It was early Wednesday morning and the middle of spring break, the occasional staying student trickling in for their breakfast while above them the ceiling hung heavy and flat, moist gray, sullen, refusing to rain. Landis had been back in the castle for a whole of two hours, and his hands as he spread jam on a scone were carefully, deliberately steady.

He had used most of these past two hours ensuring that he did not look like a man who'd spent the majority of his weekend and the beginning of the week locked away in a crime lord's house. Certainly he was pale, and the omnipresent bags under his eyes were stark bruises now in the hollow of his face. But his robes were impeccably kept, his hair straight and shining, and any play of nerves as he slowly ate his breakfast was very well concealed. Such ministrations should not have taken him two hours, but he was trying not to think.

He had not said anything yet to Analiza. He did not know if she knew of his absence, as the library was typically closed during spring break, but he'd need to come up with a satisfactory excuse. Same for Juliette - she, unlike the Headmistress, was more accustomed to seeing him on a daily basis, and probably wondered where he'd been. Saturday night - Sunday morning actually, he supposed - it was quite clear that he was meant to join her at the castle as soon as he'd deemed Dazmond sufficiently well again. He'd meant to join her at the castle. Each day he'd stayed gone would only have compounded the insult. And although he'd mentally run through a dozen excuses, none of them seemed likely to satisfy her. Landis had a most unusual sensation curdling his stomach at the thought, though he blamed most of this hollow sickness to the after-effects of little sleep, little food, and bargaining with the infuriatingly efficient and possibly quite insane Kronos Malvivicus. He had been an exceptionally polite host, for a crime lord, and food and a bed had been provided.  But Landis had not had much appetite for food nor the ability to sleep under Malvivicus' roof, and he'd been too busy combing Kronos' speech for hints about Dazmond's well-being.

It worried him that he did not know what had been done to her. Towards him Kronos was... polite, relatively, for someone who was attempting to first threaten, then blackmail, and then bribe him into a job.  He had been remarkably patient and humane about obtaining his information. But there were formalities to be followed in such situations, and one of which was that Landis saw Dazmond only seldom, sometimes at dinner, the occasional glimpse, and he had no chance to talk to her freely and unobserved from the moment they were kidnapped until they were returned to Hogsmeade. Oh, yes, and also there had been threats to his family, his reputation, blah blah blah, par for the course, but mostly he had been concerned about her. This was not to say he had spent his time staring grimly out the window or straining against his locked door like some idiotic hero in a witches' romantic novel, nor did this imply anything at all squishy or soft about his feelings. He had behaved himself admirably and without taking a suicidal leap for Kronos' throat every time the man opened his bizarrely pampered mouth. All urges to demand to be assured of her well-being were ruthlessly and intelligently crushed. Whether his restraint had earned any leniency, whether it had afforded either of them any protection against future blackmail, he was unsure. It was difficult to judge his hand when he knew that Dazmond had been the primary target and he, despite Kronos' best efforts to dig out his true alliance, remained known only as the Hogwart's librarian who'd been mean to Kronos' pet Schlagenweit.

His cover had finally come in handy - airtight, Kronos-proof - and Landis would have been more smug about his cautious traits over the years holding up against such suspicion if not for the look on Dazmond's face when they were finally released. Slumped shoulders and quick flinches, and all he could glean from her was that she was exhausted, past breaking point. He stepped carefully around her and his frustration at himself, and could do no more than brush light fingers against her arm because Kronos' men were watching.

"Owl me," he bent to tell her quietly, fingers momentarily tightening on her sleeve, and Landis thought maybe she meant to disappear again. She didn't - she didn't dare -

He was a bit of a wreck this morning. For Landis standards. So he sat silently and ate, tasting ash instead of food, and made lists in his mind of what he needed to do next. Malvivicus couldn't be allowed to take such liberties. But at least this had happened now, over a convenient little break, so that when he was returned it was to a skeleton staff and few children to note his pallor.

Juliette shoved the April issue of Potioneers Review back into its prim stack on her white, alcoved shelves, and pointed her wand at the curtains, which promptly closed. She spent all of two seconds staring out at the ugly morning before it vanished from her view; she'd tried everything to occupy her time-- grading papers, perusing professional journals, staring at the clouds and imagining each one to be a particularly sharp featured blond librarian who had a lot of explaining to do before his face evaporated with the morning dew.

