last time she'd set eyes on him, the figure standing in front of her door was a readily recognizable.  A broad, welcoming smile blossomed on her face as she neared the cabin and, with one hand bracing the bucket on her hip and the other supporting herself on the handrail, she limped up the steps onto the porch.  Tulojow set the bucket down to allow both her hands the freedom to wrap around the young man in a warm, welcoming hug. 

"It is good to see you," she said sincerely, initially unaware of any hesitation the young man might have.  "I hope you haven't been waiting long.  It has been a little chaotic lately.  Not like it used to be of course," she said, taking a step back to examine the young man at arm's length.  "You look tired," she commented as she leaned over to pick up the bucket once more. 

"Would you like something to drink?  And would you prefer to sit inside or out here on the porch?" she asked.  She pushed open the door to the cabin and set the bucket down on the floor just on the inside of the door. 

And here she was, crossing the sloping expanse of the Hogwarts grounds. Despite the initial thrill of seeing a friend so long absent, Dreogan frowned as he watched the gait.

He'd thought her condition would have improved over time. But the limp was noticeable, and Dreogan found himself studying her movements more than her expressions and so, was a bit caught off-guard when the hug arrived. He returned it warmly albeit awkwardly.

"I haven't, er," Dreogan returned his gaze to Tulo, "No, I haven't been waiting long. Just got here, really. Which," he added pointedly, his face growing more animated in anticipation for a joke, "took long enough. I apologise for taking so long in coming here; it's long overdue, of course. But I wanted to see, ah," and here he looked around vaguely, "how you were doing. In your new place," he added, hoping he didn't sound like a man making an obligatory call on an invalid.

Tulo wouldn't want that, and while Dreogan was certainly concerned for her, unable to notice much beyond the limp, he didn't want things to change, either. He liked their friendship how it was.

As she moved past him to open the door, his smile grew bashful. Her own observations were apt and particularly maternal. "I always look like this," Dreogan insisted in both defense and condemnation as he gave a little smirk. "Though I'm not sure that makes things better. You know how it is at the Ministry," he added with a shrug. "I don't like sitting for long, but they don't always understand that, so I do what I can . . . Here," he reached out, offering to take the pail, only to see that she had already set it down. He withdrew his hand with a slight blush and, not having anything better to do with it, put it in his pocket.

There was the faint clacking of rune stones together from the pocket as he began to fidget. "I'd love something," he agreed, more for her sake than his; she looked tired as well -- worn out from the heat. Though Dreogan almost always to be in the open air, an unexpected perk of Hogwarts over the catacomb-like Beit Gaddol, he said, "Let's sit inside. I'd like to see the place."

For whatever reason, humans had evolved to find physical abnormalities far more glaring and obvious then emotional ones.  While her staggering and uneasy gait might have been an immediate draw to Dreogan's attention, it wasn't until he stumbled on his first words of greeting that Tulojow recognized any emotional unease on his part. 

"Come in, then, come in," Tulojow beckoned, as she led the way through the door.  Only for the few moments when her back was turned did she allow herself to wear her disappointment in her features.  She would have been a fool, of course, to have expected no reaction from the young man.  Had Tulojow been offering advice to someone about their reactions towards an entirely different person's sudden manifestation of a disability, she would have urged them not to worry.  A lack of a reaction was much worse then a reaction.  Being unsettled was, in the end, a sign of caring.

 But, it wasn't someone else.  It was her.  And, she'd never worn weakness well.  Watching someone grapple with the turn of events only illuminated that weakness. 

Her features were relaxed and easy, most of the traces of frustration gone from her face when she looked back at Dreagon.  Leading the way to the small kitchenette in the corner of the main room, she said, "no need to apologize.  I've only been settled here since the beginning of this year.  Before then,..."  To the average acquaintance, it would have been habitual to offer some comforting reply that insisted everything had been alright.  But, judging by Dreogan's careful selection of words, it was unlikely he'd buy such a insistence.  Nor did she feel comfortable lying to him. 

