The Dirty Part of Physics [ClockworkCadence ║ Ryees]

[ClockworkCadence]

Olivia kept up her diligent note-taking, enraptured by watching the variety of techniques (and apparent non-techniques) of her classmates. In the interim between bouts, she reflected on her own match, considering the ways she could improve if the opportunity ever arose for a rematch. After copious amounts of ketchup had been spilled and maybe only one or two egoes bruised, their scoreboard stared them all down. The reactions ranged from sullen expressions to inflated pride, and as usual, Olivia's emotional response appeared only in the pages of her notebook. She noted down what was possibly the first glimpse into Sherlin's obscure grading system, glad to have some frame of reference as she attempted the mental gymnastics of trying to estimate an average number of points earned in a day versus how many days they had left.

She'd hardly registered the shift in the room until she looked up at the source of the slight shadow that fell upon her desk. Callum stood there, looking down at her curiously as he tousled his ginger hair. "Must have been some training, if you learned how to move like that."

"You're one to talk," She leaned back a little in her seat to look up at him properly. "Boxing, I'm guessing?"

He nodded, placing a hand down on the corner of her desk, leaning casually. "Youngest of four brothers, not to mention a pretty scary little sister. Had to survive somehow." His shoulders lifted a bit, along with the corners of his lips. "What about you? I couldn't quite figure out your style."

She huffed out a laugh. "Probably because I've learned a little bit all over. Just kind of joined in with whatever classes I could find in whatever country I found myself in."

"Ever the eclectic one," he commented with a teasing look that melted into something more sincere. "What got you wanting to see every corner of the world, anyway?"

Her eyes slid to the shooting range. "Part for me and my wanderlust, part so I have some good stories for my sister."

"Give me your best, then."

"That," she started with a shake of her head, "would be best saved for the next trip to a pub."

"You're saying the first didn't scare you away from the idea?"

"Hard to keep me away from good food," she said, arms crossing before she gave him a devious look. "will probably skip the ketchup this time, though."

A warm laugh burst out of him, patting her desk once before turning to face the range, tilting his head towards the professor. "Any chance he'll be shooting a paintball gun with mustard ammunition?"

"A non-zero chance, I'd say." She took in the sight of her classmates slowly milling towards their assigned stations. Angier had already sat in the chair at his table, subtly rubbing at his hip with a grimace. Alfred sat at his station as well, dutifully polishing his new gun. Helen peered down the range, practicing her stability and aim. Ryan attempted flashy quick-draws. Marina and Marcus both stood uneasily just outside of the range, huddled together and talking as if they could scheme a way out of the next part of class. Olivia nodded in their direction. "Might make them a little less nervous to shoot if they could use paintballs, honestly."

"If they'd ever been hit with one of them before, it'd make them more nervous."

One of her eyebrows quirked up. "Bad experience?"

"Four brothers and the force of nature that is Celica," Callum reminded her with not-entirely-mock horror. "Of course."

"Is she really all that terrifying?" Olivia asked, trying to reconcile the image of a little redheaded girl with a plant with Callum's image of a monstrous tyrant.

"Next time you see her, ask her how I got this scar," he tapped a finger against his temple, highlighting the shade-paler jagged line there.

Olivia stood, stretching a little before wandering down to the range with him. "Sounds like you have some stories for the next pub trip, too."

Callum grinned. "One or two."

Olivia smirked, glancing down the aisle of the range, her brain beginning to switch over to the task ahead. "You ever tell anyone stories from this class yet?"

"God, no. They'd never believe me."

 

[Ryees]

When Sherlin strode into the opening to the range, he carried with him a plain wooden box that looked awfully like—

"Are those Quidditch balls?" Marcus asked, somehow sounding even more horrified than he had been to see the firing range open up.

"I do believe you said this was a firing range, not a Quidditch pitch," Alfred commented, sounding betrayed. "I'm rubbish on a broom, you know."

"Then you'll have a good deal of trouble with our next lesson," Sherlin answered tritely, walking around the front of the stations to stand ten or so meters out from the shooting stations.

Marina piped up, half-shy and half-confused, but wholly uncomfortable. "What... are we doing with Quidditch balls, then?" she asked, now sounding almost fearful.

"Those'll be our targets," Angier gruffed, already sounding exhausted.

"Our what?"

"Come again, old lad?"

"There's no targets on the field." Helen's voice was tight, grim, and flat. "Look." She jerked her head to the field, and indeed, it was simply an empty range with a sandy backstop a hundred meters out, with nothing but grass in between. "This 'range' has nothing to shoot at."

"Oh dear..."

"Goddammit, you contrived git, can't you ever just dream up a normal drill?" Angier leaned forward on one elbow on the table, huffing a sigh and laying his slide-locked pistol—a thoroughly patinated Colt 1911—on the table alongside its magazine. "Just lemme shoot a paper and be done with it."

"You've no doubt shot thousands of holes in thousands of papers," Sherlin shot back, oddly offended-sounding. "I've no doubt in your ability to shoot a stationary target that does not fight back." He bent to the case, which was, curiously, without any latches. He began touching it in one-inch increments, and each time his fingers touched the leather-bound top, an internal click issued from within.

Marina connected the dots. "When you say 'fight back,' do you mean..."

As if to answer her question, the case, under Sherlin's touch, jumped, an angry rumbling from within accompanied by the sound of an object—many objects—thundering around inside.

"Guys, I think..." Ryan swallowed hard, eyeing the case with no small amount of trepidation. "I think, we might be playing... gun Quidditch."

"Ah! Gun-Quidditch!" Sherlin's head snapped up, a hearty chuckle capturing him. "I was looking for a more clever name, but that's just absurd enough to fit. A point to you." The sound of chalky death echoed from within the classroom. "Yes, this drill will, in some ways, be similar to a Quidditch match. No brooms, though," he added, finding another invisible latch on the box, "it would be silly to shoot guns while flying. For this lesson, anyway." Another latch, and another rumble from within the case. "And the goalposts are, in this case—"

"Are we the goalposts?" Callum had made it to his table and set his gun on the bench, but took an unconscious step back from the front of the ring—and his back bumped into the air, stumbling him forward.

Helen's eyes widened, and she extended a hand, walking towards the back of the U-shaped table until her hand touched an invisible barrier that sealed off the U into a box. "Jesus fucking Christ..."

"Woah woah, not cool man!" Ryan shouted, slapping his hand against the barrier. "What's with you and trapping people in boxes!?"

"Don't worry, mister Mathers, it's quite a simple test, you'll be out in no time!" Another two latches and now Sherlin was working on the front of the case. "Miss Wutherford, mister Henley, if you could proceed to your stations, please." The color had drained entirely from the faces of the two students as they trudged towards their benches as if walking towards the gallows. "Thank you, thank you. Now then." Sherlin stood, the case now constantly rumbling and shaking, one corner jumping entirely off the ground and tilting the case on its side. "This case contains forty bludgers and eight snitches," he called out over the pitch. "Do the math: That is five bludgers and one snitch for each of you. The bludgers will each have a single layer of a Protego shield over them that should shatter after your first shot. They are trained to fly all the way to the end of the pitch and then come towards you at full speed, doing their best to keep themselves intact on the way."

Some part of his explanation seemed to anger the box, which flopped onto its top after fully jumping off the ground.

"One of your bludgers contains your snitch. Once broken, the shield around your bench will dissipate, and your snitch will begin flying up and down your lane. You need only retrieve it." He scanned his vision left and right over the field. "Mind your classmates, don't get yourself shot on the way to retrieve your snitch." Sherlin pointed at Angier's bench, then panned his finger all the way down the field to the sand bank. "Each of your benches designates a lane, and, for the most part, your bludgers and snitches are trained to stay within them. For the most part. Usually. You know how bludgers can be, cheeky little bastards."

The ten-meter-wide table suddenly seemed very narrow to many of the students, who were anxiously fidgeting with their firearms.

"The moment your hands touch your snitch, your bludgers will be immobilized, so you can think of that as your goalpost. There are five points on the line for completion. If you manage to break all your bludgers before you catch your snitch, you'll get an additional one point. And, you won't have to dodge them on your way out to grab it." He shrugged flippantly. "That's how I would go about it, anyway."

"These kids ain't gonna be able to shoot a bludger outta the sky, teach," Angier challenged sharply, sounding so startlingly defensive and concerned for his classmates that both Helen and Callum's eyebrows climbed as they turned to stare at him. "Gonna take their heads off in one go."

Sherlin raised a finger. "There are some countermeasures in place, of course. The very field that locks you in will prevent the bludgers from hitting you..." A second and third finger joined the first. "...three times. After three impacts, your shield will drop, and you'll be open to attack. If you should be hit, you fail the test. And for each hit against your barrier, you will be subtracted one point from your final grade. Now then!" Sherlin shoved the trunk with his foot, tumbling it over from its top to sit upright. "Weapons at the ready!"

When Sherlin's toe nudged the front of the box, the top shot open like a spring. A veritable cloud of bludgers ripped upwards out of it like a swarm of bats, spiraling as one group a hundred meters into the air. Slowly, they arced forward, separating into eight mostly-distinct groups of five as they soared overhead to the far end of the pitch. A red blip appeared at the front edge of each booth. "As soon as the lights are green, you are weapons free!" With that, Sherlin tore off towards the back of the benches, abandoning the chest in the middle of the field.

Angier stood with a grumble, snapping the magazine into his pistol and pulling a second to hold it in between his hands as he posted up, sighting down range. Helen and Callum both took deep breaths, loading and preparing their pistols and raising them into place. Ryan and Alfred both held their pistols a waist level, white-knuckle grips betraying the flair and panache they had been boasting for the preceding morning. Marina and Marcus were both going about loading their weapons with shaking hands when the lights flicked green, and a line of bludgers barreled down range towards them with murderous intent.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Olivia stood quietly through the explanation of the exercise, her classmates around her all reacting to the information while she merely processed it impassively. The reasoning behind the somewhat offbeat design made sense—she'd only witnessed a match or two of Quidditch, dragged into it by friends, but even that passing familiarity was enough for her to recognize that nothing could move unpredictably quite like a bludger. Fast, misleading, and relatively small—a great choice for a challenge, if a bit too out of the skill level for anybody but the war veteran.

She weighed her options as she loaded her gun, shifting her extra ammunition within easy reach on the table. Her chest rose and slowly fell with a deep, steadying breath, squinting a little at the balls darting around erratically. Choosing safety meant sacrificing points. Foregoing safety meant risking getting hit and failing entirely. Olivia never was a risk-taker.

Green flashed in her periphery, faster than she had expected. Her arm rose, leveling a steady aim towards the line of bludgers already darting down to the far side of the area. One shot, two shots didn't hit their mark. Three shots, four shots caused the bludgers to scatter a bit, swerving to avoid the bullets. The sight of it sparked an idea—five shots, six shots rang out in close succession, her aim off-center then just a bit overcorrected. The bludger in the front reacted just as she'd hoped, darting out of the way of the first just to get caught in the path of the second. A little shimmer of magic dissipated, the ball peeling off from the rest to reset with a furious shake. The second, third, and fourth fell for her tactic. The fifth learned from the death of its comrades, veering towards the first bullet's path instead of away. Olivia cursed under her breath, scrambling to score a hit, but the bludger already cracked against a wall of magic, a faint oil-sheen shimmer rippling in the air. The ball bounced in the air for a moment as if laughing before zipping away.

Her head shook lightly, dispelling the knee-jerk tension that seized her muscles as she reminded herself they couldn't hit her yet, prepping for her next shots. Bullets jangled in her palm as she quickly reloaded. She kept the rapid pace of her trigger finger for the next round, trying to overwhelm. Sporadic attacks for a sporadic enemy. Two of the bludgers became a cascade of dust. The third held out for longer, scattering fine particles across the front of her shield. The snitch tumbled through the air. The moment's distraction cost her the fourth bludger. The fifth remained too agile for its own good.

The glinting barrier fell. She stood her ground, taking another moment to reload as she considered her next move. Her gaze flickered between the oncoming bludgers and the snitch swerving lightning-fast, calculating. A lucky shot dispersed the fourth ball. The fifth barreled relentlessly towards her.

She dropped flat to the ground, nearly clipping her chin on the table before it exploded with the impact of the bludger, woodchips and stray bullets pattering against her back as they rained down. Her muscles screamed as she pushed them to move faster than she ever had, launching to her feet as she sprinted out into the green. The glint of gold caught her attention, beelining in its direction as she cast nervous glances behind her. She dove to the side, hearing the blast of wind as the bludger careened by her right shoulder.

Pain erupted in her bicep. She stumbled a little off-balance, surprised. Adrenaline hazed over the sting, but one thing was clear—it felt far too acute to have been a bludgeoning blow. Her teeth gritted together as she willed herself to move faster, left hand extended after the snitch as her right tingled in shock at her side. She ducked low as a shadow eclipsed her, hissing as she tried to push herself back upright with her weak side. The snitch skittered past her nose. Her right hand instinctively shot out to it.

For a moment, she blinked down at her clenched fist, gold wings a little rumpled in her palm. Curious red streaks ran along her fingers, leaking down between the spaces to dull the metallic shimmer. Blood. Blood?

She finally looked at her arm and the chunk of skin missing, trying to process what had happened. A glancing blow—caught by a stray bullet? Unsurprising, given the lack of marksmanship most of the others displayed. Still, the realization left her blinking owlishly up across the space.

Callum's breathless grin caught her attention first. He panted with his hands on his knees for a moment before standing back up and wiping sweat from his brow. His gaze found hers, expression immediately dropping in horror. Helen paced nearby, fist clenched tightly as she breathed heavy with a satisfied look on her face. The figure lying curled up in agony appeared to be Ryan, while the body laying face down in the grass was definitely Alfred. Angier's back slowly but casually limped back to the range. Marcus laid sprawled out behind his station. Marina sat with her back against hers, stifling a cry.

Finally, Olivia found the professor. Though crimson dripped onto the grass, her only worry was his reaction.

 

[Ryees]

"Helen."

The sudden, uncharacteristic, whipcrack sharpness in his voice made every conscious eye snap to Sherlin in varying states of alarm. Helen took barely a blink to connect the dots, throwing her hand behind her with a sharply spat, "Accio wand!" As her smooth-handled ebony wand struck out from her bag, she ran a hand through her hair as she bolted to Olivia's side, and nearly slid into place for how quickly she dropped to her knees next to Olivia.

"Vulnera sanentur..."

Sherlin gave a curt nod, then spun on his heel. His long-legged strides carried him to Ryan, who was cradling his head over an already-forming bruise. The boy's left arm sported a second bruise with spotting on the skin that suggested internal damage more serious than what showed. Unfortunately for Ryan, neither of those injuries stopped Sherlin from putting his foot on Ryan's shoulder and shoving him flat on his back. The boy protested and moaned in pain as Sherlin bent and hooked his hands under Ryan's arms, skittering backwards and dragging the wounded student through the dirt of three lanes all the way to where Olivia lay.

"Vulnera sanentur..."