But such a man was nowhere to be found, and Juliette found it to be a tedious exercise, to take it out on nature. Preparing arguments was for a lecture hall, not a man. It wasn't nature's fault Landis had decided to relive some schoolboy romance and ditch her after what had otherwise been a perfectly wonderful evening... and perhaps even an unspoken next step, from bedfellows to occasional-dates-in-semi-public-albeit-vaguely-dodgy-places-with-people-they-both-knew.

It was, however, nature's delight to make a mockery of her resentful mood, which was as cloudy and gray on the outside was it was brimming with dangerous flames and the pressure of bottled heat on the inside.

It wasn't simply anger that colored her; she was worried, nearly sick with it now that Wednesday had dawned. He was too professional to abandon his library without word to the staff, and too careful to forget mentioning it to Juliette, to mix up his dates so splendidly and leave her alone without knowing it. It had begged the question: had he done it on purpose, as she liked to assume-- for it was an easier assumption, even if not a particularly nice one-- or had he had no choice?

She caught a dark reflection of her milky appearance in the oval looking glass before extinguishing the last candle on her chambers and sweeping away to breakfast; if the weather was not a judge of the morning's temperamental tidings, Juliette's pout surely was. There was venom on her lips and in her eyes.

She cooled her expression before emerging in the Entrance Hall, and offered barely a nod to her colleagues, completely ignoring any hopeful faces under the age of eighteen. Something about eighteen year old boys and their faces made her want to hex the knights standing at attention in every other corridor, bring their hallow chivalry to their knees. Juliette was also sour with herself for being so... sour in the first place. Had she really expected Landis to keep his word and keep his hands to himself where other women were concerned-- or to join her in bed after a rather normal and socially adjusted evening-- when he was exactly the same man he'd been a week ago? Hadn't she expected this, at least part of her? Feared it, even. Why had she gone to Darian, if not? And how could she become increasingly wrapped up in Landis Morgan when he remained so infuriatingly indifferent?

But it wasn't so; he wasn't without emotion. They simply weren't for her, his pesky little feelings. She gracefully bit back a flush with ease enough... until her eyes landed on the man who apparently hadn't bothered to let her know he was back and in the mood for scones.

Juliette knit her light brows and the red colored her face despite any attempts to keep it away. Her shoulders straightened, her feet became heavier as they hit the stone floor and retracted, and she zeroed in on him as she made her way to the high table. She said nothing until she was standing behind him, hand clutching her wand out of habit at her side. "Landis," she spoke curtly, her voice small and cool to turn something to ice if it weren't also on the verge of melting a man into lava. She leaned closer, whispering above his ear, eyes staring straight out at the hall, absorbing the number of students in their presence as if for the first time. If Landis himself had looked out of sorts... more tired, more on edge than usual, she did not notice. From a distance, he had seemed maddeningly collected, and now she daren't look at him lest she hex him prematurely, like a child. "Back from your honeymoon so soon? We didn't expect you for another week, at least... and with the weather so lovely, and your pretty little bride in such a fragile state. But perhaps the Welsh are not as passionate as the French. You take leisure for granted." And leisurely activities with female colleagues, too.  She hid her worry with anger, veiling it as he might his bright. He had been gone for three days, and not to exchange nuptials, she knew.

Without really knowing it, her wand hand seemed to slip further and further behind the back of his chair, the tip pressed into the wood.

Juliette came in, and there was no point in pretending like he hadn't been waiting for this. He saw her immediately, of course he did. She'd just entered the damn room and he could tell, when he met her gaze across the hall, that she was furious. Just the glimpse of her glittering eyes was accompanied by the distinct and terrible death spasms of Landis' hope to have this settled quietly. His stomach sank.

It was... not entirely unexpected. He'd thought she might be angry, but had not considered it much beyond the fact that she must have been waiting for him Saturday night and that he had, for lack of a better term, stood her up. Even if he hadn't meant to, that was certainly what she would think. So he braced himself as she made her way down the table and leaned in, her lips settling delicately somewhere behind his ear so that she could better school him properly. He gazed somewhere out over the empty tables, as she did, and his expression didn't change.

He wasn't surprised at her accusation, nor at her venom. When the best, least-easily-validated excuse he'd come up with still involved spending the night with Dazmond after she had a poison-relapse, Landis had known he sounded... shifty. He had considered quoting a family emergency, but she could check that - had considered begging off for some contagious disease, except nothing serious enough would both keep him from the hospital and allow him to be back at school on Wednesday morning. He could say he'd been mugged, except he still had his money purse in his quarters and that was almost as embarrassing as admitting to being kidnapped. And besides, mugged for three days? No, he had used Dazmond as a cover before, and he would again now, because it was the safest and least questionable option.

