Dazmond had owled a few days ahead to Trevelyan's private office.  A small envelope marked Jonas and containing a short, discrete note signed D.W.B. had been delivered through the open lavatory window.  He had been quick to reply and they had arranged to meet at his office this evening.  Not wanting to be seen conspiring with the Auror, Dazmond wore a hooded cape over her long Victorian dress to hide her hair and other characteristic features.  She'd walked briskly from her apparition point to the store front, paranoid about her proximity to the Ministry of Magic, if only as a connection through Jonas.

Daz still had the sense that the Ministry was, in some way, their common enemy - whether he could see this readily or not.  Meeting him in the context that she had, in Knockturn at the Black Chimaera over drinks, and getting familiar with him through the strangely intimate, moon-and-a-fortnight-long investigation he'd done for Kronos Malvivicus last year, had left an impressionable mark on her.  She trusted him, more or less, after everything. 

Still, she found it hard to wrap her mind around the fact that he was now an Auror, one of them, even.  The awful aspects of his new role with the Ministry had yet to negatively effect her.  He had been helpful, if anything, in ensuring that Nathan's prison sentence was kept as short as possible.  Thanks to Jonas, there were only 287 days until Nate's next hearing.   

Buzzed in to the office, she went in and up the stairs - with markedly more confidence than she had shown in previous visits.  She came in and first glanced around before lowering her hood and turning toward him. 

"Jonas," she said with a pleasant smile, extending her hand out toward him.  "Thank you again for meeting with me like this.  You must be busy."

Sitting here in his office, waiting for a shadowy figure with a mostly unknown purpose to arrive, felt a lot like a return to old times.  His world had changed a lot in the past few year since he'd signed back on with the Ministry -- first as a consultant, and then as a re-instated Auror -- and, Jonas thought, he probably had too.  There was no longer a sense that he was dangling out here all alone, unprotected and exposed.  He had Archer and his other friends and coworkers at the Ministry; he had Adon, Dreogan, and the tight-knit Eleor circle.  And even more than that, for the first time in over a decade, he felt fully confident with his magic.  There was no need to rely solely on clever bluffs and his ability to smooth over conversation.

He'd buzzed Dazmond up when she had knocked at the door, and rose as she climbed the stairs and arrived in his office.  Limping slightly, Jonas gave her a wide smile as he stepped around his desk, meeting her hand with a firm grip. 

"Naw," he assured her, smiling crookedly.  "I'm never so busy that I can't make time.  It's not any trouble."

He and Dazmond had never been friends, not exactly.  For as long as he'd known her, they'd been on opposite sides -- first when he'd been hired by Kronos Malvivicus to track her, and then after once he'd taken up employ at the Ministry.  But using sides as a means of judging the world was, Jonas thought, a rather confrontational way to go about things.  He liked Dazmond.  He still felt slightly indebted to her.  They might have different opinions on the fair treatment of Muggle-borns and the effectiveness of Magical Law Enforcement -- and, well, kidnapping and torture and murder and everything else that the distasteful half of the Knockturn crowd seemed to get up to regularly, which Adon had an inconvenient habit of bringing up whenever Jonas started preaching for more tolerance -- but it didn't stop him from wanting to help.  If they didn't start breaking down walls somehow, there was no way that the differences between liberal and purist magical society would ever be resolved.

"You want a beer, Dazmond?" he asked, nodding her toward the empty chair on the near side of his desk.  Beer was another acceptable way of breaking down barriers; if only the Ministry had better taste in alcohol way back when, maybe they could have even resolved things with Cinaed Tawse before everything had exploded.  "I don't have anything that's quite worthy of the Black Chimera's menu, but I reckon it's alright enough."

Dazmond's smile doubled as he greeted her.  He had a charming way about him, to be sure.  She always had the feeling of being in good company when with Jonas Trevelyan.  She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was.  Perhaps he was just naturally charismatic.

"I'd love a beer, Jonas, thank you," said Dazmond, showing herself to be in a good mood.  She walked around and took the seat he offered, not thinking twice about the last time she'd sat there.  It had been a long time ago, and many things had changed - for the both of them, she had to assume. 

