After the evening's Divination class, Sasha was more than ready to take Baldur[1] outside for a last potty break and play session before Astronomy class.  The cool air felt good against his face after the warm, stuffy and way too crowded Divination class.  Once clear of the castle's front doors, the shepherd took off across the yard, frolicking in the cool spring night and Sasha followed, a small cloth satchel containing dinner in one hand and a tennis ball in the other. 

The shepherd took an initial lope around the yard and then raced back towards Sasha, his gaze fixed intently on the ball.  Sasha chucked the ball across the field and the dog took off after it, sniffing it out in the dark once it had rolled into shadows.  A few moments later, the dog loped back and dropped the ball at Sasha's feet and took off, again, in anticipation of another throw.  Sasha pitched the ball a couple more times then turned and started making his way back to the castle.  There was still a couple hours before Astronomy class - some time to get a head start on the following week's assignments.  The lawn pathway wound back towards the school and into the courtyard. 

It was Baldur that spotted the Slytherin sitting on one of the sills of the courtyard's archways first.  Ball in mouth, the shepherd trotted over to the young woman and put his paws up on the stone work, dropping the tennis ball on the ledge.  The shepherd hopped back down on all fours and trotted a couple paces away and turned back, tail wagging with his eyes glued to the ball. 

"Ah - sorry about that," Sasha offered, quickly, gesturing towards the dog.  "Baldur, Komm," he directed, gesturing again.  The dog obliged, briefly, trotting towards him but almost immediately returned to where he could watch the ball.  Again, Sasha called and, again, the dog trotted towards him and raced back to his spot. 

The Ravenclaw tugged a lead out of his pocket approached the dog to slip it over his head.  "Sorry," he apologized again.  "How are you?" he asked, since it seemed the polite thing to do.  "Other than the obvious."

1.	Ravenclaw's resident therapy dog, approved by Headmistress Snark and McGonagall

Sometimes Flo wished she hadn’t left out Astronomy and instead went for it; now that she had went on an early patrol and finished it, there she was, all alone by the courtyard, swinging her legs daintily over the edge of the sill she was sitting on. She had removed her shoes and they sat on the stonework down below - her back was against the smooth stone and she could feel the chill of the night seeping its way into her system. Closing her eyes briefly and and raising her arm to cover her eyes, Flo sighed. Was that what people truly thought of her? She couldn’t really say that she didn’t care to care. Maybe it was because the Badger said something so casual it stunned and got the best of her. Brilliant Ravenclaws. And she was just a snake. Her being shrank until it became no larger than that of an ant. It reminded her of what Giovanna said back in the day: ‘Ravenclaw. You must get into no other house than that of the Grey Lady’s, do you understand Deborah?’

‘Do you understand?’

‘Do you understand?’

She didn’t.

She could feel her grandmother’s tight grip on her arm and tried to pretend like the feeling wasn’t there. She cringed. Fidgeted. Because she was just Deborah. Just Flo. Just your typical sixteen-year-old who’s pride has just been crushed today. Add in the fact that she unconsciously shed a tear for this realization. Never again, she mouthed to herself. Stop making an effort to be liked by everyone. What’s going on with you, Deborah? This isn’t you.

You. There was a bark, and Flo opened her eyes, moving her arm away to grab the edge of the sill and balance herself. A familiar creature graced her sights and she smiled - a genuine one, since she had a special way of figuring out which ones were make-believe and which ones were smooth and calculated. “C’est vous,”[1] she said in an arguably happy tone. "J'ai pensé que j'étais seul.”[2] Jumping down safely from the ledge, she patted Baldur’s head softly. "Something bad happened today, Baldur," she murmured to the dog, sensing Mister Schlagenweit's approach. She stooped down to Baldur's level until she sat on the ground, continuously petting him, uncaring of the state of her socks. Flo was so certain that if Balder could possibly come to stand on two legs, he'd be taller than her - she did come to notice the lead on Sasha's hand.