"- well, I wasn't in the best of moods.  It has been a bit of an adjustment.  But, I could have ended up in a far worse place.  I find blast-ended skrewts much more reasonable to work with then many I worked with in the Ministry.  So I can't complain much." 

"What would you like?  I've got some lemonade and iced tea and some cider."  Tulojow pulled a pair of glasses down from a shelf and set them on the counter.  She filled one of the glasses with a mixture of iced tea and lemonade before pouring Dreogan's chosen drink. 

"There's not much to see," Tulojow said, waving a hand around the main room of the cabin.  "I'm afraid the grand tour consists of standing in the center and turning in a circle."  There was a definite grassroots feel to the furnishings in the room, though no one culture could be identified.  African, Native American, Tibetan, Amazonian, Aboriginal decor all seemed to be integrated together. 

The coals had burnt down in the fireplace in the far corner.  In the corner opposite the fireplace, a bed could be seen under a pile of various sized harnesses, ropes, animal blankets and a small collection of laundry, giving it the air of there having been many disheveled searches since the last time it'd been used.  "Have a seat, make yourself comfortable."  She led the way over to a pair chairs and, and moved a large horse rug off the back of one of the chairs. 

At her glossed-over relation of events, Dreogan nodded; he'd heard enough second-hand to have the information he needed. If she didn't wish to share any details, if she didn't want any support in that, he wouldn't press.

Tulo had always been very strong. And when she wasn't, Dreogan suspected she always wished to appear very strong. And he'd not interfere with that. The woman was much wiser than he was; he'd trust her on that.

But Dreogan couldn't help the anxiety from rising up. Tulo had never seemed the one to follow limits -- traditional, rational limits. It was probably what had caused her injury.

But no, he'd trust her on that.

"Well, skrewts are fine and well -- more reasonable than some of my colleagues, certainly --  but the students," Dreogan smirked. "How are they treating you?" His eyes were mirthful; Dreogan had had his fair share of teaching mishaps in his first year alone. But Dreogan was not exactly sure if Tulo had even started teaching. Still, it was a move away from . . . talking about the cause of the visit. "I'm going to be taking on two interns this summer," he added idly.

"Lemonade sounds wonderful. Thank you, Tulo," he said appreciatively as he sat down and took the drink. He shifted in the seat as he took in the tour. "Well," he chuckled, "it looks like home. Very Tulojow-esque," he proclaimed decisively, eyes lingering on an artifact from Jordan he recognised as a gift from his father to Tulo. His smile warmed at the thought that Tulo had kept it with her all this time. She had not known of his visit in enough time for the sentiment to be affected.

Tulojow took a long, slow, indulgent sip on her tea, the icy refreshment of the drink seeming to melt away the dried sweat on her skin.  Were it the end of the day, a little splash of ... well, something with more bite would have made it all the better.  But, the day was far from over. 

As the cool liquid seemed to bring her inner body temperature down a few degees, Tulojow closed her eyes.  Perhaps she was being foolish, even rude, to give the topic of her injury such immediate dismissal.  In the absence of her own family, Tulojow had, indeed, taken in her share of honorary family members.  While she relished having that void filled, there were times, she'd be the first to admit, when weakness was evident on her  end that she faltered slightly with the role. 

Tulojow laughed at his comment, nodding her head.  "Well, that's the beauty of this position," Tulojow admitted, waving a finger around the interior of the cabin.  "So far, as gamekeeper, I've been able to stay in my little domain down here and only interact with the students that bother to come calling.  So far, I think, most of them think I'm strange and give me wide berth.  Usually, some sort of emergency with the animals gives me an excuse to stay down here rather than go up to the castle."