They weren't quite close enough for her to be asking questions such as, 'So why have you become an Auror?' or 'What ever happened with Lexus Dale', not that she couldn't simply be nosy and direct like many Pureblood Witches were, but it was strange.  Dazmond felt as if they were close, when knowing that they hardly knew each other, and had only really encountered each other a handful of times.  Yet he had been in a position of power and knowledge in her life when she was left in the dark and searching after a light; he had been there to ... well, not necessarily to reassure her, but something that had a similar effect in those strange times when she was being tracked down and watched from a distance by Kronos.  She had had no recollection of Kronos, and was terrified.  Now she was working for him, and it was really alright by her.  She hadn't been on the other end of any wands, not as of late, and she was content to keep it that way. 

"The Black Chimaera isn't what it used to be," she said casually, following him with her gaze.  "I haven't had a drink out in ages, so I'm likely an easy one to please." 

Dazmond seemed relaxed and comfortable, though she sat straight up with her hands resting on her crossed knees.  It was the first time in a long while that she had played the part of a prim and proper pureblood, even in the relaxed way she handled the role.  The long-sleeved, stiff-corseted, lacy dress she wore under her short cape did help.  It somehow restored her confidence and a sort of entitled resoluteness.  This played into a new-found feeling of groundedness that she was developing in her life, mostly through the stability she was experiencing in her work for Kronos.  She could have been mistaken for a widow, in a way; although at the moment she was feling much more optimistic than such a title might imply.  Though what captivated her more than anything, the issue which most possessed her heart, was of course  her dear husband, Nathan's, disappearance from her life because of the Ministry of Magic and their ruddy Law Enforcement.

"Have a beer with me?" she invited, turning her head towards him and still appearing most agreeable.

"Not very hospitable to let anyone drink alone, innit?" Jonas countered cheerfully.  "Give me just a minute, yeah?"

It took only that long to retrieve a pair of dark glass bottles from the back room.  One of the many upsides to getting his magic back was that he no longer had to wrestle with various ineffective methods of opening bottle caps.  Jonas tapped both with his wand, a trick that he'd learned from Archer Radley what seemed like a lifetime ago, and passed one of the newly opened bottles to the witch.

"Cheers," he offered, raising his own beer in a salute as he limped back around the desk to his usual seat. 

"Your husband owled me last month," he remarked, glancing at her as he lowered himself carefully to sit.  The entire situation with Nate Briggs involved quite a good deal of tiptoeing.  Jonas had never officially been assigned to the case -- but then, in his opinion, official assignments really only created more paperwork, and a lack of permission had never slowed him down in the past.  He'd earned enough goodwill since his return to the Auror office that he felt able to get away with keeping a few things off the table.

He'd gotten involved originally because Dazmond had asked him to.  The case, if anyone thought to ask him, had been hopelessly bungled -- you didn't convince a bloke like Nate Briggs to give in and help you by shouting loudly at him, which seemed to be the strategy that the official Aurors had employed.  Jonas had stayed involved because he had surprisingly found himself actually liking Briggs.  Adon had spoke positively of him too; Jonas's partner had had a run in with the young wizard several months before, and he'd come away from it with a similar impression.

But all the positive opinions in the world couldn't keep a man who had committed a crime out of Azkaban.  Jonas had done what he could -- and he still intended to do more in the future -- but there were limits.  Hence why Briggs himself was locked away, and why Wiedman-Briggs was probably present in his office now.

Jonas studied the witch across from him thoughtfully for a moment as he took a drink, and then lowered his bottle.  Dazmond had come dressed for business, in the stiff, awkward dress of the pureblooded elite that often made them look like they'd stepped out of a parlor from a century before.  No encounter between them yet had been without purpose, but this was likely not a social call.

"How's he been keeping?" he asked with a concerned frown.  "You heard much from him?"

"Of course," said Dazmond.  As he stepped out of the room, she gathered her red and black hair and set it over one shoulder, taking the moment to peer nosily over the contents of his desktop. 

Jonas appeared again and Dazmond turned, accepting the beer with a simper.  She raised her bottle as well and dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement of his cheers.  Watching him limp to his seat, she vaguely wondered what had caused his injury.  It confused her why people did not make better use of advanced potions for such things.  Of course, Jonas had been coloured by that other world; perhaps he was averse to using potions on a regular basis, or maybe he simply needed someone to make them for him.  She made a mental note of this, but her attention was shortly thereafter captivated by his mention of Nathan.