"There's no need," she began. "Let him be, it's alright."

How ironic it was that this dog was feeling much more better than her. Sometimes she also found herself wishing that she was just an animal - not a dog though, but perhaps a bird. A blackbird, to be exact. She felt like she needed to get away from Sasha, knowing that he was one of the brilliant Ravenclaws that Hufflepuff was so proud of. It wasn't her fault the hat sorted her in Slytherin.

Here was Sasha being polite. She knew it. It was pretty much tangible - if she reached up to the air around her that moment, it was likely that she could reach for it. "Je suis en attente de la tempête calmer,"[3] she said, more to herself than to him, hence the slip of the tongue. "Because if I cross the threshold without anything in hand, I might as well submit defeat."

She brought herself to look at him and smiled gently. "You're her friend. I'm sorry for having insulted your friend."

Besides, she never held real malice towards anyone - or did she?

1.	"It's you," - French
2.	"I thought I was alone." - French
3.	"I am waiting for the storm to calm," - French

Sasha watched Clarencieux settle on the ground next to Baldur and slipped the lead back into his pocket.  He fully understood the grounding comfort an animal could provide; that was the very reason Baldur was allowed at the school and in Ravenclaw tower.  Sleep was elusive and fitful enough with the Shepherd there to nudge him awake out of nightmares.  Sasha still couldn’t fathom sleeping without the dog. 

He kept his distance, at first, giving the Slytherin and the dog space just as he would two people sharing a private conversation.  Though the conversation was one-sided, the Shepherd still responded.  He flopped down on the ground, leaning his body against her leg as he rolled over on his back.  Displaying the noble dignity of a drunk octopus, the dog’s head, legs and feet all flopped in different directions as he made himself perfectly comfortable. 

“Do you mind?” Sasha asked, lifting the little bundle of food and pointing towards a nearby bench.  “Late dinner.  If I don’t eat now, I’ll forget and get distracted by the potions essay due next week and it’ll be two before I remember.”  It was a pattern that had happened before and would happen again.  It was far too exhausting an afternoon for it to happen again that evening. 

“Ce n'est pas grave,[1]” Sasha offered with a slight grin, shrugging his shoulders.  “It’s understandable.”  After a moment’s thought, he grinned again.  “I hardly noticed.”  It was a little, though perfectly transparent white lie.  She would have had to be completely blind not to see through it.  But, appearances and impressions were important to a lot of people - especially those who'd been raised to recognize composure was just as important a part of one's attire as well-shined shoes.  She was likely out here because they were important to her. 

Sasha crossed his legs and set the cloth bundle in his lip, pulling the edges back to expose the boiled egg, bread, cheese and apple that comprised his dinner.  He lifted his brows, slightly, at the mention of Winnie.  “I don’t really know if Winifred considers me her friend.”  Sasha pursed his lips as he considered the thought.  “I mean, we’re friendly but where’s the line…never mind.  Sorry.”  This was probably not the best time to evaluate the meaning of the term ‘friend’ and the criteria the term required. 

“I don’t think you did anything wrong.  But, I’m far from being the best judge of those things.  Besides, I’m plenty guilty of what she accused you of so I'd be a hypocrite to point fingers, even if I thought you'd offended her.”  That realization had been lingering in the back of his mind since class.  "I hope you don’t take too much of what she said to heart.  I appreciated your offer to help.  Not all of us are Divination naturals.” 

1.	It’s alright

With Baldur having settled down comfortably on the lower half of her body, Flo found herself lulling the animal softly to sleep. She shook her head upon being asked the first question by Sasha, only following his movements with her eyes. “I know what it feels like.” she wanted to add ‘it happens to me always’ but refrained from doing so. The number of times she forgot she was a human being was something she couldn’t bring to count using her fingers. Being caught by Grandmère in the act more than once prompted her to try and remember, but there were still times that it managed to slip her mind.