Least questionable to anyone who wasn't Juliette, that was. Then his only intact excuse became extremely incriminating.

"Juliette," he said, his voice low but even. "I - " He faltered. This was tricky. "Let's talk about this outside."

He was half-turned towards her, eyes not meeting hers. He did not see her hand clutching its wand, but he knew the fire and spit of her temper even if he did not know its depth. Yet.

What Juliette had not anticipated was that Landis Morgan might prove less than bold. She'd known he'd keep his face as stony and seamless as ever, that he'd choose a calm voice where hers might be edged with a hiss. She had even supposed-- for as much predetermining as a woman on such a brash mission could hope to do-- he might try to talk her out of arguing with him, but she expected him to look at her while he did it. It only made her angrier that he seemed incapable.

"No," she said, mocking his coolness. "Let's talk here. This is nothing we can't discuss in front of our colleagues, surely. I mean, you must have known as much when you decided to run off and fulfill whatever pathetic fantasy you've had trapped in your head all these years. I'm sure they'd love to congratulate you on sleeping with another man's wife, too. If only we could get the elves to send up a few cocktails before the morning classes begin..."

Even as she spoke the words, Juliette backed up a little, giving him room to stand if he wished. If he decided to walk away, she would follow... and so would her wand. "What I don't understand is why you didn't go after Myrni or the new Herbology professor if you're so enamored with brunettes. At least Dolly St. James fit the bill... in some twisted way that only you could think up, to be sure. Do you two roleplay it on rainy days? Close your eyes and call her D--"

Juliette felt someone brush behind her, and quieted for a moment while a coworker passed to get to his seat. The eyes the man gave her were enough to let her know that she was treading a dangerous and attention-drawing line. But Juliette didn't care.

She turned back to Landis, eyes expectant, lips pursed. Didn't he know he'd humiliated her? He couldn't be calm, not now. He wasn't allowed! He couldn't use her, ditch her when the real thing made itself available, and just request she politely step into the hall like a little lady. Like a little dolly.

"I waited for you," she said, her voice a toxin and a wound. Her eyes wouldn't leave his face now, even if his own refused to meet hers.

Irritation flashed in his eyes, so very briefly; now he turned his head enough to meet her gaze. "There is plenty we can't discuss in front of our colleagues," he reminded her, but she went on in some maddening tirade that made his eyes narrow a dangerous degree. Irritation was quickly turning to something more; he would regret it later if he lost his temper, but slurs against Dazmond he could not stand.

"What I don't understand is why you didn't go after Myrni or the new Herbology professor if you're so enamored with brunettes. At least Dolly St. James fit the bill... in some twisted way that only you could think up, to be sure. Do you two roleplay it on rainy days? Close your eyes and call her D--"

Anger blanched him dead white, all of the blood draining suddenly from his face; Landis stood so quickly his chair nearly overturned. Damn the rest of the staff - the, the witnesses - he was, for one white-hot moment, completely beyond caring. Although she'd moved she hadn't moved far enough, and upon standing they were nearly close enough to kiss. Close enough to kiss, or close enough to hurt, and his face ached from holding back a snarl. Ohhh, this anger was addictive. He did not want to hurt Juliette but he did want so badly to give in, and that would mean doing something that ensured she could never speak again.

"Watch your tongue," he said lowly, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and forced his clenching fingers away from his own wand. There was more to say, more words which leapt to his ready temper and pressed impatiently against his tested, tired nerves - he was choked with the desire to spit out all of them at once. But he couldn't lose it here - he couldn't lose it at all - he was a librarian, and he did not know any Dark or dangerous curses and he certainly would not cause a scene in the Great Hall with his lover about a relationship that'd ended 9 years ago which she'd confused for something more. No. He wouldn't. He shouldn't. But she already had.

Later, he would make a firecall on Dolly and he would make her explain herself, for he could see it now what a stupid mistake it had been to think she'd keep her word. She and Juliette were friends, as he hadn't known but had seen for himself Saturday night at the pub. Dolly must have had told her. What a sharp and unexpected betrayal, to have the mistakes of his youth thrown into his face again.