She smiled at the younger man, nodding her head.  Taking on interns was, definitely, an experience.  But, Tulojow knew, she'd much rather be dealing with students and interns than coworkers and, even worse, supervisors.  "Students and the younger set are, usually, much easier to work with then their older counterparts.  They love to contradict you and can be rather quick to react but generally haven't become as ... close minded as most of the adults around.  Even if they try to act as such." 

"So, what do you plan to do with your interns?"  Tulojow had, over the years, taken 'unofficial' interns, at times Dreogan being one of them.  It was a practice she'd, actually, quite enjoyed.  "And, who are they, if I might ask.  Do you know their names?"

Dreogan smiled broadly at her description of her position. "What you say sounds too idyllic to be true! Make your image too strange, Tulo, and they'll come poking their heads in, though," he added. Realising it sounded like advice, he coloured slightly and strategically took another sip of lemonade to keep his mouth full of drink and not words. Though he was rather curious to know if these "emergencies" were ever contrived, knowing Tulojow's habit for breaking free of colleagues for whatever cause.

At her advice on interns, Dreogan nodded. He'd thought as much. "Similar to research assistants, I'd imagine," he said with a reserved smile, unable to keep from thinking, for a moment, of Aldwyn Penn. "I'm looking forward to having the help -- don't worry. I'm not deluding myself into thinking they'll be truly helpful. I want them to learn about the field, help them make some decisions of their own. I'd imagine at this point in their lives, they aren't too sure what they want, exactly. And the internship can encompass anything in International Relations. I'll have to meet them before I fully decide what we will do, but . . ." he said, setting the lemonade down, "I don't think it will entail any travel. I don't want to -- it'd just be harder," he said, clearing his throat.

"I received five resumes," Dreogan said, not sure if this was impressive or worrisome, "but I've decided on Miles Faraday and Lola Ingberg," Dreogan said readily, having already made some inqueries with Greyfriar and received their resumes. "Apparently they are good friends at school. Ravenclaws, both, " he added, knowing how much a house was thought to speak for one's character at Hogwarts.  Between Tulo's short time at Hogwarts and her remove from the campus proper, Dreogan doubted she had had the chance to meet either of them.

"Most any job can appear idyllic if you conveniently leave out the harder grit," Tulojow pointed out, grinning at the younger man.  There was a time - and to an old crone like herself it didn't seem that long ago - 'young man' was a wholly befitting term for Dree.  He was still quite young, especially relatively relatively speaking but, despite his youth, he was without question an adult. 

"If I start to talk about the long nights spent sleeping in cold pastures or the days spent knee deep in Merlin only knows, it starts to loose its idyllic image.  And, I'm afraid, they've already come down to poke their noses around.  I'm afraid I got used to it enough at te Ministry I dont' even notice anymore.  It's just an excuse to make sure they don't leave disappointed." 

Tulojow arched an eyebrow as she smirked at Dreogan in a rather patiently maternal manner.  Formal interns and research assistants were hardly her style.  As he should very well know.  Throughout her travels, Tulojow frequently had some young tagalong - Dree had found himself in such a role on a number of occasions. Sidekicks, cohorts, assistants - they really served whatever role they chose to create for themselves.  Of course, as far as Tulojow knew, the Ministry was never aware of them. 

"Of course they'll be helpful," Tulojow chided kindly.  "Never underestimate the power of the youthful perspective.  I'm afraid, as much as we try to avoid it, close-mindedness is a foul side-effect of the aging process.  Surrounding yourself with loud, obnoxious and quarrelsome teenagers is really the best antidote."   She chuckled and took a sip of her iced lemonade and tea.  "In fact, just the other day a fashionable young woman came by and gave me some wonderful fashion advice.  Offered to set me up with a hairstylist, even!" 

Tulojow looked forward again and shook her head.  More than likely, a formal plan was part of what the Ministry expected for this internship but she'd always found such arrangements far too stiffling for a young mind.  "I'd do as little deciding ahead of time as you can get away with.  In so many cultures - apart from the sterile European one - consider independent and unplanned exploration as a part of the coming of age process.  They head out on their own, make their own mistakes and discover who they are that way.  Unfortunately, we can't really show them what they want - we can only provide them with the opportunity to do their personal explorations.  And keep society from falling as they do so." 