This time, she didn’t bother to point out the formality being radiated by her company. One of the reasons why she always escaped to her world was because of this. The stiffness, the suffocation - the sulphur that never failed to bring her to madness. She solely wondered how the non-pureblooded variety did it - to be oh-so-casual and loose. Giovanna would screech in disgrace and do everything in her power to keep her from that. Perhaps that was what set their kind apart - the pure should never bother with the dirtied. Blood traitor or not, it confused Deborah - all these laws that hold it together, with their stitches worn from age, why did they ever did they matter in the first place?

She looked at him curiously when he finished his speech with a line pertaining to Divination naturals. Biting her lip in concentration, she opened her mouth, about to let out her own words. “That’s what it appeared to be,” she said in a quiet voice - not the authoritative one she uses during patrols. “Somewhere across the road, the line was cut short, wasn’t it?”

Flo began to draw runes on the ground using her finger as Baldur snored soundly in her lap. “I hate it,” she told him, when it was too silent to begin with. “There wasn’t anything I hated just as I hate Divination. Half of what my grandparents taught fought against its basic values, and though I am a seeress myself, it’s not a simple thing you can tell them in a single sitting and expect to be pushed aside.”

“Surely you’d understand,” she shrugged. “I always knew not everyone would like me. I was used to being killed a thousand times on the inside by people like Oliver but it just so happened that she hit square one. I never appreciated my gift, so I found it wonderful that she was so enchanted by hers. I wanted to believe not everything was still being ruled by prejudice in vain, but it was because of her that I realized there were still people like her - and my grandparents - who exist for that reason.”

She pointed at his robes and gave him a sad glance, before beginning to sport a lively temperament. “Even if I wasn’t a snake, I doubt the hat could’ve found another fit for me. Perhaps everyone back home was right - maybe I should’ve gone to Durmstrang for that matter. I didn’t take all that she said to heart - it was just that…” she paused, flicking her gaze up at the sky blanketed with diamonds. “She did get a part of it correct. But I won’t apologize.”

“A muggle author once said, ‘It is a good rule in life never to apologise. The right sort of people do not want apologies, and the wrong sort take a mean advantage of them.’ I can assure you, I’m not as good as Miss Jordyn was, but I do have my limits. I do not know what you think of me - and even if I was a Legillimens, you can be certain that I’ll never rummage your head around for it.”

“She didn’t need help, I knew that,” she scratched the dog lightly behind the ear and directed her stare at him. “What she needed was reassurance, and I, more or less, failed to give that with my choice of words.”

“I know what it feels like.”

“What?  Forgetting to eat?” Sasha asked, looking up from the bread in his hand.  The Ravenclaw shrugged his shoulders and nodded in agreement.  For him, missing meals had just become a bad habit - much like avoiding sleep.  Neither activity had a high enough place on his list of priorities.  “There usually isn’t a lot to chose from at meals, anyway.  I don’t really eat meat and British food … there’s bacon and beef in everything.”  He wrinkled his nose and took a bite of the roll. 

Surprise flittered across Sasha’s expression and he regarded her for a moment.  He wouldn’t have guessed she disliked Divination; like Winifred, that class seemed to come fairly naturally to her. 

“What did your grandparents teach?” he asked, turning back to his dinner.  He hoped the question didn’t upset her or make it sound like he was prying.  Between bites, he added: “If you don’t want to talk about it, you’re welcome to say so.  I’m just … I missed a lot of that.  How wizarding families viewed different types of magic.”  Many in the wizarding world appeared to consider Divination a ‘soft magic’ in the way that Biologists considered sociology a soft science.  There also seemed to be a lot of doubt about the validity of Divination, especially for non-seers like himself. 