After unceremoniously flopping Ryan onto his back in front of Olivia, Sherlin put his heel on Ryan's shoulder and shoved again, rolling him onto his side to face the classmate wounded by his hand, his face barely a foot from where Helen sat, slowly knitting back together the bullet wound.

"Vulnera sanentur..."

"You are here to learn." The wind that ruffled the grass seemed to flow in time with Sherlin's grim, forceful spitting. "You are not here to impress me, or your classmates, or your own ego. I am your teacher. These are your peers. Six inches left and miss Bailey would be trying to cast a very different sort of spell." Ryan flopped onto his back, but seemed to regret it immediately, as it allowed him to look up at Sherlin's face. The grave look in those iced-over winter eyes made him feel very, very small. "These tests threaten injury. They threaten your comfort, and your comfort zones. They do not, will not, ever threaten your life." Sherlin squatted low, his gaze barreling down on Ryan with a glittering, icy contempt in his eyes that did not match or sit well on his typically astute, pondering face. "If you take another action that threatens the life your classmates, you will not leave this classroom. Ever. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir."

Sherlin's only response to that was a satisfied nod. The metaphorical ice melted away as the professor stood, moving to Olivia's other side and meeting eyes with Helen. Helen nodded, sitting back on her heels, wand folded neatly in her lap. "Might be a little loopy from the blood loss—her heart was really going when she got shot—but she's well within safe limits. She'll be okay."

Another nod, and Sherlin panned his eyes down to Olivia. It was with a strange tenderness that his fingertips brushed a circle around the wound site, now knit together and healed and only caked in the flakey dried specks of a scab that had been fused underneath. He lifted that hand and put it to Olivia's forehead, brushing her hair back and meeting her eyes. When he saw that demanding spark dancing there, right where he left it, he huffed through his nose and grinned at her. It must have been Dumbledore.

Sherlin's eyes scanned over and down, his hand following his gaze as he nudged open Olivia's fingers and pulled her snitch from her hand. He held it up indicatively, prompting Callum and Angier—who had turned to watch the scene unfold at Ryan's accosting—to step closer, glancing curiously at the snitches in their own palms. Helen had shoved hers in her pocket, and dug it out now at Sherlin's invitation. Almost in unison, they all peered closer at their snitches. They were not regulation.

"This snitch is a puzzle box," he announced. "These are not part of your curriculum, merely a gift from me to you. If you can get them open, they each contain a diamond. I was not able to source them all exactly even, so some will be worth slightly more or less than others, but they are all within the range of 11 to 13 carats. On the secondary market, that will be about a half-million Euro, plus or minus, if you can find a buyer." He placed Olivia's snitch back on the ground in front of her eyes and stood, dusting his hands off. "You have all already proven yourselves exceptionally talented. If you leave this class with a failing grade, at least you will have this to pursue your own projects on your own time, maybe make something of yourselves instead of slaving away in the accursed Ministry for your days."

Sherlin dropped his chin to his chest, shaking his head as he shot a disappointed look at Ryan. "Considering the circumstances, I think it inappropriate to speak to grades at this time." He inclined his head to Helen. "Miss Bailey, if you could please help miss Hudson back to the classroom."

Helen's eyes popped down to Olivia, and there was the barest, smallest hint that she was unsure that her small stature was up to the task. Callum stepped forward in that moment, offering, "I'll get her," to Helen, who graciously took the out. The two each took an arm to get Olivia upright, then Helen detached, looking to Angier and pointing to the victims still back at their stations. The two nodded, Helen angling towards the still-conscious Marina whilst Angier trotted over to the almost-corpse that was Marcus. Helen bent next to Marina and began murmuring in a comforting tone, while Angier slipped Marcus' legs over one arm and held the boy's body in the other, easily hoisting him from the ground and moving back through the opened wall with them. Alfred had roused, leaning against his station with his head in his hands, but Angier scooping Marcus into his arms seemed to be all the invitation he needed to trudge back towards the classroom. Marina hung her head low, tears still streaming, but she stood and wobbled her way inside with Helen's arm around her shoulders.

Sherlin lingered near Ryan, his wand appearing from somewhere in his hand. "Mobilicorpus." Precise and robotic, the charm wisped out from his wand, levitating Ryan flat into the air as he followed his student body back through the wall into the classroom. Even the bricks seemed somber as they knit themselves back together, closing off the range.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

"Helen."

The tone of his voice made Olivia flinch, panic rising in her chest. Something was wrong. She did something wrong. Was it the blood? She shouldn't be bleeding. Bleeding was bad.

She tried to push herself up off her knees. Everything tilted oddly. Helen ran to her sideways.

A senseless string of mumbled apologies tumbled from Olivia's lips, starting strong until they began to slowly fade off. Warmth filled her body, like when her mother would drape a scratchy wool blanket over her on the couch for an afternoon nap. She just wanted to sleep, but an insistent tapping on her cheek kept her awake. Probably Kaia. She could never reach the Oreos on the shelf without Olivia's help.

For better or worse, Olivia began drifting into reality for a bit, the grass blades tickling the side of her face coming into clearer focus. Pain began crackling through her arm again. Her focus tilted to it, staring with a detached interest as a couple beads of red ran down her bicep, like rain on a windowpane. She placed a bet on which droplet would win the race. She lost.

Suddenly, understanding and clarity crashed into her. She roughly pushed herself upright until a hand thumped into her chest, knocking the wind out of her and pressing her back down into the dirt. Her surroundings swirled, trickling back into Helen's disapproving face as her wand swirled over her body, other hand still warding Olivia from moving.

"…Thank you." Olivia managed, earning an impassive nod from the blonde hovering over her. The pressure on her chest subsided. Her eyes slid closed, but the incessant drum of a hand against her face returned. A grumble escaped her as her eyes cracked open again, just in time to find a disheveled Ryan deposited at her feet. Confusion. Then, a shoe shoved into him. Horror.

"Stop!" The word shot out as she shot up, immediately crashing back to Earth again. Her furious gaze burned in the general direction of the owner of the shoe as best it could, the fuzzy shapes skipping like a CD. Muffled words registered through the cotton in her ears. They sounded angry. She shrank away a little at their force, uncomfortable and just wanting her blanket back.

It seemed she didn't need it. Angels visited her in her sleep. Or rather, one—a pale one, with messy little dark curls that ringed blue eyes. Somehow, he didn't seem as happy and peaceful as she thought an angel would be. He hovered over her without wings, tickling her arm in a spot that tingled oddly. Something had happened there.

She was shot. She was shot.

Lucidity sharpened her gaze enough to recognize the Professor over her, right as his fingers brushed across her forehead. The touch stilled her as her muscles had primed to move again. His fingertips felt warm, gentle, comforting, an odd realization that jarred her mind and her heart back into overdrive. What was he doing? Would he make her leave the class after this? Who shot her? The fire returned to her gaze, trying to convey all of the questions her lips couldn't form.

Something about her lying dazed in a pool of her own blood must have amused him, as he only grinned down at her briefly before shifting away. A prodding sensation at her palm made her fingers creak open, a sore stiffness in them from how tight she had been clutching whatever was there. More words came, and her brain trudged through molasses to keep up. Something about a puzzle? A diamond, worth an exorbitant amount of money? No, that couldn't be right. Maybe she was still further gone than she thought.

Two people approached, their arms dragging her up despite her feeble attempts to wave them away. She tried to insist she could move on her own, but the world still slanted her right into someone's chest as she felt herself hoisted into a strong pair of arms. Her eyes darted up to find the jawline of Callum, tense until he glanced down to find her staring.

"Should have pitched the paintball idea." He said with a horribly forced smile. His fingers felt a bit too tight on her skin.

"Thought you said they were worse."

His expression flashed surprise before he let out a relieved chuckle. The smile looked a little more genuine as she swayed in his arms.

Back in the classroom proper, he lowered her gently into a chair. Gratitude spilled from her lips, a little embarrassed as she stared down at her feet. The sound of bricks grinding together made her head turn, catching sight of a patch of red in the grass just as the hole closed over the sight. Cold lanced through her veins. Had that been her?

She didn't have time to process before a face popped into frame, the body practically falling into her lap. "I'm sorry, dude! I'm so sorry!" Ryan knelt in front of her, eyes wide.

Her head recoiled a bit at the proximity, hands raising to placate him. "It—It's fine," She murmured before it even clicked into place what he was apologizing about. "Really."

He looked ready to continue, but Callum shooed him away with broad gestures and a venomous look. It was his turn to kneel next to her, digging her snitch out of his pocket. Right—something about this was important. At her confused look, he explained in soft, slow tones, pressing the cool metal back into the palm it had been pried out of.

The concept stuck in her mind this time. She hadn't heard wrong. Just how did the Professor manage to procure something so priceless, let alone several of them? Why was he just giving them away to his students? With that sort of money, she could pay for Kaia's treatments, a nice retirement for her parents—

Her head shook vehemently, vision a little fuzzy from the gesture as she held out her hand in the direction of the Professor. "No." She stated clearly. "I can't accept this."

 

[Ryees]

Ryan had begun to flop about under the effects of the charm, prompting Sherlin to dump him onto the classroom floor like a duffel bag full of exclusively stinking socks. He watched as the boy floundered up the stairs and threw himself at the feet of his victim, promptly shooed away by the tall Scot standing dutiful guard by her side. Some part of that annoyed Sherlin, but he dismissed it as irritation at the situation and shoved it to the back of his mind.

As the professor took a seat at his desk, his gaze remained fixated on Olivia. There had never been a fatality or permanent maiming in his classes. Despite the insane and often asinine rigors he put his prospects through, they had one and all always left intact and missing nothing that they began their classes with. It was not the case that he took pride in that record, but he knew that it was part of the reason that his program was allowed to continue. And he did take pride in the number of exceptional talents that he had pushed to their absolute limits through those rigors. For whatever insanity he portrayed, Sherlin was keenly aware that maimings and deaths would not be tolerated; he was already barely tolerated, and only for the results that he produced.

So to have a bullet hole in one of his students was a new problem, and it was likely only through Helen's talent that there had been no permanent damage. But it was a closer call than he would have liked, and that needed addressing.

Olivia's denial of her snitch earned barely a glance from Sherlin. "Then give it to one of your classmates, or toss it in the trash. It's yours to do what you please with." The way he dismissed her was far away and foggy, his thoughts clearly elsewhere as he looked up into the faces of his students.

"I am aware," Sherlin called out to the classroom, "that my methods seem insane to you." His usual tongue-in-cheek flippancy was absent, replaced by a grave seriousness that, this time, matched the icy cold in his eyes. "I am aware that these methods are unconventional. That you may perceive them as unusual and unreasonable, sometimes cruel. But the witches and wizards that leave this classroom see the world from a different angle and in a different light. And they cannot help but achieve greatness."

He walked around Deskster, and as he passed by that oaken table, the weight of his station became immediately apparent. The lines on his face were tired, the light in his eyes jaded. His rigid posture and sharp eyes were toned and honed in the pressure and fire of time and loss. "The wizarding world is very close to getting left behind." It did not sound like an opinion, the way it was stated. "Antiquated traditions, outdated practices, archaic schools with ancient professors; modernization is being rallied against at every venture, and the march of time is not kind to practices like that." His wand appeared in his hand, and he reached under his coat to draw his handgun. "Your elders may think it barbaric, but I say it's efficient. Sometimes the fastest route between you and a disabled opponent is a bullet."

Sherlin callously tossed them both on the desk, leaning his butt on the desk and crossing his arms. His chin dropped to his chest. He looked exhausted. "One by one, I am trying to push our colleagues out of the stone huts and into the modern era. Class by class, cohort by cohort, I and a small number of like-minded colleagues of mine are determined to drag the wizarding world, kicking and screaming, into a modern era. And that means these classes must continue." His eyes locked on Ryan for the barest moment, but the energy behind them was not there to deliver the hostility. "Some of you have taken this seriously from the get-go. Some of you have not, or are otherwise too frightened to."

He bent to reach for his wand, tapping on the desk; Theodoor shuddered open. "This is your last chance to take this offer. No more theatrics this time." Sherlin tossed his wand onto the desk like discarding a toothpick and walked around the back, slumping into the leather-backed office chair. Oachalka skittered over to him in its 2D plane, then skipped out of the chalkboard, landing on Sherlin's lap and walking up to put its face in his, a fully-living barn owl now twisting its head back and forth curiously on his lap. "If you want to leave, get the fuck out. I'll mail you your rec-letter. If you're still here in an hour, you're stuck with me, and you bloody well mean it."

The professor's head bowed forward, nuzzling his forehead against the owl and earning a comforting, puttering coo from the snowy-beige bird. It nuzzled forward, pushing its head up underneath his chin as he closed his eyes, spinning his chair to face the blackboard and turning his back to the classroom.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

For all the mystery and hidden facets of the Professor, Olivia had managed to glean enough about him to know one thing—everything he did had a purpose. Every bizarre task and challenge had been a meticulously crafted lesson, meant to put someone through the fire and flames to have them come out better and wiser on the other side. His jarringly straightforward speech only cemented that. Now, she finally knew the reason behind the purpose.

Advancement. Adaptation. An uphill battle, for sure, but an admirable and much-needed one. He butted heads and turned them alike, all while probably slamming his own into a wall trying to get anyone to listen. She felt that sometimes, on her long stints to other countries, trying to get people from vastly different cultures and belief systems to listen and play nice. She knew the toll that could take on a person. He looked weathered. He looked tired. Still, he kept pushing forward. She felt more kinship with him than she'd expected.

The harsh dismissal stunned everyone into uncertain silence. Marina and Marcus shifted uncomfortably. Ryan looked down guiltily. Even Alfred had good enough sense to keep his mouth shut. Eyes gravitated to Angier as he stood with a huff, supporting his weight against his desk before his heavy gait carried him past Sherlin's desk towards the door. "Take yer time, old sport. Be back." With that, he exited. Theodoor stayed shockingly docile as he hobbled away.

The rest of the class seemed spurred to action. Helen drifted out, head buried in her puzzle snitch. Marina trailed after her to thank her for calming her down earlier. One by one, everyone drifted out of the class, not wanting to disturb the professor or stay within the heavy atmosphere of the room.

Even Olivia found herself walking down the halls, lost in thought. She half-heartedly flicked a hand as she exited, cleaning up the blood from her clothes and mending the little hole in her shirt before she scared any Ministry people she might pass. With her notebook clutched open in one hand, fervent scribbles began filling a page.

She jumped a bit as a hand came down gently onto her shoulder. "You sure you're gonna be okay?" Callum had trailed after her, an anxious wrinkle in his brow.

"Yeah." The word fell flat at her feet. "Just—going to decompress, a bit."

He nodded in stiff understanding, his touch falling away from her as he stepped back. "Text if you need anything, okay?"

She nodded, gaze still tracing over the words that were spilling out of her as she continued her aimless trek alone. Her shoulder almost knocked into the corner of the wall as she turned down another hall near-blindly. The professor had given her a foundation, a definitive backdrop to interpret everything past and to come. He had opened the floodgate of her mind to consider his goal, what it could look like in the endgame, what part she could play in it. Though she'd never taken direct efforts towards modernization in particular, the core of her work was to optimize systems, to improve them. It hadn't fully crossed her mind that modernity might carry some of the answers.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket snapped her out of her thoughts.

