Title derived from Dar William's You're Aging Well

The man loitering at the middle of the bridge would have stood out, even if he'd appeared to be in a more usual, upbeat mood.  The paleness of his skin and long hair was only enhanced by the near full moon that was uncharacteristically peaking out through a break in the otherwise wintery, overcast sky.  It was almost December and the man's pale features were also being haloed as each breath formed clouds in the cold air.  He looked like someone displaced from a fantasy - or pirate - novel and the man's demeanor only seemed to support the impression of someone lost and unsure.

It had already been one of those bizarre, surreal days so the man's strange presence in it wasn't a complete surprise.  The day had started out normal enough.  She'd woken in her little, cozy attic flat above the wizarding record store in Diagon Alley, grabbed a quick pastry down the street and made her way through the magical portal back into muggle London.  Everything had started out perfectly normal - at least, normal by the standards of her current, primarily wizarding life.  Until she'd collected her mobile phone from the glove box of her mother's car and flipped through the healthy list of emails and phone messages that had accumulated since her last venture into the muggle world.

The last message had been an unexpected blast from the past.  And, the very reason Jacoba had found herself in Hyde Park that afternoon.  Angie was two years Jacoba's senior and had been on the streets for almost a year by the time Jacoba had found herself suddenly, and unexpectedly, in the same situation.  They'd crossed paths frequently in those days - and, since there was always safety in numbers, had lingered in each other's company.  But, Angie finally finished one of the Youth Center's programs and found herself and job and Jacoba had abandoned the streets of London for Germany.  Jacoba hadn't known her last name - family names weren't exactly honored in that particular social circle and they'd almost immediately lost touch.  But, somewhere along the way, Angie had learned hers.  And, had started trying to track her down after the publicity of Jacoba's parents' murders.

They'd spent the afternoon in strange nostalgia, both lost in the disbelief of how life had gotten them from where they had been to where they were now.  Of course, Jacoba had to remain carefully limited in her details but, by the time they'd parted ways, they'd agreed to continue to keep in touch.

Jacoba had been deep in memories of how lucky such chance encounters were - and had been back then - when she'd started crossing the Serpentine Bridge through the park.  She'd noticed the young man halfway across the bridge and approached, offering a warm grin as she shoved her hands deeper in her coat pockets.

"Think it'll freeze again this year?" Jacoba asked, leaning against the stone railing and looking down at the dark water.  The fellow could very well continue on his way - either not noticing or not caring that it was he Jacoba was speaking to.  "Probably won't be as bad as last year but a few bouts of snow wouldn't be bad."

Gale had been standing there rather pathetically, fighting the cold wind. He looked as though at any moment he'd welcome it if the bitter breeze would carry  him away. Dressed in dark pants, a scarlet shirt, and topped with his wool coat he felt as though he'd wanted to at least attempt to look nice. He'd taken out his finest jewelry and put it on like a knight would his armor. He felt better when he dressed, felt better when he felt beautiful, but no matter how much gold dressed his porcelain neck tonight his mind wasn't having it.

At first when the woman spoke he ignored her, having thought he put on a notice-me-not, but realized when she stood close that she was speaking to him. He tried to mask his surprise, and ran a little hand through his uncovered hair to try and pull it from his face.

"Oh..." He smiled politely and continued in a very soft voice, "I don't mind the winter. I'd actually rather like it if it did." The leather patch that held his otherwise flawless face captive crossed over the bridge of his nose like a gash, and Gale did his best to peer out from under it with his good eye.

She was beautiful. Especially with the way the colder weather colored her face, and the wind messed with her hair. He admired how perfect the brown coloring was of her hair, how she styled it like a librarian yet still made it appealing. He loved the way she seemed very eager to speak to him, and her mild manners had a very sweet way of calming him.

"I hope it snows often, and enough that the whole city will shut down again like last year." He grinned with the memory, and tucked his hair behind his ear.

"I had a flat not too far, and the ponds were so frozen you could skate like in the old movies." He was such a romantic at heart, "Silver screen kind." Ones that hardly no body cared about or even knew about anymore, but they were his favorite.

Wedging her toes between two of the curved, stone pilings, Jacoba perched herself semi-precariously along the railing and leaved over the top to peer straight down at the water's surface.  Winter was still early but the water had already obtained that inky-blackness that promised frigid temperatures.  The water below offered no reflection, despite the bright street lights casting their glow across the black surface.  A gentle but consistent cold breeze pushed ripples across the surface, breaking up any reflected image into rippling lines of colored light and dark shadows. 