Sasha nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders at the same time.  “I think I understand?  Sort of.”  His tone was slightly apologetic.  She was probably looking for a more definitive agreement but he couldn’t, in all honesty, offer it.  “Everything my grandparents taught me pretty much fought against all of this.”  He gestured with a hand around the stone courtyard.  “Divination.  Magic.  Sorcerers.  So, I just got used to hiding it.  I got used to pretending to be who they wanted me to be.”  There had been no additional gifts or abilities to hide though, thankfully.  And, he’d learned early on that controlling his emotions was the easiest way to control errant magic.  There was no seer gift to contend with.  He’d found a way to make it work and his grandparents had never been the wiser.  He’d never had to face their disapproval; they’d never known they needed to offer it.

“I don’t really know Winifred that well,” Sasha admitted.  “I don’t know if she’s had specific bad experiences with Slytherins or if she’s just prejudiced.  Not that bad experiences justifies what she said.  I don’t know.  I’ve had a lot of bad run ins with Slytherins - broken wands and noses.  But, a lot of my best friends have been Slytherins, too.  Once I stopped being an awkward muggleborn-” which, in all honesty, was in the middle of their fifth year.  “-Slytherins were usually the easiest to be around."  He shrugged his shoulders, again, scowling in frustration.  He didn’t really know what he was saying or what point he was trying to make.  “I’m sorry, I’m not the most poignant or … eloquent person."

The Ravenclaw followed the line of Clarencieux’ finger and looked down at his robes.  He remained quiet for several long moments, taking a moment to process and consider what she’d said.  He set the cloth on the bench next to him, freeing his hands.  “Good God, please … please don’t rummage in my head.”  The thought was terrifying and, for a brief moment, it probably showed.  There were way too many secrets crammed into that skull of his.  Secrets that could get him expelled and, in the wrong hands, maybe even tossed in Azkaban.  Secrets that could, most definitely, get people killed.  Again, he shook his head. 

Social interactions had never come easy to the Ravenclaw.  Beyond being an introvert, so many false identities and faces had always made it hard to connect with his peers.  Lately, with all the changes over the past couple years, he’d been feeling even more distant from his classmates.  He wanted to find the right thing to say but his own mind was so jumbled up and foreign.  Class and house disputes just seemed so … trite.  Inconsequential.  He felt tired.  Some days, he really just wanted to feel like a teenager. 

Sasha took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, still frustrated at his own difficulties. 

“I think we’re put in our houses because of who we are, not because our houses will make us into what we’re supposed to be.  I’m a Ravenclaw because I’m good at the game of academics.  But, I ... I suck at real life.  Being in Ravenclaw didn’t make me that.  I probably could have done alright in Slytherin except for the muggleborn part.”  Except, the sorting hat probably knew Sasha was a halfblood, even if he, himself, was naive to the fact his father was pureblooded.  The sorting hat still chose Ravenclaw.  “I would have been miserable in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.  But, do you really hope that something as simple as being put in Ravenclaw or going to Durmstrang could have that much influence on who you are?  Ten years from now, it won’t make that big of a difference.” 

He grinned slightly and shrugged his shoulders.  Sheepishly, he admitted: “I’m kind of a pathological apologizer.  I’ve been known to apologize for apologizing for apologizing?  It’s - I don’t think you really had anything to apologize for.  I’m about as close to an expert witness as you’ll get on the matter?” 

She didn’t look at him this time as she responded: “I don’t… usually take my meals in the Hall, so I doubt we have the same selection. I do forget. Whether it’s in the middle of brewing a highly complicated potion or writing a tremendous essay, sometimes I forget how I was made to function. Maybe that accounts for my stature,” she raised a brow at that. “Or maybe not.”

“French. Italian. British.” she counted with her fingers. “They’re different from one another. Not that I’m complaining, of course. It’s just… different. Perhaps it’s just me on this boat, since the traditions have long imposed themselves on me. Sometimes Grandmère berates me for this, saying that the grand heiress of the house shouldn’t be so rash - shouldn’t be so improper, careless. Stubborn.”