>how's the hot teacher???
>what's his name again
>Hey Livie
>did you figure out handshake or punch yet
>maybe kiss
>prolly kiss

<The council has decided handshake.​

>OoOooO
>and so it begins

<What?​

The screen stayed unchanged. Olivia rolled her eyes. She slipped her phone back into her pocket, examining her writing before glancing about, trying to discern just where she'd managed to wander off to. Resigned to her labyrinthine fate, her feet carried her through the twists and turns. Another message announced its presence.

>nothing
>I miss you
>When do you get to come home again???

<I miss you too.
<I should be able to head back for a bit after this whole class is over.​

>YAY
>where are you again this time???
>britain???
>oh man there aren't any good snacks are there

<You'd be surprised! I've found one or two I can bring for you to try.​

>you are the BEST
>I found something for you too

<Oh really? What?​

>shhhh
>shhshshshhhhhhh
>secret

Her gaze shot up from the screen to an exit sign overhead, relief flooding her as she found herself on a sidewalk on the back side of the building. With this knowledge, she could reorient herself, find her way back through the front door instead of trying to trailblaze an unknown path. That had been the plan—however, her steps curiously slowed as she passed by a little hole-in-the-wall café. An idea sparked, and with a quick dip in and out, she found herself back on track again.

No longer absorbed in writing, she acknowledged Angier with a nod of her head as he stood leaning outside the entrance, smoking. Marina sat in one of the lounge chairs just inside, absorbed in a portable game console until her attention flickered up, following Olivia. The worry creasing her forehead eased a bit with Olivia's easy smile, but didn't entirely dissipate until Olivia rounded the corner towards the elevator.

It clanged to a horrific stop on her floor, legs still a little unsteady as she walked past Marcus attempting to read in the little student office space as Alfred talked his ear off. She'd recovered by the time she stepped through Theodoor, who tried and failed to jumpscare her.

A smile crept onto Olivia's face at the sight of the owl still nestled under the Professor's chin, her chest rising and falling contentedly, undoubtedly taking a nap there. He sat still, his head and torso relaxed against the bird but his hands looking a little tense against the armrests. As quiet as she could, Olivia tiptoed her way to Deskster, lowering a steaming to-go cup onto his surface.

She wasn't sure what it was supposed to be—comforting, apologetic, appreciative, sympathetic, or something else entirely. She hadn't the slightest idea of his tastes, either. Still, some part of her had wanted to extend something to him, however small.

The classroom was still empty as she settled into her desk, content to continue her musings until her phone buzzed again, a metallic undertone ringing lightly in the silent room. That's right—her snitch. Her hand dragged it out of her pocket, cleaning the dried blood off of it with a shake and a spark of magic.

Everything he did had a purpose. Though it could be said he had other things on his mind, given her almost brush with death, he wasn't the type to just toss a puzzle at someone merely as an avenue for a reward. The flippant regard for the snitch's fate felt wrong. Everything he did had a purpose. This had to be no different.

So, her fingers began fiddling with it, tracing along the barren wings and exploring the ridges and testing curious bits that depressed. Buttons, she surmised as she leaned her arms onto her desk, testing different combinations. Something cold touched her elbow. As she jerked back, the impassive face of the armadillo stared at her, seemingly annoyed she had moved away. Her arms returned to their previous arrangement. The armadillo lumbered between them.

She sighed, lifting her arms slightly to see the snitch past the armadillo's body. Its nose prodded at the ball.

"You can't eat it."

The armadillo turned to her, glaring into her soul. She tried to ignore it as she kept working.

Suddenly, a bud of gold sprouted near the base of the right wing, blooming out into a feather. She blinked in awe, trying to recall what she had just done. Her arms moved to pick up her notebook, disturbing the armadillo as she jotted down a quick note.

"Ah, shit." The feather promptly molted off with her next button press. Before she could grab it, the armadillo waddled over, rolling into a tight ball with it and likely dispelling it into whatever pocket dimension her strawberry had ended up in. She hoped she didn't need the feather as a part of the puzzle.

With another sigh, she slipped the snitch back into her pocket, gaze falling on the back of the Professor's chair. The room stilled.

"It's not an easy task to tackle." Her words felt loud in the empty space. Part of her worried he'd fallen asleep after all. Still, she pressed on. "People latch onto what's familiar, what's worked for them. Sometimes it's hard to see past that. Sometimes the unknown scares them. But it's necessary work. Even if it is aggravating, at times." Her lips pursed, uncertain. "You use these classes as a way to push for adaptation, but I know that's only one small part of the puzzle. So what else do you do? What do your colleagues do?"

 

[Ryees]

Sherlin watched from the corner of one eye as, one by one, the students filtered out of the room. With the space empty, for the moment, he let out a wisp of a sigh that caused Oachalka to peer up at him. "Good round this time, girl," he murmured to her, and the question in the bird's eye brought a wry grin to the bare corners of his lips. "Even them, yes. At least they've the heart for it. Ability..." His head tilted back and forth. "...we'll see."

Thoughts of his students rippled through his mind, faces and names and actions all in a running data stream like a digitized roll of film. Angier, certainly, would pass these tests, but at the end of the day, would he actually learn anything from them? The way he gruffly trudged through like a soldier returning from war spoke volumes of his ability to do, but not of his ability to think. Physical prowess and fear desensitization would carry him far in life, but perhaps they had carried him too far, dulling his ability to adopt new mindsets?

Callum was his model student, the type that Sherlin was always desperate to find and hoping to see walk through his doors. Sharp, decisive, well-tempered, thoughtful, talented, and eager, the young redhead was on a trajectory to be spoken of with the Peverells, Blacks, and Malfoys of the wizarding world. Which flavor was yet to be seen, but with his natural talent and open mind, he would no doubt leave the classroom having absorbed enough information to start his down wizarding school.

The children were children, of course, but showed enough promise that Sherlin had accepted them despite their ages and demeanors, and that was—so far—not a decision he regretted. Alfred and Ryan held the same snobbery but in different colors, looking at the world down the bridge of their nose or abs, respectively. If they could clean their egos of the need for recognition, they were strong enough to pass. Marcus and Marina were meek, but where they lacked a backbone and physical talent, he expected great things of them in the mental and emotional challenges to come. Perhaps they could benefit from a few gym trips with Ryan.

Helen was a cutthroat bitch who would claw her way to the top using the eye sockets of her competitors. She was just as talented as Callum, but more aggressive. Perhaps when she gained recognition, it would be infamy more than fame. Sherlin stuck a pin in that, making note to report her to the Ministry after the conclusion of classes.

Olivia. The enigma. The only among his class that he had failed thus far to classify, and the broadest range of experience in the room even including Angier. She had been to more countries than Sherlin himself, and spoken to more people, and yet somehow still managed to come away from it all a well-studied, well-rounded witch with excellent mechanical talent. She lacked the shortcomings of the mindful youth, but lacked the callousness of Helen or the ruthlessness of Angier, both traits that would hold her back in the long run. Perhaps she was not as physically adept as Ryan or Callum, but nor was she a couch potato.

Sherlin was rethinking his thoughts on "model student" when the door opened. He had not moved from his head-down position, but the corner of his eye tweaked open enough to see Olivia stroll in and place a cup on his desk. The implications of that cup would haunt Sherlin for weeks. Was it a peace offering? Was it pitea? Was it simply a nice gesture? How did she know what tea he liked? How would she have ever gotten into his apartment? Her having read his dossiers at home would have done her no good without—

"It's not an easy task to tackle."​

The gratitude he would have offered her for breaking him from his train of thought would have healed cultural dissonances around the globe. The way she spoke of the classes as if she understood their purpose was a touch confusing, but she did not strike him as naive. Perhaps she had seen behind the curtain, somewhere along the way.

Sherlin had turned around in the chair, but otherwise remained slumped backwards with his companion nestled under his chin. "I work as an auror, some days, just like you. Most of my colleagues do the same. Only two others do what I do, though, teach these classes."

An odd mixture of relief and nervousness seeded in her chest as he turned to look at her, both drowned out by the burst of adoration as she watched the owl fluff its feathers with sleepy agitation, disturbed by the motion of his jaw. "How many others are there?" She dragged her attention back to the conversation at hand. "Do you feel like you can make much progress, just doing the work of an Auror? Or is that why you took up teaching?"

His head was already shaking. "No progress to be made here. Not on my own." Oachalka disengaged from its cuddle, now, and Sherlin's hand came up to brush its feathers back across the top of his head. "Once upon a time one person may have been able to change the shape of the world. Not so, anymore. The world got too big. Need more bodies, more heads that think the same way."

The professor raised a pair of fingers. "Just me and two others, trying to do this, to accomplish something. It's been... slow going, to say the least."

She leaned forward, arms bumping into the armadillo sphere as her expression fell in disbelief. "Is that…really everyone?" At first, she'd thought he had other Auror colleagues that were on his side, plus two others that just so happened to teach as well. But if he'd meant two total… "Sounds like you already have an objective that'll build momentum, then. Finding others that share the same sentiment, making connections, uniting under a common goal. Some people stay quiet until they know they aren't the only one, you know. I don't know what sort of outreach you've all done, but there's bound to be a breakthrough at some point. The first steps are always the hardest."

"That sort of optimism is... refreshing?" He searched for a word and landed there, but didn't seem satisfied with it as he continued. "Assuming that getting the ball rolling is the hardest part. It isn't. The ball is rolling, between myself and Odius and the other. It's all deaf ears, up and down. Tradition this, propriety that. Useless, one and all."

"Not optimism. You just might not be playing the game right." The armadillo unrolled itself and pressed its snout into her arm. "Ever had to mediate between Indian and Pakistani wizards?" Her head started aching at the memory. "Whatever side you're talking to, they're right, all the time. But you slip in things from the other, disguised as their side. You guide them into thinking they've come up with ideas on their own. I know it's tedious, but you can't just show up with a new ball and a new game and expect people to want to play."

Sherlin's eyes flicked to his desk, where the profile folders lay tucked within the center drawer. Something about the way she spoke was obviously deeply irritating to him, by the way he grinned at the hidden folders, intrigued. "I once tried to convince the staff at Hogwarts that they should add Systema knife-fighting to their gym curriculums. This was maybe twenty years ago. Take a guess at the only professor who supported the idea."

She couldn't suppress the smile that cracked across her face. "He always loved innovation." The nostalgia shattered away as quick as it came as her hand darted out to move her pen away, the armadillo looking too interested in it. "So you have good ideas, Professor, it's just the sharing of them that needs some work." She knew she should stop there, but amusement pushed the rest of the words out of her lips. "And maybe better timing along with that, how old were you, then?"

He counted on his fingers. "Twelve. Thirteen?" He shrugged. "Twelve or thirteen."

Olivia's professional experience was the only thing keeping her face neutral. "Not many adults take someone that age seriously. Especially not when it's suggestions on how to do their job."

"Not many adults know to look beyond the end of their own nose," he retorted, heaving a sigh. "Surely you've seen your share of that." His wrist buzzed, and he looked down at his watch. "Not long before your classmates return. And I thought I might discuss this with you in private, anyway." He patted Oachalka on the head, then moved to stand. With a ruffle, the barn owl pumped its wings and floated towards the board, flying into and through the black surface like an open window. The moment his beak touched the board, his texture crackled, returning to the chalky white that Olivia had come to recognize.

"You, officially, passed your test," he announced, standing and slowly walking around Deskster's front. "You also... took a bullet. That isn't typical in these classes, and you did walk into one of the few fail-safes that exist in this curriculum. The Ministry would not let me off the hook without a 'mortal danger' clause within the contract of this class. Should any student ever come under permanent physical harm or life-threatening danger, they are to be pardoned from their classwork and allowed to leave the program with full marks, as if they had achieved a passing grade."

He kept walking, taking the steps up for the first time since they had entered the classroom. "So you have the opportunity, now, to walk away from this classroom with a full passing grade, no questions asked. But..." He came to stop one step below her, his eyes now level with hers. "You would have to leave the classroom. And, if word gets out that you even sustained this injury, you would be forced to leave." He let the weight of the statement hang, then rocked on his heels, averting his eyes to the floor for a moment, then fixing Olivia with an inquisitive, but knowing, stare, eyes narrowed and head tilted. "But I don't think you wnt to leave this class, despite that." His chin jerked to her arm. "There's no pretending it didn't happen, but if you want to stay here, you must make absolutely certain that no on speaks of this incident where any Ministry ears can hear." His eyes flicked to her wand pointedly. "And you have the tools to make that happen."

Sherlin look at her for a long moment, weighing words in his mind, but deciding not to speak them as he turned on his heel and made his way back to his desk.. "Strange effect about Theodoor," he announced suddenly. "He himself is immune to spells. But if you cast a spell on him, he seems to hold on to it, and he casts in on every person that walks through the door for the next few hours. Funny little thing, isn't he?"

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Her solemn nod felt heavy, knowing all too well the tiresome egotism many adults displayed, regardless of who they interacted with. As much as she wanted to make the world a better place for people, too often she felt like the only one actually trying, let alone the only one not actively destroying any semblance of progress. Did she look as tired as he did, she wondered?

Something felt like it shifted in the atmosphere as she watched Oachalka return home. Discomfort settled into the pit of her stomach with every word, every step he took up the stairs. The anger chewed up her insides before it clawed its way up her throat. "But—it wasn't permanent or life-threatening!" The words burst out in an indignant rush, standing as if defending herself. All of it felt aggravatingly useless as he calmly continued. Her gaze radiated with a caustic fire, searing into him with misplaced contempt.

It made no damn sense. The Ministry used to subject children to far more dangerous things, now they thought they could just sweep that all under the rug and act so pretentiously highbrow?

The rage suddenly sucked inward like the aftermath of a blast wave. It had been her department, her work that affected how Aurors were trained. She'd always thought safety was paramount. She'd shot herself in her own foot.

While the professional in her resigned herself to the rules, knowing they had been laid out for good reason, the student in her screamed. True learning, slipping through her fingers. An understanding of magic she hadn't thought possible. The most useful experiences and scenarios any Auror could put to use in their own work. All of it, falling out of reach.

At least, until she saw where they landed. Her hand brushed against the wand half-sticking out of her pocket, brows furrowing. A horror began to dawn inside her that she didn't let show aside from the stiffness in her shoulders. He implied a way out, or rather, a way to stay. A very wrong, very tempting way to stay.

But why? He had no particular reason to want her to stick around. He could just be trying to save his own neck from the repercussions, but then why didn't he just do it himself? Would he anyway, if she refused?

Everything he did had a purpose. This was a test in itself. She failed no matter what.

People throughout history gave everything for the sake of knowledge. The costs steep, the consequences grave. Morality and humanity were often stripped away, betraying everything that made them who they were. There was a line in the sand that shouldn't be crossed. A precipice that there was no coming back from.