So Nate had owled Jonas.  Dazmond readily took this to mean that Jonas was still in a helping role for them, though she couldn't imagine what the owl had been about.  She sat with the silence a moment, taking a drink as she considered the situation.  That was, indeed, the primary catalyst for her visit today, and she assumed that Jonas had figured that one out on his own. 

"We've written some," she said.  "Neither of us are particularly at home convening through the quill, though.  Something a bit too restless and immediate in our natures.  I miss him....  He's holding up alright, I think, but it's very difficult to tell from a distance.  Nathan wasn't meant to be confined like that," she paused.  Nobody deserved to be confined like that, of course; it was pure evil what the Ministry did.  But Nate Briggs had always been the freest spirit she knew. 

"I'm worried what it might mean for him to stay there so long.  I've no idea what Azkaban is really like now." 

She eyed him.  She was nearing her main request sooner than she thought she would be, and Daz didn't want to seem too demanding or needy with him.  Jonas had already gone out of his way to help and, she thought, they were more or less even now... leaving whatever incentive he had to continue pushing the limits for her ambiguous.  She sighed a little, not even sure that he was in a position to help any further.

"I'm curious, what did he owl you about?" asked Dazmond, returning to her ale and watching him attentively.

Jonas frowned, studying her expression for a moment across the desk.

"Bloke from the Ministry had taken it upon himself to bother Briggs in Azkaban," he said after a beat.  "I'm not sure if he really thought that I'd sent him, but he let me know.  I took care of it."

He didn't really need to add more on to that -- how he felt about those at the Ministry, those in any role of power abusing their position.  Political power was a responsibility, not a prize or a privilege, and very few of those who took to politics as a career seemed to understand that.  Dreogan Eleor, who often seemed like the lone sympathizer to Jonas's liberal crusades, was one of the rare exceptions.

It was maddening, seeing those at the Ministry lord their power over anyone.  Ex-Azkaban inmates without any route to rejoin normal society, stricken of their wands and their place as a witch or wizard for all of their natural lives after one transgression.  Werewolves like Lexus, unable to get a job or find a place in the only world that could understand them.  In their own ways, both situations were just as dire as how Muggle-borns had been treated during the last war.  But disgraced pureblood wizards and terrified werewolves were less equipped than he had been to make adjustments.

Also ill-equipped was the witch sitting across from him now. Dazmond Wiedman-Briggs was spirited and independent, free and unfettered -- but she also obviously cared about her husband, just as much as Nate Briggs had wanted to shield her.  This couldn't be any easier for her now, knowing that her husband was locked away in Azkaban.

"How're you holding up through all this?" he asked her with a frown.  "Reckon I'd be a wreck if it was one of me family locked away in there.  Nearly was when they threatened to throw us all in, way back when."

Dazmond's eyes flitted into a downward gaze, looking either thoughtfully or defensively toward the lower corner of her vision.  She hated feelings that dampened the spirit, but she'd been overwhelmed by those for most of a year.  She had to admit, if at least to herself, that she was just barely holding it together at all.  If it wasn't for Kronos Malvivicus, as ridiculous as that was to even think, Daz would have broken down completely for lack of a driving force, one that luckily had constantly cajoled her into continuing to brew novel and interesting concoctions.  It wasn't the same as being happy, but it at least presented a method of getting through the days.

"It's been a difficult time," said Dazmond honestly.  "If I could change anything, I would; I've no such illusion as the Ministry has that thievery is a crime dark enough to warrant such cruel punishment."  As strong and collected as Dazmond attempted to sound, her hurt feelings were evident enough in the tone of her voice.  Her own ideas about what the Law should be were strange and based strongly around the idea of autonomy, probably a bit different from the ideas of the Auror across from her.  Still, she obviously did not hold Jonas personally responsible for current Wizarding Law, and she spoke as though theirs was a common ground. 

Dazmond tilted her head and lightly shrugged a shoulder in half-hearted defeat, returning to something more grounded by saying, "Thank you in any case for taking care of whatever that was.  I don't know how you can work there, honestly, but I'm happy that there's at least someone with a head on their shoulders in the Ministry."  She smiled at Jonas before looking over his shoulder into a corner of the dark, self-contained room and taking a drink of her ale, letting the silence capture her thoughts for a moment.