Tulojow nodded her head.  She'd heard both names around but she couldn't, immediately, connect them with an image.  She did know the Ravenclaws were the brainy ones, though.  "It should be exciting," she said, nodding her head.  "I'm sure you'll learn a lot."

Dreogan smiled quietly at her assertion; too true, he decided. Dreogan often had to remind himself of the 'harder grit,' as she had termed it, to keep himself satisfied in his current job. He had left more difficult positions. By comparison, his job at the Ministry was a cakewalk.

Something to tell yourself when sitting behind a desk.

He shrugged under her arch expression. "I suppose, when you put it that way, they will be helpful, but not how the Ministry had meant. I don't think it will cut down on my workload any, having them there. They're neither paperweights nor paper pushers. All that forms work -- I'd not push that on anyone. I'll keep it to myself. I just . . ." he grew sheepish, "might not do it . . . right away." This last bit was, of course, a lie. Dreogan had never been one to procrastinate anything, particularly an assignment. However, in front of Tulo, who had always seemed so free, it just felt the right thing to say.

Dreogan had always come to her in a phase in his life where their work was similar: flexible, unpredictable, and sometimes dangerous. Now that he was a Ministry diplomat, Dreogan felt those elements vanish. It just couldn't help but feel a little petty, this job of his.  He sat behind desks and met with officials in controlled conditions while others -- Aurors, Defense Forces, Hitwizards -- risked their lives to better the world. They gave all they had every day. Dreogan gave neat piles of paper -- reports and correspondences -- to his supervisor.

But one had to appreciate the security. That was, after all, what had prompted the shift to Ministry work. One had to remember the 'harder grit. . .'

Shaking himself from his stupor, chuckled at the mention of a fashionista. He took a sip of his lemonade and shook his head. "I like your hair," he responded instinctively with a defensive tone.

Returning to the subject, he agreed. "I've not decided on anything yet for the internship. I didn't usually have rigid lesson plans when I taught; I don't imagine this will be too different. I have ideas. We'll see if I need any of them." Swirling the glass and watching the contents slosh inside, he grew silent and thoughtful.

"You're right in one thing: we can't show them what they want; they need to explore, but Tulo," he looked up abruptly and put the glass down on the table, "we have to keep them safe. It is our responsibility."

His thoughts ran to Aldwynn, his murdered assistant, who now seemed to blur and blend with the images of Sean Wald from the day's paper.

The cold drink had done wonders to push back the heat and, aside from the lingering droplets of sweat, Tulojow was able to lean back in the chair without the heat radiating in her back building up against the fabric of the chair.  With that immediate need fulfilled, she set her drink down on the table next to her and drew out her carved, wooden pipe.  The pipe, much like the leather patch that held the careful mixture of dried leaves had traveled with her for quite some time. 

Throughout her travels, despite the number of strangers she shared her adventures with, those items and the scent of the herbal mixture, were among the few things that had changed.  With a few deep breaths, the aching began to ease from her knee and she was able to recline in greater comfort.

"I gave up trying to guess what the Ministry means," Tulojow said with a coy grin.  "Almost as difficult as the Americans, I swear.  Who is more conceited, couldn't tell you.  It's a shame the Minister of Magic doesn't take on an intern - I think he'd benefit from it, greatly."  Were Tulojow in a place of influence (a concept, like any sense of authority, she didn't like - even if it was herself), that would be among the things she change and require of those in power.  No one was too old or too powerful to learn from those at lower levels then them. 

She shook her head.  "No, they probably won't cut down on your workload.  Though, an unexpected breeze accidentally blowing them into the fire might help." 