Olivia's feet took a step.

Her wand slid into her hands. She fiddled with it, examining it like she was looking at it for the first time. "Hm. Funny indeed. Someone could cause all sorts of trouble, if they knew about that." Absently, she swirled her wand around in the air, ticking off ideas with aimless flourishes. "A little Revelio to make sure no secrets entered the room, Piscifors to cause a little mischief, Expecto Obliviate—" Her wand flicked with purpose, there and gone, the faintest bead of light at its tip already fading. "—for something more unsavory. I'm sure you had better ideas in mind when you made him though, hm?"

Their conversation faded out quickly after that, her heart thudding in her chest too loudly to hear much else. Gratefulness flowed through her veins as people began to return, taking her out of her thoughts for a blissful moment before ice flooded her.

Angier shuffled his way in, rubbing his hands together and grumbling about the cold. Marcus fell in step with Marina, eyes sparkling as he told her about the book he was reading. Ryan chatted with a very disinterested looking Helen, still absorbed in her snitch. Callum laughed along with Alfred, smile still radiant as his eyes found Olivia.

Nobody looked different. Everyone felt different. Maybe she was the one that changed.

 

[Ryees]

"Revelio."​

Sherlin's brow quirked at the blackboard, his face away from Olivia. No.

"Piscifors."​

No again. What are you—?

"Expecto obliviate."​

Ah. Prying ears. Not that anyone can spy through Theodoor, but then you couldn't know that. Well played.

Bailey, Helen 24​

Carmine, Angier 26​

Henley, Marcus 20​

Hitchens, Alfred 20​

Hudson, Olivia 22​

Mathers, Ryan 22​

McMaster, Callum 26​

Wutherford, Marina 20​

Sherlin was seated at his desk as normal when the students came in, seeming to have recovered from the travails of their physical torment. They all sported some new bruises, but otherwise seemed to be bonding well, having raised their spirits while they were away from class. All but Angier, who likely raised some spirits of his own, on his own.

Eyes scanned the scoreboard when they all noticed it had been updated by Oachalka's rampant violence. Marina's and Marcus' expressions both dropped sullenly, while Ryan and Alfred both eyed their unchanged numbers sourly. Ryan's eyes lit on a different number, though, and his eyes bugged out, reaching a fist over and shoving Callum's shoulder. "Dude, you cracked 'em all on their way in!?" he exclaimed incredulously, looking back and forth between Callum and the blackbaord.

Callum grinned pridefully, but shrugged humbly. "Well, yeah, but, so did Angier."

"Well yeah, no shit," Ryan sputtered dismissively, "grandpa SEAL hasn't missed a shot in fifty years or whatever, but I didn't know you were also a sniper. Good shit man, good shit."

"Well, I did some hunting—"

"I doubt it was bludger hunting, though," Helen sniped in as she passed behind Callum, clapping a hand between his shoulders. "Just take the damn compliment, dude." She was gone, then, leaving Callum looking bashful as she took a front-row desk and started digging into her bag.

"Indeed both Callum and mister Angier did achieve full marks for this test," Sherlin piped up, circling around his desk. "They are joined in success by Helen and Olivia—" his eyes touched Olivia, knowing, cold, and approving, but his voice never skipped a beat "—who have all received points from our scorekeeper. A few of you have passed a full quarter of your needed points to achieve a passing grade, well done!" He prompted applause, and there was a depressingly dull ripple of half-claps that flowed across the room by which he seemed entirely chuffed.

"Now, though, we move on to your next tests."

He walked towards the wall that the shooting range had opened through, and when he began to tap on it with his wand, Marina and Marcus both lost all color in their face. "Our next destination will be one that is, no doubt, familiar to some of you—almost."

"How many places does that wall lead to?" Marina asked, half in wonder half in fear.

Sherlin stopped his tapping, counting silently on his fingers. "Sixty-one." He answered her simply and succinctly, offering no further explanation, and resumed his brick-tapping. Marina swallowed hard, and a moment later, the wall began to shift. As it did, he turned around to face them. "Your first trials were mostly tests of your bodies: Reaction time, physicality, your ability to work under pressure. Now, we will be testing your minds more directly. The following test will offer you up to seven points."

Sounds of chattering crowds started emanating from the wall, which had opened barely wide enough to fit two people through abreast. Beyond was the platform of a train station, bustling with crowds and with a train ready and waiting across the platform.

Ryan jumped up from his desk. "Is that King's Cross!?" He scuttled out from behind and took the steps two at a time down, peering through the crack from the middle of the classroom floor. "How did you do this?"

"The Ministry offers me access to many places," Sherlin explained. "I simply gave them a list of each place I would like this classroom to connect to, and they were very accommodating. They only asked me seventy-six questions before they approved them all, I was very pleased with their efficiency."

"Are we going back to Hogwarts for something?" Marcus asked, sounding confused. "Their semester should be well along right now, the Hogwarts Express shouldn't be running."

Sherlin nodded. "And indeed it is not! But King's Cross is home to a number of platforms more than just Nine and Three-Quarters. We will be, instead, going to platform Five and One-Third." Sherlin traipsed through the gap into the station, walking straight towards the tracks—and stepped forward onto the tracks, disappearing below the edge.

Marina squeaked; Helen clicked her tongue in irritation; Angier groaned derisively; Alfred and Ryan's eyes both widened; and Callum had a hand half-extended that he dropped as Sherlin disappeared from sight. Helen wasted no time, shaking her head as she strode through the gap in the wall. She stopped at the tracks for just a moment, looked back at the class, and shrugged, then followed suit.

Callum and Angier led the rest of the class in an urgent trot to the edge of the platform, peering down onto the tracks. There was no sight of their colleagues, blood-stained streaks, broken bones scattered across the tracks, or otherwise. Upon close inspection, though, five of the slats that bridge the tracks were notably discolored, newer-looking wood. Angier and Callum looked up at each other, sharing unreadable, exasperated expressions. With a deep breath, Angier stepped off the platform, tipping forward onto the tracks, falling into the steel...

...and stumbling forward with the momentum of a fall onto a dusty train platform that had seen no traffic in many, many decades. It extended off to only the right, a heavy wooden side reading "END OF THE LINE" in red block letters held up by one nail and hanging at an odd angle above the tracks to the left. The train that stood with its engine running was connected to only one car, its door open, and Sherlin standing expectantly next to its opening.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Olivia was more than a little grateful to get out of the classroom, all stiff and jumpy with guilt as she wandered through the wall into the busy station. Despite the promise of more points than any of them had managed to gain so far, she scarcely reacted. Nary a scribble in her notebook, though part of that may have been thanks to the armadillo dozing on top. The most she could muster was a passing interest in wherever else the classroom connected to, gone with a sharp intake of breath as the Professor dropped out of sight.

Marina glanced around in horror at the people milling about, seeming to be none the wiser of the apparent consecutive suicides as more of her classmates followed.

"Don't worry," Marcus piped up next to her, "the station's charmed to keep people from noticing the comings and goings of us magic folk."

"Right," Ryan drawled beside Olivia, "don't you Hogwarts kids have to run into a wall here or something? Crazy initiation rite. Can't believe they haze 10 year olds around here."

"I-It's not like that!" Marcus stammered.

Marina looked between Marcus and Alfred with shock. "Run into a wall?"

"Through a wall, my dear," Alfred began with a grand gesture to the rails, "much like what our dear Professor likely has done here."

A bright smile graced Marcus's lips as he walked forward, arms outstretched to the rails. "Yeah, it's gotta be like that! I know it looks scary, but you'll be just fine."

Ryan peered over the edge doubtfully. Marina's hands fidgeted until Olivia placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Just keep your wand at the ready, if it'd make you feel safer." Olivia told the girl with an encouraging nod. "If something goes wrong, you can catch yourself, and the charms will keep your magic from causing a scene."

Marina stroked her fingertips across the smooth wood, looking at the woman beside her. "You sure it'd be okay?"

"Of course," Alfred piped up, walking up to the edge and turning back to his companions. "My dearest uncle Alistaire is in charge of the operation here to keep the Muggles unaware and the platform connections in working order. A Hitchens man can achieve no less than perfection, so you are all in good hands." He gave a gentlemanly bow as a means of farewell before rocking backward on his heels and tipping over the edge of the precipice.

Ryan sighed, trying to still appear casual despite the tight grip on his wand as he turned to the rest and shrugged. "Well, I've been hazed worse." And with that, he jogged to the edge and cannonballed off.

Marcus scratched his head, eyes downcast as he took a step to Marina, hand outstretched. "We could go together. I mean, uh, if you want. I'll make sure you're okay."

The black-haired girl looked between Marcus and Olivia. Wordlessly, her arm looped into the crook of Olivia's. Marcus tried and failed to not look dejected.

At Olivia's curious look, Marina stared down at her shoes and squeezed her arm a little tighter. "You're pretty quick to react. Is it okay if I go with you?"

Olivia smiled at the shorter woman. "Of course. Together, then."

They stepped in tandem up to the edge, Marina instinctively slowing the closer they got.

"Don't give yourself time to think," Olivia said, immediately stepping off as they got close enough. As her weight dropped, Marina was pulled down with her, screaming.

The world tilted in a disorienting whirl of color and light for a second until it abruptly righted itself again, the two women stumbling to catch themselves and each other. They detached from one another as they took in their new surroundings, finding a rickety platform of the station awaiting. Ryan was still rubbing his backside from what must have been a hard landing. Alfred had launched into a tirade about his uncle, Helen being the only one appearing to listen, even if her smile was a little too tight. Angier sneezed as he sat on a dusty bench, the burst of sound echoing into the high ceiling. Callum paced about the platform, doubtlessly trying to piece together their next task with how intently he observed their surroundings. Marcus finally stumbled in, still looking sullen.

Olivia stared across the platform at their waiting Professor, something knocking at the back of her mind. He'd mentioned this would be a test of their minds. If they were here with a train, that seemed a lot like…

 

[Ryees]

"Eeeveryone on the trolley!" Sherlin exclaimed, waving his wand to beckon the door to open. In a cautious, steady line, the students filtered in, Angier and Helen both giving him dubious, suspicious, already-exhausted looks at whatever shenanigans were in store for them. They were correct to assume shenaniganery was afoot, but the unknown flavor and texture had them squinting around the inside of the train car with curious, searching looks.

The car itself was a fairly nondescript passenger car, dark wood with dark-green leather seats separated into compartments by sliding wooden doors on oiled bearings. The compartments were visible through each other, but separated by windows, giving each pair of seats an illusion of privacy while not obscuring anything within the sections to the eyes of would-be wandering train personnel, of which there was none. It was the only car attached to the engine, which rumbled louder as the passengers made their way aboard. Who was manning the cockpit was a mystery.

Marcus brought up the rear of the line, and as he crossed into the car, the door closed behind him at Sherlin's waved wand. "Two to a compartment, now, each of you take a seat!" Sherlin trotted up to the front of the car, turning once he reached the door to the connector to regard them. "I had mentioned that this test will mark a turn in teaching mechanisms. Your physical bodies will not be tested to any real capacity, here. Instead, we will be testing your minds and your decision-making skills in measurable, identifiable ways." The grin that spread his lips was more oily than any of his previous. "You might learn more about yourselves and your classmates than you expect."

After another burbling chug, the train began to taxi away from the station. The view from the window was a non-view, the insides of tunnels ambling past at the train's leisurely pace. Occasionally the not-quite-blur was punctuated by the view of another platform, giving the impression that they were moving through a real train line in the real world.

"No doubt many of you have heard of the classic trolley problems," he announced, and with a tap on the picture frame set next to the door, the wall rotated around to reveal a white marker board. Sherlin snatched up the marker from the tray and drew a crude square with circle under it, with a Y-shaped bracket off to one side. He added five hashes to the bottom rung, and one to the top. "You are on a train moving towards five people tied to the tracks. If you do nothing, they all die. You have the ability to change the track, saving five lives that would have died through your inaction, but condemning one life through action."

He dropped the marker onto the tray, folding his hands at his waist. "The idea of this test is to gauge a number of things in the abstract: The value of one life versus others, the weight of action versus inaction, and a number of moral quandaries of no importance to the greater picture."

With another tap, the marker jumped up of its own accord and zipped across the board, hashing out the scoreboard.

Bailey, Helen 24​

Carmine, Angier 26​

Henley, Marcus 20​

Hitchens, Alfred 20​

Hudson, Olivia 22​

Mathers, Ryan 22​

McMaster, Callum 26​

Wutherford, Marina 20​

"Just for your reference," he chirped, then stepped away from the wall. He looked to each compartment for a moment, taking note of the pairs of students in each seat. As he did, the blocks of the scoreboard separated from each other, skittering across the board on black spider-legs made of moving marker-ink to settle next to each other in corresponding pairs. "The first step of this problem will be very simple. Seven points are on the line for this test. Amongst your pairs, you must make a decision: One of you will remain in the compartment, as student A. The other will exit the compartment, as student B, and be given a question, then return to the compartment. Student A and B will trade places, and A will be asked the same question. If your answers match, student B will receive one point. If they do not, student A will receive a point. We will do this three times. The first question will be worth one point. The second, two; and the third, four."

His hand flicked up to indicate the scoreboard. "However, there is an important note: At the end of this test, the total points on the board will remain the same. Any earned points will be subtracted from your partner's score." With a finalizing nod, Sherlin clapped his hands together. "Now, you know the rules, so away you go!" With a flourish of his wand, the doors to the compartment all slammed closed. This revealed a detail that had not been immediately apparent: The glass was soundproof. The moment the doors closed, the seating compartments were like fish bowls, hollowly separated from the rest of the train car.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Alfred sighed at Sherlin's proclamation, while Marcus's eyes sparkled as if he were a first year again. Marina shrank in on herself as if something would jump out at her from the dirty shadows, becoming even smaller as Ryan's large hand clapped on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort. Callum and Olivia followed curiously after Helen and Angier, the relative normalcy of the train car doing nothing to settle anyone's nerves.

At Sherlin's request to sit, the two looked at each other, Callum shrugging before opening the door to his left and gesturing her grandly inside. A corner of her lips raised as she thanked him and stepped in, settling into one of the leather seats. He took the seat opposite her, watching each other's reactions to their next task with confusion, curiosity, realization, and finally dawning horror.

In another compartment, Helen's indignant voice rose. "You said this would offer us up to seven points, not get rid of up to seven points. What's the point of this exercise if all it does is set us further back?"

Olivia peered through the window at the rest of the class. Helen stood, seeming ready to march out of her compartment and punch the Professor in the face with all her fervor and indignation. Marina sat near her, an almost imperceptible smile as she watched her partner. Alfred had a casual arm around a distraught Marcus, head in his hands. Ryan did his best to avoid the deathly glare of Angier.

"You've gotta be shitt—"

The doors unceremoniously slammed shut, silence descending upon Olivia and Callum.

Callum's attention remained on the door, sighing as he crossed his arms. "One step forward, two steps back, huh?" He muttered half to himself before glancing Olivia's way with a smirk. "Well, at least I got the best partner."