"I'll be allright," allowed Dazmond.  "And with any luck he'll be the same Wizard he was when he gets back.  Merlin would hope he's at least near enough.  I do know it's two-hundred, eighty-seven days till his next hearing."  She looked a bit sad when she said this, the first verbal acknowledgment she'd given to the fact that the number of days remaining was the first thing she gave thought to every day she awoke in their empty bed.  It sounded ridiculous.  She shook her head.  "Pathetic, isn't it," she said lightly.  "On top of it all, this is turning me into a fecking sap!"  She laughed softly at herself and returned to another drink of her ale.

"What about you, Jonas, how have you been in recent months?"

There were times when the gulf between them seemed too wide for conversation.  As much as he appreciated Dazmond's expression of confidence -- as well as the unspoken admission that while he was at the Ministry, he'd never entirely be of it -- he doubted that the truth was really what she was looking for.  'Been well since we arrested the crazy werewolf and your mates stopped trying to kill us all' summed things up in theory, but didn't really work in tactical practice, especially not if he wanted to be certain that this door remained opened.

It was ironic, all of this.  If it hadn't been for the Death Eaters and the fall of the Ministry, he'd never have left; by now, his blood would run as scarlet as Radley's or Pratt's or Adon's, and he would never have had any understated sympathy for the witches and wizards of Knockturn.  Despite the injustice -- because of it -- he felt like he could understand them.  Dazmond Wiedman and her husband had never been treated any kinder by magical society than he had been.  That was the bond they both shared, even if he couldn't speak of it.

"Ah, been alright," he said with a frown.  It was far easier to answer her question than to acknowledge the emotion that she'd expressed; as long as she didn't seem to mind, he was content to leave it be.  "Still feels a bit odd being back again.  I never imagined I'd take a badge back."  He smiled crookedly.  "Family's been well, too.  Me daughter just started at Hogwarts," he added with quiet, nonchalant pride.  "Bit of a change, not having her around, but I reckon she's doing alright."

This conversation felt too heavy, oddly stiff.  It had none of the vivacity and laughter that he was used to associating with Dazmond -- the nights when they'd met in the Black Chimaera, when she'd befriended Lex and taken the werewolf under her wing.  But then, this wasn't any sort of a social call.  She had owled him to request this meeting, and he doubted it was because she wanted to share her anxiety about the long wait until Briggs' hearing or to ask after his family.  At least recently, he and the potioneer had very little to do with each other that wasn't business.

"So what'd you come to talk about, Dazmond?" he asked, regarding her gravely.  "Is there more trouble?"

Dazmond stilled herself, remembering her manners.  She was not used to being around people recently and had been avoiding social interactions for the very reason that she felt incredibly exposed when it came to her emotions.  There was no filter anymore, it was horrible.  She was relieved when Jonas went straight toward answering her question and she took the opportunity to fall back out of the spotlight a little.  She was incredibly curious about what Jonas got up to, now that he wasn't stalking her for Kronos.  He spoke about his badge and then his family, and having a little one up at the castle now.

Actually, she hadn't even known he had a child.  Dazmond looked at him thoughtfully in response to this.  Had she known?  He did seem somehow like he would have.  She'd just never thought of him as a family man, necessarily.  It reminded Dazmond how little she actually knew about Trevelyan.  It could be easy to forget that sometimes. 

She smiled politely and asked the most obvious question for a pureblooded Witch to ask of a new Hogwarts admit:  "What house is she?"

The tide had turned back quickly though, to business, and Dazmond gave a little nod, straightening up a smidgen and resting her bottle agilely atop the knee of her crossed leg. 

"Well I've got to see my husband somehow," she started.  "I mean I'd like to visit him.  I'm not... clear... on what goes into arranging such a thing; I'm aware that it isn't something that's very easy to arrange, for anyone.  But," she paused, bright eyes held to his openly, honestly....

"I've no idea what it'd mean for me to ask such a thing."  How could she explain?  "You see I've been in strange relationships with Level Two in the past, and I know from experience that if I need a favour they're prone to expect... information." 

"What house is she?"

A wide grin spread across the Auror's face.  "Gryffindor," he said with obvious pride.