"Juliette - " her name was a hiss, unloved, uncaring - "I understand that jealousy can be a very ugly thing, but perhaps before you hurl your accusations of infidelity you ought to make certain to inform yourself of the circumstances. Perhaps - the novelty - you might even ask the truth." Not that he would tell it. That wasn't the point. "How dare you. How dare you! In your swift and childish anger you forget your place."

A pause, as he controlled himself and she shot another imploring, accusatory barb. It did not have the same venom and was obviously meant to drive him to guilt, but Landis did not feel so much as a twinge. In fact, he almost felt relieved, and coldly, wonderfully vindicated. He knew he shouldn't tell her what really happened, and now she had decided for him. Perfect. A relief. Yes, entirely.

"And I came back. To a wonderful welcome. Now I will exit to the hall and I ask you to join me, because while you may be pleased to insult me in front of our coworkers I have very little desire to play along."

It were as if Juliette weren’t listening, but she was. She was hanging on to every word, waiting for the excuses to bubble up and burn her pretty skin; they certainly weren’t going to absolve him. Why not make his shame known in front of the staff? When Juliette had agreed to keep things casual, she hadn’t thought it would be to her own detriment. She hadn’t planned to get so attached, it was true, and that bit was hardly Landis’ fault, as brilliant a notion as it was to blame him for everything, but she had not signed her name in Everlasting Ink to some contract that permitted him to debase her and rob her of respect in one swift go amidst his weekend binge.

Now there was something new: he not only met her expectations and finally decided to meet her eye, but Landis seemed to... transform. Juliette’s wrist went shaky for one moment, and she nearly lost her grip on her wand in silently assuring herself she hadn’t hexed him... or he hadn’t Confunded her. He looked angrier than she’d ever seen him. More... anything than she’d ever seen him, even in the throes of lust, without his clothes. He was revealing something that wasn’t meant to be revealed, and it was great and terrible and more than a little frightening.

Juliette swallowed hard and did not let her eyes peel away as they wished. If this staring game ended in a puddle of human, she was determined not to be the sticky substance soaking everyone’s shoes before the first bell.

"Watch your tongue."

“You must think quite invincibly of yours to assume you can demand of me what you like,” she whispered back loudly, regaining her fire and doubling its heat. “I am not yours or anyone’s to command, and don’t ever assume otherwise.” But it was the problem there, the golden hitch: she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t hers. And try as she might, she could not knock him down with her will alone. Her wand was raised at hip-height now, her palm turning damp even as it seemed to weld to the wood.

It was Juliette’s turn to pale. He accused her of being jealous as plainly as she’d accused him of sleeping around, of using her for his plaything, and she lost her color like a sorry painting in the rain. Closer than they should have been in front of the swarm of children and adults waiting with bated breath, she wanted nothing more than to bite him. Unfortunately it would only serve his sorry, chauvinistic interests and Juliette--

“My place? My place?” Her voice raised an octave, and the color crashed in a wave over her cheeks. She wanted to laugh and to sob and to shout. She wanted to bring the walls down, and the stupid Enchanted Ceiling too. So romantic, so vile. This silly country, with its rain and its dismal men. “Tell me my place, Landis Morgan,” she said, a sick smile taking up residence on her lips. “Is it in the dungeons, basking in the job you want?”

The truth. If he’d wanted to give it to her, he would have found her before she found him. She waited for him to take the first step. The second. She waited until he was halfway through the hall before her dignity would let her follow. She was not staging a play. But she wanted very badly to attend an execution. She would settle for a castration.

She swept past students and after Landis like a red swan. She would deal with the whisperers and daydreamers later. When they were out of the Great Hall, out of the Entrance Hall, and cross the threshold of an empty classroom which no one would think to mistake for a dueling arena, Juliette barred the door and eyed him like a rabid cat.

"I don't expect you to care." She did. Her voice was still dangerous, shaky now. "I do, however, expect you to respect me." Enough not to take her to his best friend's birthday party as a seeming date and let her leave alone while he soiree’d with the V.I.P. for half a week. “If you have the audacity to humiliate me while I wait in your bed, and show up at breakfast two days later as if it was the damnedest little dream you had and forgot, you aren't going to enjoy your food very much. Oh, I'm sorry. Your tea.”