She huffed a laugh, waving a hand in the air. "We're pretty like-minded. I'm not sure if that's good or bad in this situation."

"It's good," He settled back in his seat, slouching a bit. "You go."

"Me?" she murmured, considering. If she thought they were rather similar, wouldn't that mean they could match more often than not? "No, you should go."

He made a point of stretching luxuriously, his calf bumping into hers, arms raising above his head before flopping back into his lap. "I'm awfully comfy in this seat, you know."

She slouched back, making a point to copy his bad posture. "What if I am, too?"

He made a face, ruined by the corners of his lips creeping up. "Okay, you got me there." He sighed, retracting his legs to rest his elbows on his knees. "But seriously, Olivia. If we think alike, then we have a decent shot at matching. I have more points right now, I can take the hit."

She balked, leaning forward. "You earned those points. You're not losing them."

"You earned yours, too. Best case scenario, our scores equalize. That's really not bad at all."

For a moment, the logic almost convinced her. His score would be back around the class average, still redeemable. If she lost every round, recovery could be out of reach.

She became suddenly aware of her wand poking lightly into her thigh. The memory of its last spell burned in the back of her mind. Olivia already manipulated her way into staying in the class. Doing it again was a dangerously slippery slope. She was better than that—at least, she liked to think so.

"And what if it doesn't work out like that? What if the majority of the questions, we don't match?"

"Then I'd like to get to know you more. Learn how you think." He said it so simply, she almost didn't realize what those words meant. "But," he started, pulling her attention away, "if we don't match, then there's nothing to worry about if you go, anyway."

"But…" she started to protest, biting her lip. With a sigh, she leaned back in the seat. "There's really nothing we can do, huh?"

"Not really."

Maybe all of the strategizing was pointless—neither of them knew what he'd ask, or what the other would respond with. They only had their best guesses, and what they knew to be true to themselves. "Fine. I'll go."

She stood, mind whirring. It never did any good to agonize over the unknown, but she did it anyway. As she slid the door open, however, something came back to her. "…You want to get to know me?"

"Well, yeah."

She blinked down at him, at the way he ran a hand through his hair with a bashful smile, not quite meeting her eye.

"I mean, you're interesting," he added, trying to downplay the implications. "You've certainly got a story or two, still."

Olivia paused. Blushed. Smiled. "I've got a lot of stories."

And with that, she stepped through the door, leaving Callum to relax back in his seat with a grin he couldn't erase.

 

[Ryees]

As Olivia stepped out, she was nearly bowled over by Helen. Furious, Helen had zipped out of her compartment the moment her door closed, heedless of Marina poking her head out of the compartment. Marina, like Olivia, would find that the moment one person stepped out of the booth, the door slammed shut, but unlike Olivia, Marina had almost lost her nose in the process. The doors locked from the outside, and Helen took a moment to fiddle with it before finally clicking it open. Her glare shot up to Olivia, and she sneered frustratedly, shaking her head and shooting an acidic glare past Olivia to the professor at the end of the hallway. Then she slipped into her car, sliding the door shut behind her, and bodily dropped onto the bench, head in her hands.

No one else had made their way into the aisle yet, so it was Olivia alone who stepped up to Sherlin. He nodded approvingly at her, then looked down at a small black notebook. Pages flipped as if he was searching for a particular entry, and when he found it, he slipped his thumb into the book's crease. "Olivia and Callum... righto." With a satisfied nod, he let the book close. "Which one of you deserves the points from this exercise?" He nodded again, and lowered his hands back to his waist, finished.

The question caught her off guard, Olivia's brows furrowing as her gaze searched him. Helen flashed back into her mind's eye, seething with frustration. Angier next, with his scathing look. Marcus and Marina, both with eyes downcast. Alfred, tense in the way he sat. And lastly, Callum, smiling at the thought of talking with her more.

"Both of us," she replied simply, not caring if it could be considered a non-answer. "People have their own thoughts and opinions, their own actions and reactions. It makes no sense to penalize someone for being different. If we want sameness, that's why we talk, compromise."

Sherlin nodded, taking note of her answer, then raising a hand back towards her car. "Thank you. You may send your partner out when you return."

At that moment, Ryan rose within his compartment, sliding the door open and poking his head out into the hall. "Am I good to come out?" he questioned, sounding unsure and uncomfortable.

"By all means, come up," Sherlin said nonchalantly, raising his book again. Ryan passed by Olivia on his way up. Sherlin was poking through his small notebook again when Olivia closed the door, the last notes of, "Ryan and Angier—odd choice there, I wo—"

The door closed, leaving Olivia and Callum in their isolated fish bowl once more.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Where she left the conversation off would have been far more effective had Olivia been able to truly leave for a time. Instead, she tried to ignore the awkwardness of slipping back into the room a minute or two later, the echo of her words still very present and lingering in both of their minds.

Despite that, Callum retained his casual demeanor, arms crossing behind his head as he leaned back. "Please tell me they're not math questions. I'll fight the guy all day long, but my real weakness is solving for X."

Olivia couldn't suppress the creeping upturn of her lips, grateful as she settled back into her seat. "You'd better brush up on your algebra quick, then. You're up." As she gestured towards the door, Callum stood, peering out the window at the drab bricks flashing by.

"Any idea yet why we had to be on a train, let alone leave the platform, for just a few simple questions?" He wondered as he stepped towards the door.

"None." She murmured, though the gears in her mind churned at the reminder.

He sighed, but seemed unsurprised. "Maybe I have two weaknesses."

"Trains?"

He chuckled. "Surprises." With that, the door shut behind him as he made his way towards the Professor.

Sherlin watched Ryan walk away, a puzzled scrunch about the boy's face as he seemed to be doing math on his fingers. Looking to Callum, the professor flipped back to a known page in his book. "Right, Mr. McMaster and Miss Hudson. First question for you, then: Which of you deserves the points from this exercise?" The book snapped shut with a satisfying flap, and Sherlin nodded his head back towards the compartment where Olivia waited.

"What?" The redhead blinked, scratching his head. "If I can be honest, Professor, I don't really like that it's a choice at all." He hesitated for a moment, eyes glued to a point behind the Professor. "I feel like everyone deserves the chance at points, same as any other task we've done so far. I just don't get why this one has to be any different."

The tenseness in his shoulders relaxed as he shrugged. "If you really have to choose one, then give the points to her. But I just don't see the point of putting us against each other. Our points should just be a reflection of what we've done, that has nothing to do with what someone else has done."

Sherlin's mouth twisted thoughtfully at that. "At what point in your life have you ever been shown that your accomplishments are not a reflection of those around you?" He shrugged dismissively, though, pushing the thought away. "Your answer is recorded though, thank you, you may go."

Callum's gaze narrowed, keeping a tight rein on his tongue until he began to turn away, muttering under his breath, "If I reflect those around me, that usually means we're on the same side."

He had just enough time on the short trek back to school his disgruntled expression into mock horror just as Olivia caught sight of him. The look of concern on her face almost broke his façade as he walked back into their compartment.

"You okay?" She asked immediately, sitting up straighter.

He took a long breath, leaning into the small bit of fear he'd felt seeing Ryan walk away counting. "He really did ask math problems."

"Wait, seriously?" He could see it, the way her fingers twitched as if mentally opening her notebook and jotting down a note. The sight of that cracked his spooked visage.

"Godspeed." He bid her with a grin as he sat back down, watching as she left the space again, warier than before.

 

[Ryees]

When Olivia came into the aisle, she found Helen seated on the outside of her cabin, arms crossed, legs stuck out into the aisle. When Olivia emerged, Helen looked up at her and huffed. "The bullshit starts now," she spat, shaking her head. "Have fun."

With her next sojourn out into the hall, Olivia didn’t expect anything else to unnerve her quite like Callum’s foreboding revelation—at least, until a cryptic warning came from Helen, of all people. She nodded stiffly to the woman before making her rigid way towards the Professor, rapidly trying to sweep the cobwebs in her mind off of quadratic equations the whole short way.

Sherlin was still standing at the head of the car, small black notebook in hand. This time he was writing in the pages towards the back, and when Olivia approached, he clicked his pen shut and riffled back to the front. "Welcome back miss Hudson. Now then, for you..." Coming to a page, he nodded, then flipped the book closed. "You are given the option to keep your points, or swap your points with your classmate. If one of you chooses to keep, but the other to swap, your points will swap. If you both choose to swap, you will end up with your same points. If you both choose to keep, neither of you will receive any further points for this exercise."

The nerves didn’t dissipate until the whole explanation of the second trial tumbled out into the open air. In their place, confusion reigned. “Is that replacing previous parameters, or in addition to them?”

Why did that question feel so pointed? Olivia seemed to be the only one questioning her questions, even though the questions were designed to be questionable. "No points will move until the exercise ends. All permutations will happen in sequence at the conclusion of the exercise."

The question only served to sate curiosity—there was no sense in trying to blindly strategize. The only truly known negative came from if they both elected to keep their own points, so… "Swap."

Sherlin nodded, gesturing back towards her cabin. "Thank you, miss Hudson."

When Olivia and Callum swapped, Helen had still not moved from her place in the aisle. "What's, ah... whatcha doin'?" he questioned, peering uneasily down at her.

"I am simply avoiding anymore bullshit," she answered tritely, jerking her head back inside the compartment. "If miss Fidget needs to answer anymore of these questions she's going to hyperventilate and this is going to turn into a way stupider trolley problem."

Callum shot a concerned, sympathetic glance in to Marina, who was leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, poring over her notebook as if it would contain some sort of guidance from her past self. "I guess he didn't tell us what happened if we didn't answer all the questions..."

Helen shrugged dismissively. "Worst case scenario, I donate seven points to the basket case and have to make it up, but she gets to keep her lungs."

Callum snorted, nodding. "Well, wish me luck, I guess."

"Nnnope," Helen shot back, picking at her cuticles. "Fuckhead doesn't work in luck. Gotta outsmart him."

His head shaking, Callum made his way up to the professor. Their exchange was short, but when he came back to the car, his face was pained. He plopped onto the bench, leaning his head back against the glass. "I said swap. What did you say?"

 

[ClockworkCadence]

"Same." Olivia fiddled with a fraying thread in her sleeve. Another note etched itself into her mental notebook. It seemed like the two were indeed being given the same questions, even if the other pairs received something different—something that should have been a given, but an unknown nonetheless, until then. "So everything is unchanged."

"Whatever that means," Callum sighed, seeming to deflate into his seat. "I just can't figure out the point of this. Not that the rest of what we've been asked to do has been crystal clear in intent, mind you."

Her head tilted, considering. "I have some theories, but I think it'll be clearer at the end. All of this is supposed to be a lesson, after all."

"It better be a good one. Helen out there's about to start a proper mutiny."

Olivia tried to resist the urge to glance out at the blonde as she stood to make her way to the door again. She couldn't, however, suppress the smile crawling onto her lips. "I think if she's set her mind to that, it's happening regardless."

Callum stretched a hand behind him to rap his knuckles against the glass. "What are the odds this stuff is bulletproof?"

"Not low enough."

With that, she once again began to exit into the hall, only to duck back in to narrowly avoid colliding with a near-hysterical Marina as she dashed back into her compartment and peered out the window. Helen still sat in the hall, looking for all the world like a viper coiled to strike. The sheer irritation she radiated had Olivia side-stepping into the hall as close to the wall as possible, quiet so as to not disturb the definitely-not-sleeping bear.

It didn't work. "Bring my pen back." The curt voice spooked Olivia, but she quickly recovered and glanced back at the blonde.

"Your pen?"

"My fucking pen." She nodded then promptly ignored Olivia's presence, seeming to believe that was enough information yet daring the woman to question further.

Olivia valued her life enough to just do as Helen requested without any further information—an easy feat, as she immediately understood upon turning to look down the hallway. Two doors down, glass shards dusted the floor from a hole shattered out of the pane, long cracks webbing out. As she approached, a terrified Ryan stood pressed against the far window as Angier sat taking a long swig out of a flask.

The pen sat nestled amongst the shards inside the compartment. Olivia pointed sheepishly to it and beckoned Ryan, who stayed unmoving for a long moment, shaking his head violently.

"Dude, she’s fuckin—"

"Sh." The harsh sound burst from between her teeth. "Not now," she added in a whisper, still feeling the aura of death radiating from behind her as she gestured at him insistently. Eventually, he seemed resigned to his fate and retrieved the pen, opening the door to pass it to Olivia. She snatched the pen and waved Ryan back inside. He was all too happy to return to safety.

Wordlessly, Olivia straight-arm offered the pen back to Helen, who snatched it with a grunt of appreciation. Her toll paid to the bridge troll, Olivia scuttled off to the front.

The atmospheric change felt jarring as she stepped up to the Professor, calmly acknowledging her presence and readying himself to write. Before she could catch herself, she flinched at the sight of his pen.

"Last one for your pair then," Sherlin chirped pleasantly. "Let's see... Ah, yes." He cleared his throat, standing up a touch straighter. "This train is on a set of tracks that are not maintained. The bridge has been out for many years, and we are headed for it within the hour. If the bridge is repaired, then the train will instead pass through the next station at full speed. What is your proposed solution?"

"What?" Olivia's attention darted to the window instinctively, as if she could already see the chasm looming before them. "Magical or non-magical?"

Sherlin shrugged flippantly. "I'unno. Not my solution. How would you do it?"

She crossed her arms. "Well, if no other variables complicate the process, we should just pull the brake and stop the train. If we need to continue on to the next station as well, then we can get out and go repair the bridge."

Sherlin nodded, scratching her answer into his notebook. "Good answer, that. Thank you." He nodded, satisfied, and turned his attention back towards his notebook.

She blinked, a strange mix of pride and worry cooking in her gut before she turned to stiffly make her way back into the relative safety of her own compartment.

"You okay?" Her expression must have been something awful, considering the urgent way Callum asked the question.

Olivia reached out to mirror the knuckle-tap he'd given the glass earlier. "Not bulletproof," she said matter-of-factly. "Not pen-proof, either." At his bewildered and horrified expression, she added, "Helen."

"Ah." That seemed to explain everything to him. He rose with a nonchalant stretch. "So, how are we messing up points this time?"

"Actually, not this time. The last question's, uh, pretty straightforward." Something in the way she said it must have set off alarm bells as he looked at her skeptically. Either that, or he didn't believe anything the Professor did could ever be straightforward.

"Should I be worried?"

"Technically." She gestured towards the door. "Your bigger worry is surviving that hallway, though. Eyes forward. Move with a purpose. She can smell fear."

He chuckled, the nonchalant mask almost convincing as he stepped out of the space. It was a few quiet moments before he returned, looking pale.

"...Seriously?" was all he said as he blew out a breath, sitting next to the window and craning his neck.

"Yeah," Olivia murmured dully.

"This whole time. Our lives have just casually been in danger this whole time."

"Well, to be fair, there's still a lot of time before—"

"That's not the point."

She bit her lip to keep from saying what surfaced in her mind—the fact that her life had been in danger just an hour prior, yet she was still alive and kicking. The fact that only she and the Professor remembered, now.