Not all that surprisingly, a few beats passed before the pale stranger realized he was being addressed.  Jacoba offered a smile when the fellow finally took notice and nodded a silent confirmation that she was, indeed, speaking to him.  It was when he turned towards her that the young woman got her first good look at the man. 

He was unique.  Elegant in a sort of Edwardian pirate kind of way.  And, at first glance, it didn't seem the man's appearance was intentional but Jacoba had come across people who had considerably eclectic tastes when it came to appearance modification.  But, at the moment, it wasn't his physical appearance that stood out the most - it was the lost and dejected look.  A look she could recognize quite readily. 

The man replied - whether it was out of politeness, Jacoba couldn't quite tell, yet.  But, the likelihood of that diminished as he continued. 

"I suppose I can agree with that now," Jacoba admitted, looking back down at the water.  "I used to dread winter - the endless hours of cold."  Of course, for her, the cold had been inescapable.  "I love the Holidays, though.  A bit of a contradiction, I know - but, the all the lights and music and people coming out at night.  But, I suppose, a fondness for winter does seem to be growing on me."

"Used to?" Jacoba asked, curiously, catching the implication that the fellow no longer had a flat.  "Moved?  Or, upgraded?" 

"I was always a skater-watcher.  Could never get the hang of it - my family had a ..."  Jacoba hesitated a moment.  "- has a small place down in the mountains in Germany.  A couple of our lakes would freeze solid enough but I never had the coordination.  I was content to sit by the fire and watch my brother, human-cicles, come in and melt on the floor."  Jacoba grinned, slightly, shaking her head.  Those memories would have been an easy ten years old - she'd been eleven; Sasha had been barely six.  Though he hadn't quite gotten the hang of skis, he'd thrown himself at the task with the same stubborn determination he did most everything else.  And, subsequently, spent most of the morning flopping down the hills around their 'small house' until he was completely packed with snow. 

Jacoba chuckled and shook her head.  "I suppose I wouldn't mind a little snow, though.  Always better than cold rain."

Gale watched the way the lights on the water reflected on her face, and admired how perfectly it seemed to be. Though it wasn’t of a story pool where the shimmering gold caught every sparkle of her eye—it was still beautiful. The waters of the river were much too dirty and dark for that, but the row lights kept a mask of warm light that made her seem like the sun against the cold stone of the bridge.

"I suppose I can agree with that now," Jacoba admitted, looking back down at the water.  "I used to dread winter - the endless hours of cold."  Of course, for her, the cold had been inescapable.  "I love the Holidays, though.  A bit of a contradiction, I know - but, the all the lights and music and people coming out at night.  But, I suppose, a fondness for winter does seem to be growing on me."

“I’m made of the winter, or so I have been told. Born even on the Winter Solstice. The cold never bothered me, at least…” He looked out over the water, the bit of wind catching wisps of his hair as he pressed against the railing, “At least not until ten years ago.” Gale bit his lip, “Things just changed is all.” He didn’t want her pressing for an answer, and knew that his mask of depression was far too often pulled over his face.

“I guess you can say I upgraded.” He smiled a little, and looked over to the streets where he thought Chaz’s flat might be. “But the flat was an upgrade too I suppose. I grew up in a caravan, always changing, always flowing. We never took the same roads twice if it could be helped, and never stayed more than a week anywhere. When I was younger I loved it. I loved the adventure.” His half covered fingers curled over the stone as if to hold on in fear of falling as he too leaned over to watch the water below.

“Now I’m happy to have a home. I have a steady job.” He couldn’t tell if she were a Muggle or not, afraid to give too much away, but with that came a confession he didn’t care to give.

“I’m not normally like this,” He laughed nervously as he ran a hand through his hair, “But I’ve been trying to work up enough nerve now for a few hours to go say hello and beg forgiveness of something beautiful that I have probably let slip through my fingers. He lives over there.” Gale pointed to the part of the city where the dumpy little flats were, “But it’s far too late now. Can I buy you a hot tea, and you continue to tell me about your home in Germany?”

"Suppose that makes me born of the summer," Jacoba replied with a soft grin.  The man was wearing his melancholia on his sleeve and one would have had to intentionally overlook it to miss it.  While the man seemed willing to accept company, Jacoba knew that neither matching his tone nor being overly gleeful would be of any help.  The former would only make the man feel worse.  The later usually came across as callous.  Or uncomfortably nervous.

