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.