"I know," she started instead, "but can we really learn anything truly unique and useful to our careers without some measure of risk?"

He seemed to consider that for a moment. "You know, you're remarkably okay with all this, for someone whose job is all about making curriculum safe and efficient."

"Well, I can't judge the whole based on the perceived parts," she murmured thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on her knees. "Besides, nothing bad has happened yet." The lie tasted funny in her mouth.

He hummed, leaning back in his seat. "Guess so. But I'll feel a hell of a lot better when we get to actually use a solution instead of theorize over them."

Her attention wandered between the door and the window. "You and me both."

 

[Ryees]

Marina was knocking on her glass, soundlessly waving a hand trying to get Helen's attention, but to no avail as Helen's head was flat against the door with her eyes closed. Angier was walking back from his chat with Sherlin when he stopped, looking back and forth from Helen to the girl slapping her hand into the glass. "You, uh... you gonna see what she wants?"

"Nope." Helen didn't even open her eyes.

"What if she walks out?"

Helen's hands, folded in her lap, moved, and she raised her right. Folded into the crook of her arm was her wand. "Locked it."

Angier started to balk and barked a laugh at the same time. "You locked—do these doors even lock?"

Helen shrugged again, completely dismissive, and closed her eyes again. "Charm locked the door, so I guess so."

Angier's mouth worked for a moment, his gaze shifting up to meet Marina's through the door. She pointed angrily at Helen, and he shrugged, then she flailed her arms and Angier offered her an apologetic frown. He was about to step away when Marina threw up her hands, then hopped backwards away from the door and drew her wand. Angier saw her mouth start to move, and his eyebrows jumped up.

Angier dropped to a knee, jamming his wand into the runner carpet that stretched the length of the aisle and shouting "Flipendo!" into the fabric.

Helen snapped to him, wand at the ready, alarm pulling her face taut. "Angier what are yo—ooh!" Her words were cut off by a surprised squeak as the rug rippled along its surface like a snapped whip, the rolling hump of magic shoving her onto her side and scooting her down the hallway.

As she cleared the door, Marina's spell fired. Four points of yellow-white light coalesced at the door frame's corners, and exploded with a sharp Crack! The light ran the length of the door's edges on all four sides, shearing through hinges and locks alike, but barely a splinter stood out of place for the laser precision the spell's path traced. The door barely moved for a moment, then lazily fell backwards into the compartment, where Marina had hopped onto one bench on one knee to let it fall. She looked supremely annoyed as she stalked out of the compartment, but having watched Helen get thrown aside seemed to have tempered her annoyance by a margin. She looked to Angier, half-shrugging with a confused head shake. "What did you think I was gonna do? Blow her away?"

Angier blinked, staring at the neatly-severed door blankly, then panning over to Helen, who was rubbing her sacrum and eyeing him like a Voodoo doll. "I... er... I mean, you see someone point a wand—"

Marina's steam valve had refilled, and she waved a hand with a dismissive, "Ugh, never mind." She spun on her heel, one fist on her hips and the other pointed accusingly at Helen. "And you!" she hollered, her cheeks uncharacteristically pink. "You high and mighty princess, thinking you can lock me up like that! Maybe I'm not as fast as you or as strong as you but if you think I'm not every bit as smart as you, well then you can take a look at the scoreboard at the end of the lesson."

Helen's eyes narrowed at that, her surprise that Marina's outburst now mingling with the suspicion that she had somehow been double-crossed.

Before Helen could say anything, though, Marina was tapping her wand on the decorative wood molding that ran the length of the hallway, snaking up and angles to form a border around each door. "Alohomora maxima," she snapped, and the characteristic white light of the unlocking charm snapped into the wood, running along the hall like rave lights. As it passed up and over each door, an audible click issued from each lock, and the doors automatically hinged open.

Angier stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway to his compartment, an approving smirk crookedly turning his lips. As the doors opened, Marcus poked his head out from the door, while Alfred stood and walked out behind him. Ryan moved to the doorframe and braced his arms up, leaning into the hallway with his elbows on the frame.

"It's a trolley problem," Marina announced once everyone was in the hallway. "But we are one of the choices on the tracks."

 

[ClockworkCadence]

As she caught a glimpse of the commotion outside, Olivia sighed and stood. "Seems like it's solution time."

Callum hummed in confusion, turning just in time to let out a low whistle at the precision explosion that sent the door tipping onto the ground. "She's quite good at that one. We haven't figured out yet if that spell would work on skulls, have we?"

"Let's hope we don't find out soon." Olivia already wrenched the door open by the time the second spell sparked into her lock. She took a step out, ready to intervene and put her diplomacy skills to good use. Thankfully, Marina just stood impatiently tapping her foot as everyone else filtered out into the hall, seeming content to stew and cause no further explosions.

At her proclamation, Angier snorted. "We’re all well aware."

Alfred sighed. "It's nothing quite so dramatic, dear. It isn't that big of a deal."

"Wait, what's the other choice?" Ryan asked.

"We're kind of the only choice on the track, here." Callum piped up from behind Olivia.

Alfred nodded. "Indeed. It's hardly a trolley problem, aside from the fact that we're on a trolley and we have a problem."

"That's not the point!" Marina threw her hands up in the air. "What are we going to do about this?"

"Well, I'm assuming we were all asked to provide a solution, right?" Olivia took a step further into the hall. "Everyone can just pitch their ideas and we can take it from there."

"We can just levitate the train over the gap!" Ryan said proudly, though nobody seemed to react.

"Or we can just pull the brake...?" Marcus murmured with his chin tipped down.

Helen snorted. "Yeah, right. Like that'll work."

Marcus seemed to shrink into himself even further. Alfred put a defensive arm around him. "I'd say it's worth a try."

"Oh, so it's worth it to see his shit-eating grin when we realize it's broken?" Helen sneered as she tossed a gesture towards the Professor. "Pass."

"We don't know that," Marina huffed.

"I'm sorry, what class have you been in this whole time?" Helen shook her head.

A screech of metal and a gust of wind cut off Marina's retort. Everyone turned to Angier who had shuffled his way down the corridor and now stood in front of the trolley door slid open to the fast-moving landscape beyond. He turned as he felt everyone's eyes on him. "I've got my own solution." He shrugged as he began to stretch. “You kids have fun.“

"Pops, you're not in the 82nd Airborne anymore. You can't just parachute your way out of a train." Helen rolled her eyes.

Angier said nothing but pointedly flourished his wand in the air, clenched in a fist with his middle finger up.

"Hey, let old man Rambo do his thing. He'll be fine," Ryan said, the sparkle in his eyes betraying how much he wanted to see the elderly man in action.

"I thought we were supposed to be in this together..." Marcus glanced worriedly between the group and Angier.

"We are," Olivia insisted as she gestured out the window. Outside, a sheer rock face flashed by to reveal a stretch of wide river. "And we don't exactly have time to argue. Marcus, try the brake. Angier, it'd be a lot more effort to catch up to the train than it would be to stick around for half a minute longer. If the brake doesn't work, then you can do whatever you see fit."

Marina flashed a grateful look at the woman. Angier grimaced but paused. Helen looked ready to argue, but shot a fiery look at the bridge they could now see in the distance and said nothing. Marcus seemed all too happy to duck out from under Alfred's arm and scuttle towards the front, nervously giving the Professor a wide berth as if he would prevent the man from reaching the brake. He seemed relieved to pass by unaccosted, taking a brief moment to locate the brake. With a deep breath, he pulled the lever.

The class stumbled a little to keep their footing as the train lurched, their reactions ranging from relieved to irritated. The terrain blurring past them began to slow.

"You're fucking kidding me," Helen grumbled.

"Huh. Would you look at that," Callum commented blithely.

Everyone quieted for a moment as if speaking any more would ruin their good luck. As everything slowed to a stop, Marcus returned, bright-eyed. "It—It worked! So, uh, now what?"

"I'm done with this shit," Helen declared, sitting back down and turning her attention to her puzzle snitch. With the imminent danger passed, Angier seemed content to hobble his way back into his compartment and settle heavily onto his seat, pulling out his flask again.

"Now, we fly the train over the gap!" Ryan announced again triumphantly.

"Maybe something with a bit more style. We could conjure some flying steeds to ferry us over," Alfred proposed.

"We could just turn around, maybe. Can trains do that? Is that how trains work? I've never really been on one of these things before." Marina murmured half to herself.

"Or we could, y'know, just fix the tracks," Callum offered.

"Boring. Uninspired." Alfred waved a hand dismissively.

"But effective," Olivia cut in, beckoning the others as she headed toward the still-open door. "Especially since we need to take the Professor with us and we don’t exactly know if he’d be willing to ride whatever we conjure or not. You can fix the tracks on a pegasus, if you really want. Come on, we can decide on the way."

Alfred's lips pursed in consideration, but he followed the rest of the willing participants out, shoes crunching along the gravel and flattening paths in the long grass as they wandered closer towards the broken bridge. The journey took a good several minutes before the group stood peering over the edge at what would have been their demise, the dismal waters of the river lapping at the cliffside. Parts of the wood structure had rotted, while some of the metal had lightly rusted. What remained of the bridge had been littered with stray branches broken off from nearby trees, the debris carried by wind and rain to tangle into the tracks. A section of the tracks near the middle had broken off and fallen away, leaving a sizeable hole that would have sent them crashing hundreds of feet down.

"It seems easy enough to fix up," Olivia started, her wand's trails in the air beginning to restore the old wood. "Ryan, while we don't need to put forth all the effort of flying the train over, it might be a good idea to levitate it just a little, to take some of the weight off these old boards. Just in case."

He seemed to perk up at that, cracking his knuckles before recalling some of the broken supports from the lazy waters below, with Marcus soon doing the same. Marina turned her attention to the branches obstructing the path, transfiguring them into new beams. Callum supported Olivia's efforts in restoring the still-standing structures. Only Alfred remained.

"Well? Show us how it's done, Al," Olivia called to him as he stood watching. "We could really use your style to liven up this whole process."

"Say no more." He flourished his wand, emboldened enough to conjure his pegasus with wholly unnecessary visual effects accompanying the action. His steed carried him gracefully through the air, flitting about to repair some of the much lower beams.

After some time and through some miracle, a sturdy, continuous track ran across the length of a relatively fresh bridge. The group re-boarded the train with high spirits after sharing pleased looks and small compliments, working together in surprisingly cohesive collaboration to restart the train and levitate it just enough to keep the bridge from groaning and creaking under its weight as it continued on its way.

Soon enough, a collective sigh eased out as they found themselves on the other side.

"We...We actually did it," Marina said with a little smile.

 

[Ryees]

A rattling bridge was put behind the students as their train trundled along the tracks. With its speed under control and its pathing repaired, it was barely another twenty minutes before the train started to slow on its own under the hands of a phantom engineer. With a final rasping hiss, the train stopped, its doors opening on their own. No train platform awaited the beyond the doors, though; instead, it was the classroom floor on the other side of the small gap between the train and its platform.

"Ah, welcome back!" Sherlin's voice called from behind Deskster as he dropped his feet down off the top. "Hope you had a pleasant journey, I'm so glad to see you all return home safely. Now then, return to your seats for your lesson debriefing."

Ryan and Angier scooted ahead of the crowd, Ryan eagerly returning to his seat with a sense of triumph in his step while Angier shouldered past the group to trot up to his seat, grumbling something acidic under his breath. Marcus, Marina, and Alfred ambled out and back towards their seats with less fanfare. Callum gave Olivia one last look of pleased solidarity then followed. Helen did not move at all for a moment, and when she did, she planted herself in front of Sherlin.

"Miss Bailey?" he asked, twisting his head exactly six degrees.

"Don't 'miss Bailey' me Sherlin, what the fuck was that?" she exploded, one hand clapping her hip while the other gestured loudly back at the train. "You were just going to dump us in the river? Just flunk us, if that's what you're after."

"I should do no such thing to a group of mostly-talented students," he replied evenly. "If I wanted to fail any of you, I have the authority to do that without tossing you into the river."

"Well then what--"

"Take your seat, miss Bailey." Sherlin's thin smile that didn't reach his eyes was friendly on the surface. "I'll be explaining the results of this lesson for the whole class."

She lingered for another moment, appearing to be debating between slapping him and stamping her feet like a toddler, but sense and dignity won out as she spun on her heel and stalked back to her desk.

After everyone was seated and attentive, Sherlin gestured at the board, prompting Oachalka to appear from off-screen on the far edge and hop his way back into frame. "The Trolley Problem is, at its core, a question of morality and loss-cutting," he called out over the classroom, walking to the center of the floor. "You weigh the cost of inaction versus the consequences of action, and ask if by doing, or not doing, do you do more harm or good? It is truly a question without a definitive answer, unless more context is given. I provided that context for you, in this case."

He turned to face them, hands folded behind his waist. "To start, I will admit to you a lie: You will not be losing any points for this exercise."

The ripple of reactions across the room was followed carefully by Sherlin's eyes. Shock, relief, confusion, horror, shame, irritation; each was present on the face of one or another student, and very carefully did Sherlin note which emotion belonged to which face. "Any suggestion that this was not a team effort from the beginning was a falsehood to see what would happen when you were, in many ways, pitted against your fellow man."

Sherlin's eyes dropped and he turned a quarter, pacing thoughtfully. "Morality, mm. That's a tricky nut to chew, isn't it? Objective moral compasses are not sold at Dick's Sporting Goods. You have to build your own, and that means everyone's got a slightly different model. What is definite to some might be malleable to others; what is a given to one may be unknown to the next. There are very few things that any large number of people would all agree are good or bad. But there are a few."

His pacing paused at that, and he turned to face them again. "Throwing one of your own onto the train tracks... well that is certainly not a part of any solution to the Trolley Problem that I have ever heard. 'I toss my friend onto the tracks so that the trolley slows enough for me to jump off' doesn't sound as clean as just pulling a lever, does it? Sounds messier. Angrier." Sherlin's blue eyes steeled and he brought his hands around his front. "I did have a singular test criteria for this exercise, but as you may have guessed, it was not the one that I told you. This, in the end, was a simple test of a single trait: Loyalty."

A few shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the gravity Sherlin imposed upon the word. "Perhaps some of you are questioning, 'professor, you are the darkest-wooled black sheep in the Ministry, what value could you possibly place on loyalty?' But you miss an important point: I still work for the Ministry. Happily, in fact," he added, with a purse of his lips and a raise of his eyebrows. "The work I do here can sometimes be frustrating and shallow, and is often not a good use of my skills. Sometimes I do the work that someone ten years my junior should be doing. But I stay. Why? Because the Ministry has done more good than harm to the world, and has always tried to do right by me..." His head tilted back and forth. "...more or less. In their slightly addle-brained way. But even the witch who cares for me the least, even the wizard who abhors me the most, in this place? If I were in danger? I can count on their wand at my back." A sheen of pride that looked odd on Shelin's face made his eyes sparkle. "And if they were in danger, I would disassemble whatever it was that put them there." That sparkle sharpened dangerously.