She placed a finger to her temple to answer Sasha’s question. “Everything in which logic and reason was involved. I grew up surrounded by politics, by accuracy. It was like having a formula for everything that needs to be solved. Divination is…” she frowned. “For me, imprecise. It takes a lot of guessing and twisting and delving and flattering the seer himself. You can’t say your prophecy doesn’t have holes in it, because everything is complex.”

“You get a vision this day, but what about the next? You can’t tell. It’s like waiting for your heart to suddenly stop beating but of course you’d have to provide a reason for it. For every action, there’s a consequence - and not every consequence can find their way into your Inner Eye. It comes naturally to me - as I guess it might to Oliver - but sometimes the pieces still doesn’t fit. I draw cards, look into mirrors, have it reflected right into me and yet…”

“I find it hard to tell.” she huffed in disapproval before continuing: “Grandmère thinks it’s total nonsense - you’d think they’d be glad to have a seer in the family but apparently, not so. No one knows (I am a seer). My parents haven’t returned since I was five and I doubt my uncl-”

She paused, seeing the loop. “My fath-” she shook her head once more, confused. “Père, would understand in a split second or two. There hasn’t been a known Clarencieux who is a seer, and finding out that the line would end with me as a seeress would definitely give them a heart attack.”

Taking her head in her hands laying her elbows on Baldur’s sleeping form, she looked at Sasha to try and conjure the words. “The same goes for status. Since my family's a purist…” she didn’t approve of this fact but she had to clear the edges out. “The war pretty much changed everything. I can’t say they’re war criminals - they didn’t support Voldemort but they did embrace his ideals. A world, completely rid of abomination - muggles and muggleborns and halfbloods alike, that was perfection.”

“As usual, I didn’t understand. I was fascinated with how different muggles were from us wizarding folk so I strayed away from their beliefs. It’s why I was deemed a blood traitor - ‘Little Miss Deborah, a traitor, just like her mother.’ - but I didn’t mind. There’s nothing wrong with treating everyone as your equal, am I correct?”

“These arguments pretty much drained me. Back home, everything had a proper way. You were basically treated as a scum of the population if you did something wrong. There’s a proper, and an improper greeting. There’s a correct way to hold your spoon, and an incorrect way to curtsey to your guest which will result to you being a scandalous host. There’s a time for tea, and for lessons, and for when you’re allowed to speak to your family. There’s a right way to write and seal your letters, and a wrong way to wear your dress or hold your tongue when you come out to see the Public. Every single thing had an opposite, a corresponding consequence, and failure to adhere to the rules is like putting yourself in danger.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a muggleborn,” she assured him. “All the best people in the world you’d have to gather and find that not all of them are truly pure. Atticus isn’t a snake, but he’s been my best friend for as long as I could remember. True, they say he’s not the best of company to be with, but I hazard it all depends on the person himself. And don’t apologize for not being eloquent,” she smiled. “I’m actually surprised I’ve been able to hold a conversation this long. Most people know me as a lady of a few words.”

“Good God, please … please don’t rummage in my head.” 

At first, questions began to arise inside Deborah but she let it slip. The clues were so blatant they were beginning to scream. “It’s alright, we all have skeletons of our own. I wouldn’t intend to have mine exposed either way.”

“I can say Grandmère almost had my head for not being an Eagle,” she chuckled. “But I see where our similarities lie. I’m not as good in real life either. If possible, I’m horrible at it. Maybe that’s why people interpret my actions as cold, and relatively distant. I don’t know how to deal with emotions, more or less, handle them. I can’t…”

“See things the same way as others could. They’re different in my own field of vision. It’s what sets me apart. Someone once told me I was known to be stereotypical, but Morgana knows I am not like that. I’ve had perfection to deal with ever since I was younger - there simply wasn’t enough space to cover up the blemishes, because you were expected in all your finery.”