Ten years ago.  Jacoba's eyebrow arched in curiosity as she studied the man before looking back over the water.  "Things do change," she offered empathetically.  "Usually without warning or any clue as to where one should go from there."  She doubted the man was looking for words of encouragement or advice from a total stranger so didn't elaborate on either thought.  Instead, she shook her head.  "I just crossed paths with someone I hadn't seen in nearly six years and was just thinking that same thing earlier." 

When the man first elaborated, Jacoba listened casually, still maintaining the pleasant, soft grin.  By the time the man grew quiet, the grin had faded into a curious scowl as random bits of information from scattered conversations and letters started fitting together.  "You're Romani?" Jacoba asked, tentatively, turning her head to look at the fellow.  Jacoba wouldn't have guessed it, at first, not with the man's paleness but with that added bit of information, it suddenly seemed obvious.  And, if that were the case ... how many one-eyed, pale Romani could really be running around Great Britain? 

"This steady job wouldn't happen to be teaching, would it?" Jacoba asked, stepping down to turn more fully to the man.  What were the chances?  But, given all the context clues, it seemed to fit. 

Jacoba's gaze followed the pointed finger and, again, she smiled as she turned back.  "You know.  One thing I've learned is, if it's really the right person, it's never too late.  But, unless you change your mind, I will take you up on that offer for tea."  Jacoba slipped her hands in her pocket and turned to start wandering slowly towards the edge of the park.

"Oh, well, I don't have a home in Germany," Jacoba quickly corrected, shaking her head.  "I suppose you could say my story's the opposite of yours.  Started out pretty -" Comfortable was not the right word.  Nothing about living in her father's home had been comfortable, no matter how one looked at it.  "- upscale.  But, I got downgraded to having nothing.  My family, - or, I suppose, my brother now has a home in Germany.  But, it's not a bad place.  Up in the mountains - I remember it being pretty nice when it was decked out for the Holidays.  I haven't been there in years, though."

“That it does, sweet summer child.” He could hear his grandmother in his voice, and was half tempted to touch her rosy cheeks just as the old gypsy always did his. His gran would have enjoyed her company he could tell, and her kind heart shaped face. He should have just left her, and left for Hogwarts. Yet, when the puzzles started to be worked, and this bright little thing pinned his heritage it perked his curiosity.

“Crossed paths? That sounds like an adventure, or at least a good story. To whom do you speak of?” He extended his arm to her, and left his heart on that bridge for tonight. He would get a good night’s rest, and start again tomorrow; or he would simply go home. Right now, the company to which he kept seemed to be a bit more important.

“I am Romani, yes. And my steady job is teaching.” But he wouldn’t tell her where, not yet at least. He never knew the rule of muggles, or at least knew how to treat it. Sometimes the two worlds got mixed, but he didn’t know if it would do any danger to include her.

“So you live here then? In London?” He led them down the walk, and kept her close so that way he could shield them from the cold. The wind was so bitter he was half tempted to cast a charm, but thought better of it. “Let’s have tea, and perhaps a bit of dinner? I don’t recall actually eating today. That way I can hear more about your family home in Germany?"

Jacoba tugged her coat tighter around her and took the offered arm, shoving her free hand deep into a pocket as they walked, grateful for what little shield the man offered from the wind.  She'd been called many things over the years but 'sweet' ... well, sweet wasn't one of them.  Dismissing it as the naivety of strangers, Jacoba cast a bemused glance in the fellow's direction before shaking her head. 

"It's a little complicated," Jacoba offered vaguely at first.  "One of those crossing paths with someone from a past life things."  Anything more than just offering a name was bound to prompt more questions.  The young woman wasn't bashful about her history but it was somewhat awkward to work into casual conversation.  And, it was always a bit of a mystery how others would take it.  She had faced a variety of reactions ranging from a strange morbid curiosity to pity to condemnation.  So she offered as simple and superficial an elaboration as she could.  "She was a friend - almost a mentor - back when I'd first lost my home.  We lost touch not long after." 

A one-eyed, Romani teacher.  By now, Jacoba would have been very surprised if the man next to her was not the professor her brother had been describing.  There were far too many specific (and highly distinctive) details that matched.  She was still enough of the outsider that risking violating any secrecy laws outweighed any certainty but there was one way to discretely test her hypothesis. 

"I have a brother that goes to school up in Scotland," Jacoba offered.  Then, in a tone that made it seem the comment was completely unrelated, she added: "Name's Jacoba Schlagenweit, by the way."  For better or worse, their family name did have a tendency to stand out.  It was a fact that frequently bothered her before but did, at times, have its benefits. 