"The fact of it is, our kind is the minority in this world, and we have none but each other to look to. There are those out there who would use the power that we wield for nefarious purposes, and those lot end up in a jail cell just like the muggles. Because we exist for the good of a world, in the end. The same world as the muggles, nonetheless, and we, as those with the power to shape the world, hold the responsibility to do so in a way that is just and good for the majority. So. Please stand."

His wand was produced from the Somewhere it typically existed in, and he rapped it on Deskster's surface. The desks in front of each student got restless, standing up on their side legs to amble out of the way, leaving each student open to the front of the room. "Many of you acted in the best interest of the partner you were randomly sorted with. But not all of you. That act of loyalty was what earned you points in this exercise, and I'm sorry to say that, without those points, there are not enough points left in the curriculum to earn a passing grade. With this in mind, we will be saying goodbye to two of our students who acted only in their own best interest. I have no interest in giving advanced training to those who would turn that knowledge against the hand that holds the door open for them." In response to his words, Theordoor's lock unlatched, the clink of metal and mechanics ominously loud.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Silence. Even Olivia's pen had stopped scratching, her notebook balanced against her ribs and her arm, pen hand drifting to her side. Everyone stood watching Oachalka as she brutalized their numbers into an updated form. One by one, mental math compared each integer to the rest of them, finding the two that were the least of the bunch. Understanding began to settle in the room. Only when Oachalka began to eviscerate the letters of the names, however, did anyone move.

The two faces of the men snapped to each other, Marcus's in horror and Alfred's in indignation.

"You wretched little rat! You tried to sell me out?" Alfred's arms crossed, his chin tilted to better look down his nose at Marcus as he burst into tears.

"I knew you were going to! I had to do something!"

"And look where it got you. Serves you right."

"Look where it got you! I wouldn’t have done it if you would have just left me alone!"

"This is an outrage," Alfred shot a look at the Professor as he continued, "you expect me to believe that nobody else in the Ministry does what they have to to get ahead?"

"I really wasn't trying to mess him up," Marcus pleaded, rounding on the professor, "I just didn't want to fail because of him!"

Their protests cut off as Theodoor almost seemed to sigh, the air current knocking both of them flat on their backs. In the next moment, he inhaled, the two men scrabbling to grasp anything. With the desk legs shying away from their swiping fingers, they could do nothing as they unceremoniously tumbled outside in a jumble of limbs.

The click of the latch falling back into place felt final. Olivia blinked, looking around at her remaining classmates yet managing to meet the eyes of none of them. Meanwhile, Oachalka swallowed an S whole like a snake. The armadillo lazily stretched on a corner of the large wood desk. The professor seemed content to let the gravity of the situation smother the room.

It felt heavier than it should have. Just like that, two of the people she'd come to know and appreciate were out of the class without fanfare, or even a goodbye. Granted, the other side of Theodoor wasn't some other dimension—she'd likely text them later to check in once the dust had settled—but for now, the event felt too abrupt to be a proper ending. She supposed the Professor would waste no more time on people he deemed a lost cause, wouldn't nurse their egoes and cushion the blow.

The rest of the class seemed to respect that. The two had proven to be backstabbers—few would defy the professor's decision, and even fewer would try to defend their actions. Helen stood fiddling with her puzzle box, looking unconcerned. Marina kept her gaze down at her feet. Ryan paced, looking uncomfortable. Angier frustratedly strong-armed his chair to stay still enough for him to sit down as it tried to teasingly inch away from him. Callum scratched the back of his neck, watching everyone's reactions.

Olivia's fingers itched to theorize, to make sense of the world through words, as they always did. A wealth of new things to ponder surfaced in the few short moments of being back in the classroom—the professor's view on morality, and subsequently his somewhat surprising staunch loyalty to the Ministry. The methods behind his assessment. Even things as seemingly mundane as the first hint of just how many potential points one could earn.

Yet she—for once—didn't resume her writing. The rest of the class seemed content to let the event pass by in a maw of awkward quietude. While her instinct was to put words on a page, the situation called for words delivered in a different format.

"How could you tell?" The question sounded loud in her ears. "That they were trying to betray each other, I mean."

 

[Ryees]

He let the silence linger. Not to provoke. Not even to punish. Simply because silence was honest, and they needed a moment to sit with it. Even the air seemed wary of disrupting the mood, as if it, too, understood the gravity of what had just taken place.

Then Olivia spoke.

"How could you tell? That they were trying to betray each other, I mean."​

Sherlin's gaze drifted toward her—not sharply, not unkindly. Thoughtfully.

"I listened," he said simply. A few heads tilted.

He took a slow step forward, voice level. "There was audio equipment installed in the train compartments. No magic, no enchantments, just microphones. Muggle tech, mounted and tuned by hand." He gestured vaguely, as if the details mattered less than the concept. "You were told not to leave your compartments for a reason. Not because I thought you would—I expected most of you to—but because limitations reveal character. When people think they're unobserved, they stop performing. They start becoming."

Sherlin paused at the center of the room, hands folding behind his back. "Some in our world view muggle tools as beneath us. I disagree. If a screwdriver does the job better than a wand, you use the screwdriver. It's not about pride, but practicality. Surveillance is a tool. One I used to measure a very specific variable."

He glanced toward the door, then back to the class. "Loyalty, as you've now gathered, is hard to test in daylight. It's easier in whispers. And easier still with a little help from some decent directional mics and a mixer board that's older than some of you."

A few expressions flickered. Discomfort. Recognition. Acceptance. He tapped the edge of Deskster once, lightly. A cue, not a command.

"Which brings us to what's next." Sherlin straightened, his tone sharpening not into cruelty, but structure. "Beginning two mornings from now, you will not be leaving this room for one week." He let that settle. "You'll sleep here. Study here. Eat here. The schedule will be rigorous, and many of your challenges will come in succession. Mental, physical, magical, moral. This is not punishment. This is preparation for the kind of field work that you can and will find yourselves doing. In those two days, you can do whatever you like, but I suggest using it as time to prepare." He looked around at them, not coldly, but with clarity, and a distinct undertone of exciement. "Bring what you need for overnights. Toothbrush. Spare clothes. Writing tools. Minimal distraction. Contact with the outside world will be severed, so let anyone who might be your emergency contacts know you're going dark for a week."

Then, after a heartbeat's pause:

"This will not be comfortable. But neither is the world you're preparing to face. You will, however, finally start to learn what it is you came here to."

 

[ClockworkCadence]

The classroom subtly tensed at the mention of recording devices, self-awareness and the invasion of previously assumed privacy caving in postures or stiffening jaws. In a brief exhale of time, some retroactively worried, others felt indignation churning in their guts, but all remained uncomfortably quiet.

The idea of staying in close quarters with the very same man that inspired these feelings, however, received more vocal reception.

"Hell no."

"I'm sure there'll be no cameras this time..."

"What, am I a fucking third year again?"

"Only if you can summon the treadmills back."

"I—I have an appointment in three days, though..."

Responses of varying volumes peppered the background of the professor's explanation. As he reached his conclusion, Helen scoffed under her breath, "So all the shit before this was pointless? Great."

As the class found their voices, however, Olivia slipped into quietude, finally giving in to her urge to write if for no other reason than to make a packing list.

- Toothbrush/toothpaste
- Face wash
- Lotion
- Deodorant
- . . . . . - —

Yet as soon as she started, her list began to trail off in absentminded marks, her thoughts drifting to properly consider the situation she found herself in. In the mornings, she'd have to sleep through Ryan's 5AM workouts and hope that Helen's half hour skincare routine would leave her some time to get ready for the day. She'd need to make sure Marina took her medicine on time, and to keep an eye on Angier so he didn't drink whatever stock of alcohol he'd inevitably bring all in the first day. At the very least, she figured she could depend on Callum to provide coffee and some semblance of stability.

But the professor? She couldn't even begin to fathom what he'd bring to the table.

Seven days. She'd stayed in worse hostels, with worse people, she supposed. Though her knack for diplomacy would inevitably come in handy at least once or twice.

As she tuned back into the world around her, the shuffling sounds of people grabbing their bags and making their way towards the door spurred her to begin to do the same. With her notebook propped against her ribcage and her bag slung over one shoulder, her pen clicked as she continued her list and milled out with the rest of the class.

It didn't surprise her that Marcus and Alfred had already left the hall, but her lips thinned in concern all the same. Maybe a text or two to check in with them would be warranted, once the dust settled. Another list titled "To Do" began in a column next to her packing list.

With just enough awareness devoted to her surroundings, she navigated her walk home without issue or anything of note until she fished in her pocket for her flat key. Her phone buzzed against the metal.

The key slid into the lock as she glanced at the screen.

>>Hey, wanna celebrate our incarceration w/coffee?

A smirk crawled onto her lips as she tossed her keys into the bowl by the door.

<<Going to need something stronger than that, if that's what we're doing.​

>>Fair. Drinks the night b4 then, to mourn our short-lived freedom

<<How tragically fleeting. I'm in.​

>>U sure? Ur still stuck with me for a whole week after this yknow

<<Trust me, you're not the one I'm worried about being stuck with.​

Olivia drifted about her nightly routine between taps on her screen. Eventually, the screen's light glowed in the dark bedroom where it laid on her chest, slowly rising and falling in sleep.

~~~

Her first day of freedom was spent hunched over her desk at the ministry, her waste bin littered with crumpled papers and her current victim riddled with scratched-out words and sentences.

Though she hadn't seen the professor all day, he remained the source of her headaches and current confounded state. Describing the lessons she'd learned or the skills she'd gained the past few weeks had been quick and painless. This had easily been the most useful and thought-provoking bit of professional development she'd gotten to experience in her career.

But describing the methodology? The curriculum? That was the part that left her banging her head against the wall. If her report remained faithful to events, the professor would undoubtedly end up flagged for some sort of disciplinary review. Yet there seemed to be no way to tweak his methods to be more "board approved" and still produce the same results.

The puzzle snitch grew another feather, her absentminded fiddling now turned to genuine attempts to solve it as her focus drifted further and further away from her Herculean task.

The most useful class, and yet she couldn't properly share it with the world, couldn't explain to others how to teach a class like it. Her conclusion, after several hours, was disappointing.

It needed to be taught by Sherlin. There seemed to be no way around that.

"Shit."

The feathers fell from her snitch again. The paper on her desk joined the others in the trash.

"Okay, let's try this again…"

~~~

For Olivia’s second day of freedom, she decided to relax in earnest, burned out from her marathon attempt at working yesterday. Though "relax" for her still ended up being a myriad of chores and errands, trying to prepare for her time away.

Her time away, and one other event that night.

It was just drinks with a friend, but she still found herself fretting over her outfit choice and the state of her makeup for far longer than she cared to admit.

"Then I'd like to get to know you more."​

It wasn't just drinks with a friend, but she continued to check things off her to-do list all the same, trying to ignore the clock as it ticked on by.

Her sister always helped with that. With scattered conversation through the day, time passed a bit easier, until their catching up brought Olivia to the big reason she wanted to chat with Kaia.

<<Hey, I just wanted to let you know tomorrow I won't have access to my phone for a week, but I love you and I promise I'm not dead!​

>>what
>>lies
>>super secret magic spy stuff
>>always dangerous
>>if you need help the codeword is always porcupine

<<It won't be anything like that, I'm just going to be stuck in class the whole week.​

>>what??? like whole day night cycles or just really busy???

<<Both, I guess. We're all going to be locked in together as a part of our final bit of class.​

>>wait
>>waitwaitwaitwait
>>youre locked in a room
>>WITHTHEHOTTEACHER???

<<Kai, it's just class.​

>>ohmygoddd youre living in a fanfic
>>a seven minutes in heaven fanfic
>>A SEVEN DAYS IN HEAVEN FANFIC

<<Kai, absolutely not.
<<The rest of the class is there, too.​

>>YOU HAVE SPECTATORS???

<<KAI. NO.​

Olivia huffed a burst of air through her nostrils, her eyes rolling as she pocketed her still-vibrating phone. A smile crept onto her face despite her best efforts. With one more glance at the clock and a not-so cursory glance in the mirror, she slipped her shoes on.

She'd been to this pub before, a quiet little nook nestled amidst a row of quaint shops long since closed for the evening. An elderly couple sat in companionable silence at a table, while a few men carried on with a deep conversation at the bar. On the far end, she spotted the broad shouldered ginger just a moment before his face lit up. The corners of his blue eyes crinkled as he waved her over, the sweep of his gaze down and up her form giving her the slight bit of satisfaction knowing that her earlier efforts hadn't been wasted.

"Hey," Callum greeted as she settled down into the stool next to him, "good to see you. Been making the most of your freedom?"

"More or less," she shrugged, "I've never been good at having downtime."

After a few quick words with the more-salt-than-pepper bearded bartender, she held her old fashioned aloft as it softly clinked against Callum's glass.

"Here's to surviving the week with our sanity intact."

"Last push."

A short silence signaled the first gulp of the night before Callum sighed, his posture slumping.

"I wonder what rooming with our dear old professor will be like."

"He's a human like anyone else, it can't be that notable. He'll eat, sleep, and go to the restroom like any other person."

"And yet, I can't exactly imagine that guy strolling around a Walmart."

She shrugged. "I feel like that's how a lot of students see their teachers. It's nothing out of the ordinary."

He leaned against the bar, turning to level her with a look of disbelief. "Come on. You're going to look at the man that teaches like that and tell me he doesn't have any domestic quirks? No morning yodeling session or a hit of hard drugs to start the day? Not even an obnoxiously loud CPAP machine?"

To her, the professor's ways to start class had to have been the start of his oddities for the day. Between the class that started with a cold water plunge to the one that involved an elaborate tea ceremony, she couldn't imagine them having been his second event of the morning. If he woke up with something entirely different before his usual beginning-of-class chaos...

"...We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Callum leaned on his elbows, tipping his glass back and forth. "I think the most normal outcome would be if he just, y'know, went into a closet and powered down at the end of the day."

She snorted. "He's not a vacuum."

"I know! Just saying, him being a robot would be the least surprising outcome."

"And what would be the most surprising?"

A crease formed on his brow. "If he's somehow entirely normal. But that's just not happening. I mean, I feel like he's on a non-zero number of watchlists."

"Well, who knows? Maybe all of the eccentricities are just a teaching tool to keep things unpredictable, get us off balance. Maybe he's just a passionate teacher that goes home to unwind on the couch with a beer and a TV dinner. Maybe he even has a spouse."

Their eyes met.

"Nah."

Laughter burst out of both of them as Callum shook his head. "You bailed on that idea immediately."

"I know, I know. I guess he seems more like a "married to his work" kind of guy to me."

"Can't argue with you, there. I'm not sure many ladies are lining up to be with that kinda guy, anyway."

"Eh, being passionate about what he does isn't the worst thing in the world."

Callum raised an eyebrow. "So you're first in line?"

"N-No!" Olivia stuttered in surprise, raising her hands defensively. "Just saying, it's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I think I've always been in a similar vein." Her finger began to trace the rim of her cup. "My work takes me all over the globe. I love what I do, but my sort of lifestyle doesn't quite jive with many partners. Maybe the professor has something similar."