He never would have told Gwenna or admitted it to his wife, but Jonas was painfully aware that he would have been let down by any other result.  He was relieved that he wouldn't have to go through the holidays trying to hide it, burying his own disappointment as his eldest daughter talked elatedly about her first adventures at Hogwarts.

And it was about more than just house pride.  After spending so long feeling as if he were alone in the wilderness, the thought that gold and scarlet might run in their family -- that he might have as much claim to Gryffindor's traditions as any pureblood witch or wizard -- brought a sense of deep-seated satisfaction.  He'd been surprised and ecstatic to discover that his niece Grace was a witch, but the confirmation that Gwenna was the same had brought a sort of elated confirmation.  He wasn't alone in his magic; his status as a Muggleborn wizard wasn't simply some fluke.  He and his family had just as much right to be in this world as anyone else.

He cleared his throat, doing his best to solemnly focus on the witch's words as she continued to speak.  The fact that she wanted to see Briggs was hardly unexpected -- Dazmond cared just as vividly for the people she was close to as he did for his circle.  That was possibly part of the reason why he was so willing to deal with her and help her, even though they now ran on entirely opposite sides of the tracks.  He had no doubt that she would do anything -- almost anything -- to visit Nate, but the fact that she thought he might ask so much of her made him feel more unsettled than he wanted to admit.

Jonas sighed, glancing absently across the room, running his hands over his hair. 

"Well, to tell you the truth," he said at last, "I don't think it'll take much to make it happen, Dazmond.  You're his wife.  I can talk to Rosier and get the papers signed."  If Jowd had managed to manipulate his way into Azkaban, he couldn't imagine it would be too difficult for MLE to get a legitimate visitor through.  Besides, Rosier owed him.

"But," he went on quietly, his gaze shifting reluctantly to meet hers, "there are a couple of favors I'd like to ask of you, too.  It's not all or nothing," Jonas added firmly, his jaw set.  He didn't like the sound of that -- that Level Two only extended good will in an equal trade.  That wasn't the way to build trust.  But he was just as much in need of Dazmond's help now.  "I'll see what I can do about getting you in to see Briggs either way.  But if you're willing to help --"  He gave a shrug.  The inquiry was clear.

She smiled despite herself.  The pride in his eyes was obvious as he answered about his daughter's House. 

Dazmond considered him carefully then as he shifted slightly in response to what she'd said.  Jonas was not like the other Aurors she'd interacted with.  In the first place, her position in the underworld made her a prime candidate for blackmailing, even in the most innocuous of ways, and it was prone to happen.  In fact, she'd really come to expect it.  She was a problem for the Ministry of Magic, usually.  When and if she ever needed them it was fairly clear she'd have to give something in return.  Usually what the Ministry asked for was information concerning the Black Market.  It was just that now she couldn't afford to tell them what she knew, and what she knew was fairly limited since her attention had been focused on her work for Kronos.

How easily he had started to agree that he could try to get things moving in that direction was almost suspicious.  Almost, except that she really felt that she knew Jonas.  She thought him to be trust-worthy despite his belonging to so many categories that he should shout danger loud and clear to her in scarlet and crimson letters.  Daz looked quite plainly curious and a little bit disbelieving as she sat there with him, mouth parted slightly as she followed what he was saying. 

An offer, and a request.  But without the hard line between them.  It had been framed so respectfully that she was tempted to say yes then and there.  She stayed herself, however, still hesitant with the need of keeping herself... and Kronos Malvivicus... safe from the Ministry.

"I'd be pleased to consider," she said cautiously.  "Always I mean; any time, Jonas.  What sort of help are you in need of?"

Dazmond had resources and contacts beyond those that he was able to reach.  Lexus might live in Knockturn, but this witch was of it -- the colorful darkness and the back-alley brotherhood that outsiders could never truly penetrate.  For all he knew, she was still in contact with Tawse.  That was not a confidence that Jonas ever thought he'd be able to ask her to betray, but this time, his quarry was as much of an outsider as he was.

It was dangerous, playing these cards, attempting to pull these strings, but in his own way, Jonas imagined that he was just as determined as Dazmond was.  If he failed at his intent, he wouldn't simply lose someone that he cared about to Azkaban for a year.  Adon would be dead, and no magic, no favors, no bargaining could ever fix it.  He wasn't content to simply wait, as the two Eleor brothers seemed to be.  The whole bloody thing was already set in motion.  He was an investigator; expecting him to simply not investigate was like asking him to sit around on his hands all day while his best friend slowly got ushered off to die.