She pointed her wand at his chest. “I’m not the child, Landis. If you wanted me to hold my tongue, you should have been a man and told me to stop wasting my time. It’s not difficult. Juliette, move on, I’m no longer interested,” She said mockingly. She looked him up and down, and frowned. There had been few men in her life who were not interested. But she'd always chosen them older, more settled into life, and apparently more aware of a woman's wrath. His lack of compassion-- and a vested interest-- was turning her maniacal. “Evidently, you have a pair that work just fine. I trusted you knew how to use them. As it were, that’s a lot to ask for from someone like you. But do tell me this great truth I've apparently overlooked."

She was mortified, but also afraid. The two feelings had coiled about each other like snakes, and now they were at choking point. "Three days and no word, did you want me to think you'd died? You did a very thorough job of it." She couldn't help it; the relief and anger and sadness were evident.

“You must think quite invincibly of yours to assume you can demand of me what you like. I am not yours or anyone’s to command, and don’t ever assume otherwise.”

"I might ask you to return the favor," he replied smoothly, anger still lending its heat to his voice. Her sudden shriek of outrage made certain that every head in the Great Hall was turned towards them, but Landis did not care so much as the sound made him deeply, viciously satisfied. "Oh, as if the bloody job matters!" he snarled in reply, the jibe accompanied with the dismissive flick of his hand. The fact that she followed when he strode out was an unappreciated blessing.

She even waited until they entered an empty classroom to round on him again. He could not quite appreciate the gesture, as he had hoped to get farther away still. He spelled the door shut and locked while she spoke, and then spelled it soundproof without an instant of further thought. He would not have the scant students left pressed five ears to the door to spread their secrets further.

Despite his pride, his automatic response of insults and scorn, he did make an effort to appease her. "Juliette, I do respect you. I had every intention of returning to the castle Saturday evening and I would not and have never slept with my married friend! Dazmond and I dated when I was the same age as one of these sixth-year brats; any romantic feelings for her died while I was in school. Dolly and I haven't - " Gritted teeth, he didn't like this - "made such concessions since I was twenty-one. Dazmond is married; both of us are uninterested. I cannot stand Dolly. These romantic entanglements haven't been an issue for years, and the only woman I am interested in is you."

His temper flared again at the look in her eyes; he squashed it, tried to calm himself down. Already he was resettling the shreds of his dignity over himself like battle armor, steeling himself into something cold and untouchable, and unfortunately familiar. "I apologize that I didn't come immediately to you, but I have only been back in the castle for two hours. I thought that it would be rude to wake you and that we could discuss things at a more reasonable time."

Finally it was his time to speak his excuse, but they had come far enough that Landis knew it didn't matter. He spoke though, a little stiffly, knowing as he did that she wouldn't believe him. It was difficult to explain an absence this long.

"After you left Sunday morning, Dazmond had a relapse from the venom. I stayed with her and her husband until late morning when she stabilized, and made to come back here. I was intercepted by a letter from my cousin bidding me to come for reasons of some emergency - and ended up spending a few days in Cardiff, a situation made bearable since I did not need to be here to bide the library. I left this morning to be back in time for the start of the day. I thought it would be better to speak to you in person than to try and send an owl."

Looks like he would have to bribe Darian after all. That was all right; Darian was easily bribable, although he would surely take a wickedly large chunk out of Landis' resources given the terms. Damned if Landis was going to offer Juliette only one flimsy excuse when she was already so irate. Darian would not be pleased with Landis' excuse - it had come to him in a flash of brilliance, or maybe desperate survival instinct - but it was a lie quite damaging to Darian's image. Oh, well. He'd live.

Juliette insisted she was not a child, and yet their argument seemed to be an automatic highlight of the semester for sleep-eyed onlookers. Back and forth they hissed, jibed, and threatened at a breath’s distance. For all of the potioneer’s insistence that she was not a child, and Landis had no right to treat her so, she was certainly living up to his expectations. He told her to hold her tongue; she told him not to tell her what to do; he told her to take her own advice; she grew a pair of daggers in her eyes.

He was right-- the job was a low blow, and Juliette knew full well that while Landis would make a fine (if young) potions master, she could not as easily dominate the thousand-year old collection of tomes.

She might have laughed again if she weren’t about to claw his eyes out. The click of the doors locking, the sudden absence of distant echoes that signaled a sound barrier were so very Landis-- those same traits that had first drawn her to him. He could be fighting Death itself with one hand, and he’d still use the other to cover his tracks and keep his privacy. Juliette was much the same in many a situation (business, for one, and keeping preying eyes out of her personal things for another), but in this one she was wholly a woman. A woman of the famed red hair, that select group of individuals who lived up to their purported tempers in times like these. On a mission to bring man crashing to his knees.