"Maybe, but he doesn't have the excuse of being away all the time like you." His head tilted in her direction. "If you'd even view it as an excuse, anyway. Maybe you're perfectly content with the way things are?"

"I am." The response came quickly. She took a long drink. "But…that doesn't mean I don't ever look at the grass and, you know, wonder if it's greener elsewhere."

"Well, sounds like you'd travel somewhere and find out."

"You know the traveling's the problem here, right?"

"Then maybe you stay put. Right here."

Their eyes met, and whatever she saw in his had her glancing back down at her glass. "That—That's usually not up to me. I just go where they tell me."

"What's the longest you've ever stayed in one place?"

"Aside from when I was a kid? Hm..." Through the pleasant haze of another sip, she dug through her past. "Two years, in Uganda."

"Just two? You really have been everywhere, then."

"More than most."

"Tell me about them. Your favorite places."

This time when she looked at him, at the earnest interest warming his features, she didn't look away. The stories flowed, from Tokyo to the Himalayas, all of the places that blurred by in her life. His own stories captured a much slower pace, a smaller scale—the creek down the road from his parents' place, the first time he ever stepped into a big city. Experiences that stuck with him far more than her overload of events tended to latch onto her. It was endearing, to imagine a quiet life. Maybe not something she'd genuinely choose for herself, but nice to think about all the same.

Their conversation carried well into the night before she finally caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. She slid her empty glass away. "Well, it's getting quite late. We should probably be well-rested for whatever'll get tossed our way tomorrow."

"Ah, right, I still need to pack."

She balked. "You haven't even started?"

"Always been terrible at procrastination." He shrugged. "Mind if I walk you back?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Another procrastination tactic?"

"Only partly. Really, I just don't want to leave you yet."

The admission kept her distracted enough for him to slide his card to the bartender, paying for both of them without the chance of her protesting. As she reached for the door, he caught her hand and opened it for her, gesturing broadly. She walked through with a grin. He kept her hand in his.

Conversation sparsely cropped up in their journey, sensing the hushed blanket nestled over the city at night. The yellow glow of the streetlights warmed the cobblestones, slightly shiny from a drizzle of rain that passed a few minutes earlier. A few cars and people milled by dark windows and closed shop signs. The lights from the flats and the houses began to flicker out.

They stepped up to the door of one as Olivia finally withdrew her hand to dig into her pocket.

"Thanks for the drinks, Callum," she said. "I'm paying you back with coffee tomorrow."

"I don't get to argue with that, do I?"

"Nope."

Her key twisted in the lock, very aware that he hadn't moved. They stood in a beat of heavy silence until she gathered the courage to look back at him.

He caught her eye before glancing away. "…Olivia, I…"

She swallowed her heart back down her throat, stepping closer. His hand gravitated up to rest on her arm. Whatever he tried to say couldn't make it past her lips.

As she drew back, his grip on her arm tightened, mouth trailing after hers, seeking. "…Can I at least argue for where I drink the coffee?" His voice came out rough, gaze drifting to her door.

"Hm." The doorknob turned. "I'll hear you out."

The lock clicked behind them. The lights didn't turn on.

~~~

The alarm on Olivia's phone went off at the expected time. She'd planned just the right amount of minutes for them to have a leisure cup of coffee, then Callum would go home and pack while Olivia showered and got ready for the day.

What she didn't expect, however, was Callum coyly asking to join in her shower. It wasn't until the shock of now-cold water pattered onto her shaking legs that she realized she had planned very poorly indeed.

After a lingering kiss that threatened their remaining time, Olivia all but shoved him out the door to get his bag while she hurriedly re-checked her list and finished getting ready for the day. Things could still go according to plan. And they were, except for her damned hairbrush.

Shit. She must have already thrown it in her bag somewhere. That meant she'd either have to spend precious minutes dismantling her bag to find it and put it all back together, or…

Her feet plodded over to the dresser. She had another.

Just for a quick brush. Just to get the bedhead look out, the disheveled bit of frizz and tangle from—

Nothing, from nothing, she resolved before she opened the drawer and ripped her cautionary sticky note off the hairbrush. Her breath stilled, all of her focus going into trying to think of absolute blankness. Not about the day ahead, not about her work she'd been stumped on, and definitely not about the nothing she'd been up to last night and this morning.

After a few yanks through her hair, she breathed a sigh of relief and haphazardly tossed the brush back into her drawer. With her last hurdle jumped, she slipped on her shoes and headed out, back on track at last.

A few minutes before class began, she walked in, bidding a good morning to anyone she passed. Callum walked in with a minute to spare, the very tips of his hair still damp and clinging together as he exchanged pleasantries with Ryan. His eyes flickered up to Olivia, offering the same salutation as he made his way over to his desk.

"Good morning."

And it was a good morning—a normal, uneventful morning, before a regular, unremarkable day.

 

[Ryees]

The handbasket was already too small.

Sherlin shifted a jar of red curry paste sideways and balanced a bag of lentils against a dented tin of sweetcorn, then stared with vague disdain at the overhead sign marked 'International Foods." There was something poetically inefficient about muggle grocery design: section titles that told you almost nothing, prices displayed with boldness and no apology. He respected the confidence, if not the methodology.

Meal kits. Canned goods. Dried rice. Instant oatmeal. Vacuum-sealed pasta. A dozen water bottles per student, plus his own stash of carbonated bitter lemon; a half-step shy of wartime rations, really. Enough to fuel magic, muscle, and madness, at least for a week.

Unlike some of his colleagues who liked to give in plain sight, he refused to use magic for this. No extension charms, no summoning, no shopping bag of holding and no cheeky transfigurations in the cereal aisle. If he couldn't carry it, he didn't need it. That was the rule. One he'd invented for himself about seven years ago and never quite bothered to examine too closely.

At checkout, the young woman gave him a plastic smile and asked if he needed help to his car. He declined without looking up. He had no car. The walk back was long and grey and blessedly unmagical.

---

His flat was exactly as he'd left it: clean, sparse, full of contradiction. A long row of shoes lined one wall, combat boots beside loafers, trainers beside dragonhide. An espresso machine hissed with quiet loyalty from its perch above a half-finished crossword. Somewhere under the floorboards, his landlady's cat yowled at nothing.

Sherlin packed methodically. Three changes of clothes. Spare socks. A propane burner and its canister. A battered first-aid kit he checked twice. A folding cot he hadn't used in three years. A book of essays in five languages, in case anyone started talking nonsense and needed intellectual humbling. One toothbrush, one razor, and his gun. He checked it with the same calm he gave the burner's gas line: no ritual, no flourish, just good habits and care.

When he locked the flat behind him, the sun had already begun to set.

---

Odius was still working by the time Sherlin arrived. That was one of the things Sherlin appreciated about the man: no fanfare, no throat-clearing, no hand-wringing, and no unnecessary deference. Just paper, ink, and the quiet clack of a Ministry-grade typewriter that had somehow survived four directors and at least one fire. His desk was immaculate. The chair in front of it, reserved for Sherlin alone, was angled at precisely thirty-three degrees, just as he liked it, and was never, ever moved for fear of political fallout. Sherlin never commented. Odius always noticed.

Sherlin sat without invitation. "No one's cried yet," he said, without preamble.

Odius didn't look up. "Lying already? That seems unlikely."

"Ah, but no one has cried where I could see it," Sherlin clarified. "Which is the more important metric." He leaned back in the chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee, perfectly comfortable in someone else's workspace. "They're adapting. Mostly. Miss Hudson continues to perform above expectation. Angier too, in a different way. That man thinks like a siege engine. Stubborn, efficient, very little wasted motion. I find it oddly refreshing."

"You're not fooling me," Odius said flatly, still typing.

Sherlin blinked, almost amused. "Was I trying?"

"You keep talking about the man to avoid talking about the girl."

Sherlin scoffed, not rudely, but like a scholar correcting a flawed thesis. "I talk about both of them because they're the most compelling variables in the room."

"No," Odius insisted, "you talk about both of them so that it doesn't look like you're singling her out."

Sherlin didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied a smudge on the edge of Odius's desk. He didn't point it out—that would have been petty. Finally, with the air of a man choosing his words the way others chose weapons, he replied, "Fascination is not attachment. You can watch a lightning strike without wanting to hold it."

Odius glanced up for the first time. "And yet you keep standing in the storm."

Sherlin smiled faintly, but it didn't linger. "You do realize the others are just furniture in the room when she's speaking, right?" He rose from the chair, not abruptly, but with the sense that the moment had ended. "I should check on the propane situation," he said, entirely serious.

Odius gave the smallest of nods and returned to his typing.

"Your desk is scuffed up," he called over his shoulder.

"From your shoes!" echoed down the hall from behind.

---

Sherlin was just closing Theodoor when the brush murmured. Not words, and not even a clear thought, just a scramble of something—loud, vivid, and incredibly purposeful in its absence. Sherlin paused with his hand on the doorknob. He could practically hear the mental footfalls:

Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it—

Which, of course, was how the mind most reliably announced it was thinking about something. His brow rose. The brush, to its credit, didn't elaborate. It simply relayed the residue of emotional intent, as if Olivia had walked past a curtain humming with static and left a handprint.

The classroom was beginning to fill with sleepy faces, loose ties, and a general shuffle of bags and muttered greetings as the students began the process of settling into what would be, for the next seven days, the only world that mattered.

He caught the exchange between Hudson and McMaster from across the room. Small things: The microexpressions, a shared glance a quarter second too long, perhaps a warmth in the voice dulled only by awkward restraint. Olivia said good morning as if the night had been kind. Callum said it like he didn’t expect it to be returned.

Sherlin’s eyes narrowed by a fraction. He glanced at the clock, then back at McMaster. “You barely made it for the start of the lock-in, Mister McMaster,” Sherlin said, voice light but not friendly. “Planning to operate on your own time zone this week, or shall I mark you present in body and leave the rest in question?”

There was a pause. Not long enough for anyone else to react, just long enough for Callum to feel it.

“Take your seat.”

Sherlin moved past the man before he could answer, his knee-length black coat whispering against the edge of Deskster as he stepped to the front of the classroom.

The air was different now, the students could feel it. Even the armadillo, dozing lazily on the far corner of the desk, cracked one eye and looked unimpressed.

“Let’s begin.” He didn’t raise his voice, as he never did, but the entire room quieted like a spell had dropped over it. “You are now entering a seven-day intensive. No access to the outside. No calls, no owls, no brief breaks for mental health or sudden revelations about your future. If you forgot to bring it, you will learn to live without it. If you brought too much, you will learn what can be carried.”

A subtle hand wave dismissed the murmurs before they began. “Sleep will be monitored. Meals will be structured. There will be individual assessments, group challenges, and stressor drills conducted at randomized intervals. And yes, there will be duels. Some will be graded, while others will be… informative.” Sherlin’s eyes flicked to each face in turn, never quite lingering, never quite dismissing. “I suggest you treat every day as if it were the first. And the last.”

Then, with no flourish and no warning, Sherlin turned back to Theodoor. The great door groaned closed behind him, but this time, it did something it had never done before.

The lock engaged.

Click. Thrum.

A ripple of wards surged outward from the door’s seams, silent, shimmering, and final. Theodoor was, quite literally, off the table, sealed behind what looked at first glance to be a protego totalum mixed with some other spell effects of vague origin.

Sherlin turned back to the room. “You are now sealed in. Welcome to the part of your education that doesn’t care how clever you are on parchment.” Sherlin waited until the last echoes of the lock settled into the walls. Then, casually, he stepped away from Deskster and spread his hands, palms open, like a patient usher inviting the next step in a ritual none of them had rehearsed.

“Now then. You will each choose a place in the room.” He let that hang for a moment. “Anywhere is fine. The risers. A back corner. Beside the door. Near the armadillo if you’re brave or foolish.” A faint sniff from the desk. “You must be able to lie fully down in your chosen space. This is your home base. You’ll be expected to return to it when instructed. If you are unable to do so, it will be considered—” he paused, head tilting slightly. “—a risk to your... grade.” One brow arched, just enough to let the word grade ring with possible double meaning. “You will mark your space clearly, a blanket, a coat, a book; something that indicates territory. Do not tamper with each other’s zones unless explicitly instructed. You will not like the result.”

He gestured broadly again, as if giving them permission to breathe. “You have five minutes to select your spot. Choose wisely. Comfort and strategy rarely coexist.” And then, with no further explanation, he turned his back to them and returned to Deskster, where a stack of folders had mysteriously not been there a moment ago.

 

[ClockworkCadence]

Olivia hung back for a moment, letting everyone else stake their claim before she took wherever was left. Conflict over who slept where on the first day would spell trouble for the rest of their time.

Thankfully, everyone seemed to have their own preferences. Marina unfolded a small futon mattress in a corner, while Callum unrolled a sleeping pad on the risers. The professor, unsurprisingly, seemed to claim his own desk. Angier, however, didn't seem to have anything to sleep on.

"You gonna be okay on the floor?" Olivia called over, hearing his grunt as he gingerly plopped himself down onto the floor in the farthest corner from everyone.

"Just fine, girl." He grumbled as he pulled out a neat square of an emergency blanket from his military pack.

"Full Metal Jacket over there has done this a million times. He's good." Ryan chimed in, thumping a fist against his chest in what Olivia guessed was some form of masculine solidarity as he unfolded a cot in the middle of the room.

"I just wanted to make sure," Olivia reasoned, "the floor can be killer on the joints."

"I know damn well—”

REEEEEEE—

The shrill sound of Helen's air pump drowned out the rest of Angier's gruff retort. The giant rolling suitcase and duffle bag she'd walked in with held a treasure trove of creature comforts, including the tall air mattress slowly inflating. Her belongings began to populate the space around her chosen wall, transforming it into a veritable mini-bedroom.

Angier's mouth shut with a shake of his head as he continued rummaging. He slid out a Swiss Army knife, glancing at Helen's air mattress for a second too long before pocketing it.

After assessing the space for a moment, Olivia claimed the chalkboard wall, setting her modest bag down and unrolling her sleeping bag. Years of airplanes, brooms, and other travel taught her to pack light, something she worried would actually matter here, at some point.

Despite the chalkboard being overhead from Olivia’s position and not in danger of being touched, Oachalka ruffled her feathers indignantly, chalk dust lightly snowing down onto Olivia's bag. She glanced up as the bird scooted away, pulling her belongings back from the wall a few inches. Oachalka seemed unimpressed.

Lips pursed, Olivia picked up the chalk, drawing a cute little snake on the perch Oachalka had abandoned. The bird lunged for her fingers despite still being 2D and several inches away, stuck between choosing violence or committing to her protest. Yet as Olivia finished drawing, violence won out, the pretty owl flapping her wings and descending on her new prey. The chalk dust of the eviscerated reptile coated the floor. Seemingly satisfied, Oachalka remained on the perch near Olivia, foot tucked into her side.

An accord reached, Olivia finished unpacking her sparse belongings.