That was, perhaps, what he saw in Dazmond that made him like her despite all of the rest of this.  She shared his conviction that some bonds ran so deep that sometimes they were worth a world to protect.  Family was defined by more than just blood.  He and the spirited witch might not share such a bond with each other, but sometimes it felt as if loyalty recognized its counterpart in others.

"There's a bloke -- at least a few months ago, he was working for Malvivicus."  He kept his voice calm, even, his eyes locked on hers.  There was really no reason to think that Dazmond still had any contact with the eccentric criminal; Jonas had had none since he'd been called off her trail back in January, nearly a year ago.  But he was prepared to cast as wide a net as he could in this endeavor.  If she knew something that might help him, he'd seize it.

"He goes by Katsaros.  It's not work related at all -- he has a grudge against a good mate of mine."  He shrugged, his gaze shifting briefly to the distant wall before focusing on Dazmond once more.  "I'd like to see about settling it before he gets a chance to," he said evenly.  "Anything you hear about him, no matter how small it is, I'd appreciate you passing on."

Dazmond had made to prepare herself in the few moments leading up to Jonas's pitch, but she was still a little startled by the name drop.  Malvivicus.  She froze to some degree, her eyes locking more steadily on Jonas's almost as a protection against flinching in a manner that might betray her secrets.  They were lethal secrets, and she was put on instant alert to be careful.

Though she was in a sense trained to be hyper aware of her knowledge of and about Kronos Malvivicus, she was unable to fathom how to respond to the next name coming forth from him.  For a long moment she was simply blank.  Something in her perception of the world shifted noticeably and, all of a sudden, the dark room enveloped her like a palpable dreamscape.  Then, very much like an actual dream, she felt less in control and more as if she were witnessing her own inevitable actions as they unfolded before her effortlessly. 

She had pressed her lips together, eyes like a dying doe's, as she looked at Jonas and leaned forward, concerned.  It would be impossible to hide from him the fact that she not only knew Katsaros, but that she was terrified of him to the bone. 

Her conflict was clear:  She was eager to help especially where help was eagerly needed, and she happened to not mind the idea of someone taking Terry Katsaros away from this world.  But, at the same time, the idea of betraying the Wizard who had so warped her mind and spirit was strangely difficult.  On top of all this, she had already revealed to the Auror, just by her reaction alone, that she knew something of note about Katsaros.  And, by extension, that she had at least some type of continuation of her relationship to Malvivicus.  Responding in any way was dangerous.  She also couldn't not help him, if that hurricane of a man was the threat against his friend.

After another moment's hesitation, she spoke, her voice quiet and frail.

"Dunno where he is," said Daz with the subtlest lift in her shoulder.  Her eyes still held onto Jonas like he was her life raft.  The next time she opened her mouth it was a bit like taking the stopper out of a draincock; it all came spilling out. 

"I know some and I won't say how but if that's what you're up against you'd better have yourself some back-up mate.  I'd never saw such a cold and collapsing reality as was in the grip of his magic.  It isn't anything they teach you up at Hogwarts.  It isn't even common dark arts magic.  Best to leave it alone and get your friend the hell away from these islands."

The change in Dazmond was immediate and visceral.  Something inside the witch shrank, twisted, as if she had already fallen once but had still seen the inevitable cycle of Troy doomed to repeat even after her initial defeat.

He would never have admitted that it infuriated him, but it did, to see someone so terrified, so crushed by a defeat.  Jonas set his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening stubbornly even as he stayed silent through her words.  He wasn't going to run.  The Auror knew that as sure as he knew that there were bones inside him; that he was fully planted here, that he wouldn't shrink away again.  It didn't matter if his eventual final confrontation came here on the streets of London, or in the distant limestone alleyways of Jerusalem's Old City, or in some other exotic location that not even Dreogan could foresee.  He wouldn't run.  He knew the price of not standing his ground.