Tulojow laughed, loudly, nodding her head.  "You would," she said, grinning broadly.  It was, really, no surprise that Dree would stand up in defense of her hair.  Of course, she found the whole situation quite amusing in itself.  "But, apparently, it's rather old fashioned.  If I were to get a nice trim and find a pair of heels to match, it'd change my whole outlook."  Of course, the heels were a rather long shot.  Not only was she wholly ill-trained for such footwear (clunky boots or slim sandals were much more her fashion) but Tulojow's knees had enough trouble in normal footwear. 

Looking over at Dreogan, Tulojow shook her head slowly.  Parenting was, of course, hardly a topic she held an real ownership to the expertise.  Those looking for ways to criticize her would probably point out that she'd failed miserably at such endeavors.  Obviously.  But, perhaps, it was simply easier to school other people in parenting. 

"When they are infants or toddlers, it's our responsibility to keep them safe.  When they are small kids, we teach them how to keep themselves safe.  But, once they get to the age of your interns, it's our responsibility to let them learn to keep themselves safe.  If we always do it for them, they have no way of learning to do it for themselves.  And, we can't always keep them safe, all the time.  Even the most diligent of us."  It had been a hard, hard learned lesson - and a secret kept very close.

Dreogan nodded attentively to her talk of Ministry and America. In his experience, he had had little difficulty figuring out what any American had meant -- particularly the woman he dated there, who had been very . . . assertive. He knew, from what he had gathered in his own time in America living with Tulo on the reservation for a brief (very brief) time and in California desert, that America had not treated the Native Americans kindly. He could easily understand the underlying sentiment but found little himself to say on the matter.

"Blow them into the. . ." Dreogan's eyes widened and he pressed his lips together in thought. After a moment, he burst into a grin. "The papers. I see. I had thought you meant the students."

Surprise didn't end there, however. At the mention of heels, Dreogan could only manage a gasp of "God!" in revulsion. Not that he minded a woman in heels; they could look quite nice sometimes, really, but he couldn't imagine a thing more impractical or ill-fitting on Tulo. Or most women with sense.

"In principle, your 'teach a man to fish' theory works. But I can't fully agree with you on that, Tulo," Dreogan said fervently leaning in slightly and resting his elbows upon his knees as he spoke. "Surely you must teach people to acquire the necessary skills, but the bottom line is that it is my responsibility to keep them safe as[/] I teach them. It . . ." he coloured slightly. "Well it was more literally my job once upon a time. Now, it's my duty, at least, to do what I can to keep others safe when I am able. Aldwynn Penn was my research assistant; he was my responsibility, for instance. Or. . ." Dreogan knew that the extent of his conviction on this matter jumbled his words.

"A better example. Yesterday I was walking through Camden Market. There was a man who was harassing -- following -- a young woman. When I stepped in to intervene, the woman was able to leave safely. I also left Camden Market, thinking the worst of it over. Perhaps you read the Muggle news? This morning, I learned that on the very spot I left the man, a boy -- just fifteen -- was found, murdered. His name was Sean Wald. He didn't know about the man I had met; he couldn't have. I alone knew that. It was my responsibility, with that knowledge, to do what I could to keep others safe. Others who could not keep themselves safe because they did not know." He shifted in his seat, fidgeting with his glass as he spoke, feeling the condensation on the sides cooling the heat of his palm.

 "You see, it's not a matter of age. It's a matter of knowledge and ability. I was able to do something to help. . . I suppose, by your model, I ought to have told everyone in the market about the man, giving them the knowledge they needed to be on their guard, but sometimes that is simply not feasible. Sometimes . . . sometimes the ability only lies in one or more people; I think it's their responsibility, in those cases to use their knowledge."

The tightness in his throat and his own thoughts preoccupied his mind; Tulo's quiet delivery of her closing statements was lost on Dreogan. Not because he didn't care. Simply because he could not accept it. He knew the reality of failure but had to believe in the possibility of perfection.