When asked about living in London, Jacoba grinned slightly as she nodded her head.  "I do.  At least for now."  They reached the edge of the park.  "I've got a little flat not far from here, above a little record shop."  It was fitting, in so many ways.  Reducto had come to feel very much like a home - the little attic flat was just an extension of it.  And, slowly but surely, the neighbors seemed to be getting used to their presence.  Or, it got to be old news and they just stopped caring.  "Tea sounds lovely," Jacoba agreed.  "But, I'm afraid it's getting near the end of the month.  It's bread cheese until the next payday for me." 

Oh how his curiosity perked, at many things the young woman spoke of. A crossed path, a brother...a school in Scotland, and that name. Not one you heard often.

"Jacoba, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Nightingale, but they call me Gale. My last name is Kesali." Forest Child. Not his true Sire's last name at all.

"Between the lost home, and a distant brother, M'dear, it sounds like you could use a good cup of a tea and something a bit more than just cheese and bread? My treat. Come on." He smiled and lead them down the row to one of the more promising shops. This late, not too much would be open other than a few places that sold a few Italian dishes, and had the best cheese sauces in town. Maybe they were not dressed as they should have been, or as nice as the rest--but Gale marched right in with her. Plus, if she had any relation to Sasha, then this could be a great clue to that boy's anxiety issues.

They were getting all sorts of stares, but Gale was used to it. It wasn't every day anyone came in with a patch over their eye, and didn't stare at all. However, she was getting just as many looks at they were, and when the hostess seated them by the large windows Gale felt even more like they were on display.

"I can understand complications." He said going back to their earlier conversation, "And side note: I don't eat meat at all, but someone told me they had a really good lasagna." He said pointing to it on the menu, before going back to his.

Well, that pretty much confirmed it.  Jacoba grinned as she followed the man and the hostess to the table by the window.  The warmth of the little restaurant was more than welcome and Jacoba settled comfortably into her seat.  Sasha's letters tended to be more frustratingly vague than they were informative but academics was one thing he could be counted on writing about. 

"Professor Kesali," Jacoba offered with a nod.  "Unfortunately, Sasha tends to pretend professors don't have first names."  Let alone, nicknames.  "He's a bit too proper for his own good, though you've probably noticed that.  But, I think I can manage Gale."  Jacoba looked up from the menu, expectantly.  "Thank you," she offered earnestly for the meal and the tea. 

Jacoba turned her attention back to the menu.  "You too?"  Jacoba glanced up, again, at the news of the man's vegetarianism.  "My brother's a herbivore, too.  I think you're both nutters.  Life without bacon just doesn't seem like life at all," Jacoba concluded with a playful grin.  Lasagne sounded good but linguini with clams was just one of those things that was so hard to pass up on. 

Having decided, Jacoba set her menu down and settled back in her chair, thinking back to the afternoon's meeting.  "She was an old friend.  A little more than that, I suppose.  My parents disowned me and kicked me out when I was thirteen and I spent the first couple years on the streets here.  She'd been on the streets almost a year and we stuck together a fair bit.  She got cleaned up and moved on.  I finally went back down to Germany.  I only came back to London to be in your world.  Well, my brother's world.  So, now, our lives are both completely different.  Just one of those surreal moments, I suppose."

Professor Kesali

When she spoke his name his entire body went cold, but soon enough she made it clear she knew. There worlds were two different ones, but sometimes crossed very well within the other.

Jacoba spoke of a brother, one that shared her last name--and then spoke his name. Too proper, Sasha? Never. The thought caused him to smirk and the smile that broke out on his face only confirmed her accusations of the younger sibling.

"He is a very good student, and a very wonderful person." Gale commented when he could, but quickly shook his head when the topic went to their eating habits. "It's not by choice, Madame, I can assure you. My body just doesn't break it down well..." Wonderful table conversation. Though the topic didn't move to a happier one no less. His mind raced with questions that he wanted answered, but the staff came around to take their order before he could ask them.

"I assure you, Ma'am that you are speaking to the right person when you mention surreal moments. I came from a life where the two worlds really were just one. Magic was in the trees and sky, not on the end of a stick. It wasn't taught in school. Hell, I didn't even know such a place existed until an owl came one night. I lived among them my entire life and never knew, but really...they were always so high on drugs or durnk that I doubt they knew what they were either." Dismissing the topic he took a sip of his water, before placing the glass between his hands on the table.