"Juliette, I do respect you. "

Ah, but that quieted her.

Despite her intentions, Juliette felt the muscles in her wrist retract. She took a breath, and remembered that she did, indeed, require oxygen to subsist. She waited for him to go on, all flustered and tidal-haired and clingy clothes wishing they were more billowy in this moment.

As he explained his feelings Dazmond... his lack of feelings for Dazmond, a part of her felt the words were too earnest to be a lie. The logical part. It was funny how logic could make one’s heart leap just so. She even felt a little guilty at having tossed Dolly in his faultless high-born face like acid as she watched it betray its regret. She’d known as much about Dolly, but the name had still shocked. When Darian had spoke it.

"...These romantic entanglements haven't been an issue for years, and the only woman I am interested in is you."

Bee-stung lips parted, but no words came out. She closed them again, lowered her wand a fraction more, and studied his eyes a little more humanely, gently, less like Medusa and more like the vixen-in-sheep’s clothing (and wide, youthful blue eyes) she’d been. She wanted so badly to believe him. A stupid part of her wanted to reach out and grab his arm, or maybe it was the logical part again. Grab him, pin him to a wall, call him stupid, promise him she wasn’t going to apologize, not ever, kiss his stubborn face, threaten to hex him silly for wanting to silence her even while she ran her hands through his hair... She conquered the desire, swiftly. She squashed it. She swallowed it whole. She waited for him to continue. Cracking now would be admitting to a terrible failure, and it would also land her an even lengthier chunk of space in the Hogwarts Howler than the pair of them together were already doomed to occupy.

Stubbornly, she crossed her arms, and let him continue.

"I apologize that I didn't come immediately to you, but I have only been back in the castle for two hours. I thought that it would be rude to wake you and that we could discuss things at a more reasonable time."

That seemed fair, if she were honest with herself, and the apology was sweetly humble, but...

"After you left Sunday morning, Dazmond had a relapse from the venom. I stayed with her and her husband until late morning [...] I was intercepted by a letter from my cousin bidding me to come for reasons of some emergency [...] I thought it would be better to speak to you in person than to try and send an owl."

This was harder to swallow than any twisted daydream about hexing her lover before pleasing him. Her face darkened, her arms dropped to their sides, and her lips parted again. “Darian?” She asked, ignoring the bit about Dazmond-- and her conveniently placed husband. “What sort of emergency did Darian find in the lap of luxury that he couldn’t manage without you? It’s odd, he’s the same one who told me all about Dazmond and Dolly, and he seemed perfectly healthy when we last we spoke... last week.”

Again, she wanted to believe him. But she didn’t. It was too convenient, and also too coincidental.

“Why couldn’t you tell me those things yourself, Landis?” She asked, her voice soft, but obviously a little bitter. Hurt. “About your past. I saw a whole new side of you Saturday night, and I liked it. I would have liked to see more, but... it seems you want me to beat it out of you, what you give to others so freely.” Why not tell her about Dazmond, if he had no lingering feelings? If the past was truly the past...

"Darian?"

Landis blinked. "Yes, actually," he said, looking at her in some small surprise for her quick and accurate guess. They had met at the family reunion, he supposed, and though he had a slew of cousins Darian tended to stand out. "He - " And Landis would have gone on to tell her precisely for which emergency he'd been summoned to assist, had her next words not made his die in his throat. He stared at her. "He told you about - " This time he cut himself off, the flush of anger returning to his face.

But he didn't seem to know quite what to say. He almost admired her cunning, tracking down the one cousin most likely to delight in the retelling of his own personal history and the only other person, to the best of his knowledge, who knew about Dolly. What luck Juliette had! What incendiary nerve. He'd known Darian delighted in crossing his own family, and this was a neat little stab in the back. He could even picture their quaint little encounter - Juliette's interest, Darian's dazzling smile. He should have Obliviated the smug bastard ages ago, except one didn't do that to family. Maybe he would make an exception.

When Landis finally spoke again, his voice was cold. "I hope his price was worth it."