"I appreciate the concern, Dazmond."  For once, he didn't try to lighten the mood with a smile; his gaze was clear and gravely serious as he met her eyes.  "But we'll take our chances, thanks."  Adon would be beside him in this; he knew that.  The younger Auror had spent the last few months terrified of his fate, but it was the lack of action that was weighing on him.  If it came down to a confrontation, neither of them would shy away from it.

There was so much more he could have said.  The war.  The years since then.  Completely washing his hands of magic; shying away from his family, from telling Anna anything.  Spending ten years in the wilderness away from where he ought to belong.  But he wasn't  here to make the witch in front of him understand, and he doubted that she really wanted much elaboration.  Dazmond might feel like Cassandra, watching some sort of secret doom approaching, but he wasn't going to stand down even if he knew that an army was marching toward his gates.  And he had no bloody intention of going down like Hector.

But then -- Jonas frowned.  He regarded the witch, pressing his lips tightly together.  She was frightened and alone, and with her husband locked away in Azkaban, she'd lost even that life raft.  He knew what it felt like to be caught up in such a surge, to know that all of the world had turned against you and there was nothing you could do but close your eyes and hold on.

"I ran once," he said suddenly, simply.  "Back during the last war.  It might have kept me alive, but I'm not sure that it was worth it."  His expression hardened, the words sharp with certainty. "I know for certain that it wouldn't be worth it now, and I can't reckon that even the worst sort of dark magic would stop me from feeling that."

He gave an off-handed shrug, as if the words he'd just spoken didn't matter, and kept his eyes locked solely on hers.  "Anything you know would help, Dazmond," he said gently.  "What sort of dark arts magic?  You're talking about Katsaros?"

Dazmond stared steadily at him, and held the message that was loud and clear in her mind - that he wouldn't run, not from this fight, and the resoluteness of that decision was imperturbable.  Their silent gaze, by all measures intense, acted as a carrier for her honouring of Trevelyan's conviction.  She understood his resoluteness, his readiness to move forward.  It warmed her, even if it didn't still the nervous trilling in her heart.

"Yes," she said in a clearer voice.  "Terry Katsaros."  She swallowed, as though there rested a psychological war zone inside his spoken name.  She broke their gaze briefly, eyes contemplative of the darkness falling on the room around them. 

"It was arguably beautiful... this play of sharp shadows on pale remnants of light, so unobstructed and constantly shifting.  But I..., was undone by it - just - completely fragmented.  Full of fear, and somehow, absent.  Absolutely torn from..., from myself.  Torn from myself.  Or was it a trick of the light?  His magic is deceptive and ruthless."  Dazmond didn't look at him, her knuckles an ashen colour.  She hadn't spoken of this with anyone in the seven months since it'd transpired - since she'd been picked up by Mister Malvivicus and punished by Katsaros.  She had refused to acknowledge it; to give it attention would be to call further danger to herself unnecessarily.  After all, the message sent home from his magic had been to fall in line, to obey, and to bite her tongue.

Now as she sat here with Jonas Trevelyan, she drudged up the stuff of her nightmares because she felt she was fighting for the sake of love.

"It is like he feeds off of the darkness.  I know how that sounds but it's true.  His magic is bone chilling, dark, and isolating.  I mean if he had meant to break my spirit...," she stopped, remembering herself, and looked up at Jonas.  She'd said enough. 

"If I had to call it something, I'd call it some kind of shadow magic," she said more pragmatically.  "Evil shadow magic."  Clearly.  She pressed upon him the dangerousness of the situation.  She would be re-traumatized herself if she lost Jonas Trevelyan to the dark Mage. 

"All that I know, really, other than being on the other end of his wand, and having the misfortune of spending more time than I'd like in his stolid, silent company, is that he left -" she slowed herself down to watch for hexed cobbles beneath her words.  "He left his position, working for Malvivicus.  Couple months ago, of his own free will, and his will had been honoured."  Again she stared at Jonas, this time defensively.  She had planted the roots of her trust in him firmly and safely in the soil.  She would not allow herself to forget he wore two coats.  She was only hoping he would not use the information against her. 

She may have faithlessly thrown Katsaros to the wolves, but it was with the assumption that she could be kept safe by Mister Malvivicus.  She would hold strong as she could to the lesson learned from Terry... that it was in her best interest to keep knowledge of Kronos to herself.  To go a step above, she must protect the Old Man.  It meant survival.