"But Sasha...Sasha comes from another world doesn't he? Every soothsayer bone in my body screams to help that child, but I'm not sure about what. I don't feel that he's in danger while at school. He's certainly not failing. He walks such a straight line that there isn't room to sway one side or the other, but I can't help but feel that is what he needs the most." Gale looked back up to her, "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but it's just how I've always felt. After our first class, and the topic of memories came up. He had this face...this heartbreaking face that I've stared at for years, but I'm 30 now. Old enough to know such horror, but to be what? 18?" Gale lowered his voice,

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't wish, and I'm sorry for jumping straight into it. But I want to help."

Jacoba turned her attention, briefly, to greet their server and, after a few chatty exchanges, placed her order.  After the woman moved off with both of their orders, Jacoba turned back to Gale and leaned forward, slightly, resting her arms comfortably on the table. 

"Some say good student, some say insane.  Suppose it's a matter of perspective.  But, yes.  Better than I ever was."  She'd done well enough at Pforta but, to her, solid passing grades qualified as having done well enough.  Her grades would have mortified her brother. 

Jacoba chuckled, pulling a piece of bread free from the basket and peeling a piece to dip in the herbed oil and vinegar.  If they wanted to get into surreal stories, well...  "I imagine, all of this was a bit of a surprise," she offered him.  "At least you had some warning as to the potential for this magic stuff.  Even if it wasn't separate.  I was oblivious until a year and a half ago when some ruddy grey owl from my brother showed up outside my work in Amsterdam.  I hadn't seen or heard from my brother in ... seven years.  I thought he'd forgotten about me.  He goes into this whole explanation about school and wands and how nobody knew.  I thought he'd gone off the deep end and ended up in some Lord of the Rings cult.  Or something.  Came back to London the next day."  And, here she was, sitting in a restaurant talking to a Hogwarts professor. 

To top it all off, after twenty-one years of the mundane, turns out she could very well be a witch herself.

"Another world?  My brother?  You mean, other than the obvious."  Jacoba assumed the man didn't mean the wizarding world.  He said it with far too much of an air of meaning for it to be something so blatant.  And, the various stories Jacoba had heard about the boy's biological father made the man seem strange and different but Jacoba was certain he wasn't alien.  Or something. 

"Sixteen,"  Jacoba corrected.  A difference of two years, but two years in the wrong direction.  "Well, I'd be the last one to say that straight line he walks is good for him.  I've been accused on more than one occasion of trying to corrupt him.  But ... a lot has happened, you know?"  There was a distinct uplift to the young woman's question - an obvious request for more information.  She didn't know what the man knew or how much the professors were privy to students' records.  "Last year was kind of a rough one?  Between the kidnapping and his...our parents...the girl killed in the forest.  He has always had to be a bit more mature than his years but he's living on his own now.  So,...I don't know." 

Jacoba shook her head and sighed, taking another bite of bread.  "To be honest, he doesn't talk to me much about all of that.  I don't really know a lot to tell you.  I know I should know more, being his sister but ... I don't know.  It sounds like you're concerned there's more?  Is something going on?"

"I would never call him insane, Madame, there isn't a single thing about Sasha that could pass as insane. I should know, I am an expert on the subject." He smiled into his wine, rather enjoying the way it was already warming him. His pale cheeks were flush, and his nose bright red--this winter would not be kind, he was certain of that.

Jacoba was good company, he could tell. Gale liked to listen to her and watch the way her little mouth quirked when she thought of how to phrase the next bit, but most of all he admired how direct she was. She didn't seem to dance around her thoughts, nor the subject.

"Actually I didn't." He commented on how he must have had warning when it came to magical stuff, "At least not like most. I grew up in a caravan and magic was nothing but cheap tricks and slight of hand. And I wasn't aware there was a Lord of the Rings cult, as a huge fan of the series I must admit I'm very intrigued." He grinned, laughing lightly to continue listening.

"I haven't had much chance to speak to Sasha other than a lunch here or there, and classes. He's rather fond of I guess I would call him my school rival." He flushed with a little smile at how silly it all sounded. "Professor Trishna I would wager is a good roll model to have. You can rest assure that no one shall corrupt him while in his care." He wanted to say he didn't know, not to what she seemed to be talking, but this wasn't truly her story to tell. If he was to know of Sasha's past, he'd like to hear it from the boy himself. Wait…

"Kidnapping?" No no no stop, "What about kidnapping?" His concern came in the not knowing and the way she seemed to gloss over the subject as if this was--wait. Was Sasha the student from Hogwarts that…oh dear. He went cold, his entire body froze over with concern.