The look in her eyes was soft and hurt. He knew it - the look of a woman disappointed. It was not a look she was allowed to wear, given their situation. She clearly had been developing some of those pesky feelings that he thought they'd ruled out entirely in one of their earliest conversations. He understood, somewhat. It was easy to get comfortable with each other when Hogwarts was this small, easy to reach for some warmth as winter howled outside the walls and spring followed with its chilly rains and its tender early flowers. He wasn't immune to it either; Juliette was proving to be a terrible distraction. When he'd first come back, walking up to the castle through the morning mist, stepping through its hallways silent and dim, all he'd really wanted to do was to crawl into her bed and fall asleep. He'd known that she was still sleeping, that she and her bed was warm - he'd wanted the faint perfume of her hair and the soft weight of her in his arms, he'd wanted to stay there for a while. Landis was not used to seeking comfort, but he'd thought maybe that would be safe.

He hadn't given in, of course. He was aware that wasn't exactly a thought fitting with their business-like agreement. Maybe if he had given in she wouldn't be so angry at him now, but he'd looked a wreck and he hadn't come up with a proper excuse yet, he needed time to adjust himself back from the world of quick-thinking and quick-talking and covering his trail with lies a seasoned criminal couldn't see through. Back to Hogwarts, where he was a soft-spoken if snarky librarian, complacent with easy living and not the litany of terrible violent curses running through his head just waiting to be given back his wand. She would've probably cursed him out of her bed if her Great Hall scene was any indication, and he just... hadn't.

Now she had already half-forgiven him; with a few more pretty lies, he could have her again. Or he could turn the argument back on her until she was well and truly furious, and she spat her intentions to never see him again, never touch him again, consider their "arrangement" null and void. Do this once, and her pride would keep her away. Let her forgive him, and they'd be headed into a place Landis very much did not want to go. He did not have time for a serious relationship. He could not afford an interested party who wanted to know where he went when he slipped away from the castle on business. He would not give Kronos more ammunition for blackmail. And so it went. Best not to do this with any venom; they would still be working together, after all, and he did not want her angry at him so much as convinced he made a most unsuitable bedmate.

"Juliette," he said, smiling as if he was geniunely confused, "Why would I tell you? Such things between colleagues are hardly your business."

"Yes, actually... He - He told you about -"

“Well, someone felt inclined to,” was all she could say, in a small enough voice while her wand continued to falter, to rethink its brashness. He was being reasonable with her; now, now he was caught off guard. She felt something swimming in her head, in her heart. What a terrible way to glimpse these things she been wondering about him since they’d first met, these normal human emotions etched on Landis’ glazed face.

"I hope his price was worth it."

Juliette’s pale fingers ghosted over her lips, but she didn’t tear her eyes from Landis. They appeared to be struck with something, as if left in the sun too long, and weakened. Her lashes were delicate as moth’s wings, and she said nothing to this, the iciness of his suggestion settling nastily in her stomach where breakfast was not like to soon join it.

She had made a terrible mistake. She knew it, and so did he.

There was little use uttering the syllable, offering him the ‘No.’.

"Juliette. Why would I tell you? Such things between colleagues are hardly your business."

But any queasiness, any pain or illicit feeling chipping away at her insides and mirroring itself feebly on her face while she tried to make sense of this man-- this man shared her bed, but was determined to be a stranger, determined to keep her at arm’s length for reasons that were his own-- dissolved into a look of confusion that was not different from his own. Like a deer whose ears perked before its cataclysmic end in human traffic, she did not process his words until it was a fraction too late. His words and his face were a cruel, unfitting puzzle. He looked lost, almost amused at the conclusions she’d jumped to about their... whatever it was.

The perplexity melted, too, and a new wave of hurt marred her heart-shaped face, a sickening tidal wave of humiliation. When her lips parted this time, it was with searing anguish, visible in her knitted brows and crinkled eyes. She wanted to cower while he belittled her so seamlessly, but Juliette clung to that last bit of grace, of dignity he’d left her.

She meant nothing, or so he wanted her to believe. Nothing beyond his ‘carnal’ interest, a necessary filler.

Shaking with an anger to match the wretchedness now swelling in her chest, she doubled her grip on her wand, brandishing upward in a cut meant to slay. Like an unseen sword, veiled by the existing elements of earth, it reached out for the first thing it could catch. She made to scratch him, to wound him, to tear at his unblemished face, which deserved no such faultlessness as it now displayed. A clean slice, a hallow cut, a trickle blood might have at least reminded her he was human, for surely he had made her doubt it.