Tulojow lifted her eyebrows, trying to consider whether Dreogan would really think she'd recommend such a thing.  "No.  Hopefully, your interns are heavier then that.  If you find your interns at risk of getting blown anywhere, perhaps offer them something to eat."

She laughed, shaking her head.  Her - in heels.  She couldn't remember the last time she wore such things.  If she ever had.  Probably sometime in her youth.  But, not in recent memories. 

Tulojow grew quiet, leaning forward and staring off in to space as she put her full attention into Dreogan's explanation.  It wasn't an easy issue - there were so many issues involved.  Talking in theoretics was one thing; applying it to actual occurrences was a wholly different one.  And, for anyone who had a tendency to empathize with others - even complete strangers - it was inevitable that this would be a touchy, personal issue. 

It was noble, the stance he was taking.  And, perhaps, in his given job - his situation it was possible to achieve.  But, if she'd believed that to be the case for her, guilt and regret would have overcome her years ago. 

"Yes, we hold some responsibility to help each other - we are more likely to keep safe as a community.  We look out for each other and, yes, you won't turn your back on them completely.  But, it isn't up to you - you can't ... none of us can guarantee safety to anyone.  Not yet, at least.  Maybe one day we will be able to.  That's what we are working for - but the world isn't perfect, yet." 

Tulojow took a deep breath - she rarely dwelt on her own past but she didn't feel a need to hide it.  It just usually didn't come up in casual conversation.  "I've tried to protect my colleagues and friends for a long time.  Much of the time I'm successful.  But, I can't control everything.  Am I responsible when I wasn't successful?  If so, I've got ... well, I couldn't begin to tell you how many deaths on my shoulders."

Tulojow shook her head; she hadn't read the muggle papers.  Admittedly, it was easy to grow lazy since getting to Hogwarts.  Perhaps retirement was suiting her better than she thought.  Especially now that she found something to do.  "Sean Wald.  And you think this fellow killed him?" She asked.  "Do you know anything about this man that you think did it?"

"You already said you thought the threat was past.  How could you have known?  It's not your fault.  Don't let the real killer off the hook that easily; the fault is all his own."

Dreogan knew exactly how many deaths for him: Four. If he extended it to Sean Wald -- a move he would not likely make -- he would be up to five. Serving on the of defence for an entire community was difficult task and one that Dreogan had worn as a heavy mantle of responsibility. It had not always been easy, and he had lost two colleagues and one kibbutz member. . . When his role was to keep others' safe, to set up defensive precautions that would protect them from harm -- crossfire or otherwise -- it was hard, or rather impossible for Dreogan, to escape the blame for that. But others, yes, were more difficult. Dreogan had just begun to forgive himself for his father's disappearance. He would not -- he would try not -- he must not fall into the same pattern of guilt with the young Muggle boy.

"No, you're right. Again, I think accountability and ability rest in knowledge. It is because of that that I do not excuse the killer. I did not know he would retaliate, so that is not fully my responsibility, either. But what I did know was that the man was dangerous." He shook his head. "I ought to have let others know that, somehow."


Sean Wald.  And you think this fellow killed him?" She asked.  "Do you know anything about this man that you think did it?"

Tulo directed the conversation from their discussion of ethics to, as might be expected of an Auror, investigation. "Yeah, I do," he said, rubbing his face. "The way the man walked, looked, and talked -- believe me when I say that this man is a practised homicide. The way he talked was so casual." He sighed as he thought through the facts. "I know he's a Mage. He was, I think, targeting Muggles. He seemed surprised when I came across him; I gave the girl he was trailing a rune for protection--Ihwaz. He recognised it, I believe." He thought about the disturbing offer to 'share' afterward that encounter. For a moment, there had been an implied brotherhood through their wizarding status; until Dreogan had not complied.