"When was he kidnapped?"

Jacoba chuckled and shook her head, hoisting the slice of bread slightly to gesture vaguely towards Gale.  "Sacred Rights of Sisterly Privileges.  If, after years of watching him spend more hours studying then watching cartoons, I want to call him insane, it's my official right."  As far as she was concerned, there had to be some textbook somewhere that listed that within their definition of psychosis. 

"Scheiß, that sounds nice," Jacoba admitted, shaking her head.  Jacoba rolled her eyes and shook her head.  "As a kid, do you know how much I would have given to get carted off by a caravan?  Even with cheap magic tricks."  Of course, now as an adult, Jacoba was well aware that the image she would have had as a kid was fairly romanticized.  But, her twelve-year-old self wouldn't have cared much. 

Jacoba broke the slice of bread in half and dipped it, once more.  "So, were they at least more accepting?  If they had their own version of magics, they must have welcomed yours, once you found out?  Or, did they not understand the other version?" 

Jacoba smiled, sympathetically, nodding her head.  "I've heard little bits and pieces," she admitted though hesitated going into more detail.  There had been some stray comments in the letters Sasha had sent home.  The kid had a bad habit of being overly detailed in matters that were rather irrelevant and flitted passively over the important material but, even so, the professor's admission didn't surprise her. 

So, the man didn't know about the kidnapping.  She'd hazard to assume that most of the professors were aware of such things but, it seemed, she'd guessed wrong.  Jacoba grimaced, apologetically, torn with indecision.  "I'm sorry.  I assumed you'd know.  It was about a year ago," the young woman finally offered.  "Actually...exactly a year ago.  He'd been missing about a week before we realized - a month total."  It had been an agonizing, harrowing month. 

"Look.  I don't want to say anything he wouldn't want me to - but you wanted to know how to help.  Most of the time - if he seems reluctant to talk, usually it's because he doesn't think he has a right to.  It's stupid, I know - but, my family ... my father was kind of the stereotypical emotions are bad kind of guy?  Being open wasn't really encouraged.  You know that old saying?  'Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.'  If you ask, he'll answer but if you wait for him to offer, he won't volunteer." 

Gale sat back in his seat as he listened to her, a cold chill chased his arms and he crossed them around his midsection. He hadn't heard about it as a professor no, but he had working for the Ministry. He figured that student wouldn't have returned to Hogwarts if the rumors were true, but Gale let the thoughts go as she continued.

"I can do that. In many ways I have done that, but he's so weary around people. I'm starting to see why." When she went on about their father, Gale was thankful he couldn't relate. Though his dad had him learning to pick pockets before he could walk, Jean-Luc was a caring man when it came to his son's emotions. Gale cried often, and never was there not a time when the gypsy king wasn't there to receive him. However, on the same hand his entire caravan made certain he knew what sort of world they came from, and often wouldn't let him turn his head away from topics too violent for a child.

"Did they ever catch the person that did this?" He couldn't remember if they had, and Gale would make it his persona vendetta over the holiday to do just that.

He wanted to comment on his people, he loved talking about them, and missed them dearly. But the subject seemed to die away with how much he felt for Sasha, and he couldn't shake this cold feeling.

Jacoba grimaced, apologetically, but nodded her head. 

"I definitely wouldn't take in personally," Jacoba admitted, with a slight shrug.  "And, you're right - it's around people.  Most people.  We've always been the closest in our family and even I don't delude myself into thinking he's open with me."  Jacoba dipped the last of her bit of bread in the olive oil mixture and ate it before continuing. 

"My family was that sort of old school aristocratic to whom image was everything?"  Hopefully, the man across from her would at least recognize what she was describing.  "Fairly old fashioned.  But, my father was immensely disapproving of any imperfections - especially if it had the potential to be publicly recognized.  Even I still get a little anxious when I think someone might find a reason to fault me - which I suppose everyone does to some extent.  But, I was already the disposable one - they gave up on me pretty early.  But, heir, first born and only son, all of that - they were pretty demanding of him."

Jacoba shook her head.  "Not that I'm aware of.  I'm not, technically, legally family so they aren't obligated to keep me in the loop.  But, I assume it would make headline news if they had - given the creep's high profile.  I haven't seen anything in the Prophet - or heard any gossip around the shop, so I assume he's still at large." 

If there had been any further developments, Jacoba was unaware.