“You,” she whispered madly. They would have locked her in St. Mungo’s if they’d been there to hear it. This time she brought her wand down, taking a step closer. The walls might have been crumbling with her, she was so blindingly angry, but Juliette paid them no mind, solid and in place as they were. “You want a colleague to bed?” She asked. She dared him to feed her madness, to tempt the pyre. “Why not a corpse? It would serve you just as well. You needn’t ever introduce her to your friends or your mother. A perfect dream. And if you never pleased her, who's to know the difference? You terrible, pathetic excuse for a man.” She was upon now, fists balled. Her wand was a lithe extension of her fingers, but she didn’t use that hand for the third attack; rather, Juliette struck him plain as day, right across that perfect, sharp cheek, and felt the sting of centuries of unblemished blood hot beneath his flesh. The other sting, the one in her eyes, was something she ignored, pushed back easily. Watery eyes were no crime, and they were no more suspicious than her raised wand, her goose-fleshed arms, her burnt cheeks.

Defeated, she dropped her arms to her sides. She stared malice at him, like a woman drunk and woozy and filled with nightmarish inventions, like a healer's vindictive patient before the tranquilizer set in. She stared at him as if to suggest if he ever so much waltzed past her chamber door, she'd strike him down with the undead will of the Hogwarts founders themselves. She would be changing the charms and passwords before she set foot into her classroom that morning.

She regretted her invasive move, he could see it in her face. Well, good. Landis' expression crumpled into a sneer at the dawning regret in her eyes.

With such thoughts as to her own indiscretion, it took her a moment to process his words. The bleak hurt that washed over her features was quickly replaced by fury, for which Landis could only be grateful. Finally she used that wand of hers, slashing the air in his direction and shaking with her anger; Landis flinched at the motion, feeling a line of hot pain open nearly vertically across his chin, lips, and nose. It skipped the bridge of his nose and skimmed one side of his forehead, removing in one stroke even a few pieces of hair.

He licked his lips slowly, the taste of copper flaring on his tongue. Already blood was dripping into his right eye and onto his robes. He considered leaving the cut - its sharp sear a fitting conclusion for his week - but didn't want Juliette to have a sudden attack of guilt the longer she stared at it. He rapidly blinked blood out of his eyes, lips parting as pale eyelashes clumped together and blood turned one side of his vision a swimming, stinging red. If the vehemence of her stare was any indication, it seemed unlikely.

He drew his wand as if he meant to defend himself, but knowing it would infuriate her farther calmly healed the wound instead. Let her think his reaction was due to indifference rather than expectation, and hope she didn't throw an Unforgivable to shake him up next.

He didn't say anything yet. The one comment had done all the damage he'd thought it would, and though tears were brimming in her eyes he was loathe to make them actually fall.

"You."

It was a harsh whisper, rough with hate. Landis didn't so much as blink.

"I told you from the beginning," he said, his own voice laden with scorn as he put away his wand. "Not to get attached. Don't direct your disgust at me now for your own pathetic mistake." She strode closer, her intent clear. He didn't move to get away but let the slap connect, letting out a hiss of breath as the blow stung the sensation back into his freshly-healed cut and red blossomed under his skin in a vivid, incriminating mark. Anger flashed in his eyes before he dropped them, mouth tight with some unidentifiable emotion that was certainly not regret or even shame, no emotion that might have pleased her. Vicious, his inner voice murmured with faint appreciation. Pity there would be no more nights together.

When he raised his eyes again, he was the Landis she'd known at the beginning, cold and indifferent and most certainly untouchable. "Are you quite done with your tantrum?" he asked, sounding as though the fury of a woman scorned was the most unimaginable bore.

Pathetic. She'd called him that first, but Juliette was the only one feeling pathetic. And when the word left Landis' lips, it was all she could do to wonder why she hadn't seen it sooner. She had feelings, he did not; their arrangement had been clear, and Juliette had no one to blame but herself. Certainly Landis had no other opinion, nevermind that he'd taken her out now and then. For all the impassive expressions on his face, Landis obviously felt annoyed that someone-- or at least this particular someone-- might become invested in him in such a way.

She wanted to hurt him, to make him feel a little bit of the sting she felt. But Landis Morgan was invincible. If he'd tasted the blood, he made no reaction but to heal himself from the nasty, messy cut, as if wand-wielding women with vicious vendettas were an everyday occurrence. He seemed marginally more annoyed with the slap.

"Quite done," she echoed smally. She turned stiffly, like the loser of a duel attempting to ignore the bruises, and silently broke the charms Landis had cast upon the door even before she reached its threshold.