"Yeah, he was definitely targeting Muggles. Tall, long dirty-coloured hair, peculiar beard and facial hair, long leather robes, white rabbit's foot . . ." Dreogan broke off here. "Probably about my age. I was wondering if you knew of anyone matching the description. Today, I'm going to the Ministry of Magic and Muggle metropolitan police to tell them what I know. But I wanted to be sure, beyond my intuitions, before I go to Muggleworthy Excuses or the Tamis Raynor."

Tulojow looked pensively down at her hands, watching the slight glow of the slowly burning material in the pipe.  She didn't know - and purposefully avoided trying to figure out - how many deaths were behind her or what, really, was to blame.  Poor timing.  Wrong place, wrong time.  There were a few as a result of being somewhere she wasn't supposed to be - but, she still firmly believed that she'd saved more people by defying her post orders. 

But, there were three very personal deaths.  She spent many years trying to find the reasons why she was to blame.  She was, certainly, responsible - perhaps, in some ways she had the knowledge Dreogan spoke of.  Perhaps, she even had the means.  She'd wracked herself with the feeling of responsibility for years.  But, finally, she'd had to learn to accept sometimes even that just wasn't enough. 

It was as much a spiritual question as it was an ethical one. 

"Knowledge can help.  It can give you some tools to help.  But, sometimes, even all the knowledge - all the preparation - even all the ability in the world isn't enough.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, fate or the Gods or whatever you believe, is stronger than we'll ever be." 

She looked at Dreogan for a moment.  Under most circumstances, Tulojow found few reasons to dredge up the past.  But, there were times, like this, that delving into the mysteries of history could prove to help.  "My father joined the United States Air Force in 1939.  Flew a P-38D Lightning fighter.  He was among a group of planes that was protecting a cargo vessel heading from Greenland to Britain.  They knew there were U-boats in the area and it was their duty to defend the cargo.  But, they lost the boat.  And they lost the plane.  He had the knowledge - was he accountable?  For those on the ship?  For his crewmates?  For his own fate?  Sometimes, it just isn't enough."

She listened closely to the description of the man.  Slowly, she shook her head.  "The boy was fifteen, you said?  Poor boy."  She took a sip of her drink before, again, shaking her head slowly. 

"That description doesn't sound familiar," she admitted after a few moment's thought.  "But, then, I didn't do much with our domestic criminals.  It definitely should be brought to the attention of the Ministry, though.  And, go by the police department."  It was proving hard to remember that this was something Dreogan had stumbled across - not an assignment.  Not official auror business that she was involved in.  "Even if you don't find anything, Aurors will be the first to understand intuitions.  We survive on them."

"Knowledge can help.  It can give you some tools to help.  But, sometimes, even all the knowledge - all the preparation - even all the ability in the world isn't enough.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, fate or the Gods or whatever you believe, is stronger than we'll ever be." 

Dreogan listened to her words, feeling a sick twist in his stomach. "I believe," he input with a quiet partially attributable to temerity in voicing a conviction so pivotal to his ideology, partially to thoughtfulness, "that we are stronger with God. I don't think it's He, or fate, that we are working against."

At her recounting of her father, Dreogan grew quieter still, running his finger along the bottom of his glass, feeling the condensation there. "I'm sorry," he said simply because sometimes that was all that could be said. Because one couldn't say to a daughter that perhaps her father had been accountable. Sometimes silence was better. But sometimes -- Dreogan obstinately decided -- keeping silent to avoid accountability was a sin of omission.

He gave a slight smile at her advice, feeling more ill at ease than when he had arrived -- a rare occurrence when it came to Tulo. Still, Dreogan reasoned, perhaps he was not in a mood to be optimistic. "Well," he said, "you're surely right; I'll be needing to meet with Tamis Raynor today, then the Muggles." He sighed lightly and rose to his feet. 

"I'm sorry to just . . . drop by like this. I'd hoped to stay longer, of course." The words felt lame and awkward as he heard them in his own ears and he shook his head. "I'll stop by some other time? If that works?" he asked.