Sighing, she reached for her glasses and removed them, laying it down on the soft grass. “When I first came into Hogwarts, I couldn’t stand not being the best. It was how I was raised - because I was an only child, it made perfect sense to as why things had to be set that way. Aim for the Os, and nothing else. Be absorbed with your book, and don’t pay attention to these idiots that surround you. That’s what I was instructed to do. How I was expected to live.”

“Maybe it could have had that much influence - who knows? If Harry Potter was a snake and not a lion, what seer could’ve foretold the possible chain of events? If you look at it from a different angle, maybe not too much - but if you view it from a bird’s vantage point, yes, they are possible factors.”

"I’m kind of a pathological apologizer.  I’ve been known to apologize for apologizing for apologizing?  It’s - I don’t think you really had anything to apologize for.  I’m about as close to an expert witness as you’ll get on the matter?”

She couldn’t contain the laughter that had began to spill from her lips. “Oh dear. I was actually paying attention to the number of times you’ve apologized already. Got it figured out on the second round.” she beamed.

“I don’t think diet, alone, accounts for stature.  Not unless you, you know, eat nothing.  I mean, I’ve always maintained as low a BMI as I can and I still ended up taller then I wanted.”  Though, he now knew where it actually came from.  His tall and lanky stature was the first trait Sasha realized he likely inherited from the Storm family tree. 

Sometimes, people just needed to speak.  There were thoughts that would build in a person’s mind and the more the person fussed and worried over them, the more they festered.  The more they grew.  Eventually, they’d get so frenzied, so numerous that there was no way to keep them straight.  Being able to talk somehow seemed to release those thoughts.  How often had Sasha spent the entirety of a long trail ride talking to Wobias, knowing full well the stallion could neither understand nor respond.  Just saying them, just releasing them was enough of a start.  He let her speak, without interrupting, content to play Wobias’ role.

Not wanting her to feel pressured, Sasha kept his own gaze diverted to the pattern in the lay work of the cobblestones a few feet in front of him.  It was fascinating to hear how similar their upbringing had been, despite the big obvious and magical difference.  In another realm, if their families had known about each other, what they perceived as their fatal difference likely would have driven them to war.  And, yet, underneath the magic they were almost identical. 

For the first time, Sasha could understand the need for the Statute of Secrecy. 

“The family is as much an entity of its own as the members within it.  The responsibility falls to the heir to perpetuate the family identity, regardless of how it contradicts with our own.  You almost get faced with deciding between family and your own identity.  There’s no easy solution.”  His brow furrowed slightly and he shook his head.  “But, it’s far from your fault the family line ends with you. Unless you, you know, killed a brother somehow.” 

Finally, Sasha glanced towards Flo and offered a slight grin.  “Think they’d be surprised to find out how similar their muggle counterparts were?  Purist histories, stifling etiquette lessons.  Wonder if Shakespeare was a squib.” 

“My family were war criminals,” Sasha admitted, with a shrug.  “I’d be a hypocrite for pointing fingers, even if your family were.” 

A bright blush spread across the Ravenclaw’s features and he grinned, awkwardly.  “I…it’s a habit.  I…”  He shrugged, again.  “My mother and stepfather were similar.  They had high expectations and expected perfection.  My stepfather was fairly…adept…at making his displeasure known.  He could be … harsh about it?  My sister hated him and always liked to set him off.  I guess I just got used to apologizing for the both of us.  It was safer that way.  Like you, they saw me as the family screw up.  Unfortunately, apologizing was all I could do to try to make it better.” 

“Everyone always wondered where I got it. It inevitably led to the conclusion that I wasn’t a Clarencieux - I mean, look at me,” she waved a hand in exasperation at herself. “The trademark red hair, amethyst eyes, I don’t even carry it. Had I not known any better I would’ve assumed I am a bastard myself, which doesn’t really make sense since I was a possible candidate for a child born out-of-wedlock.”

“I’m alone.” For the first time since she’s admitted it to herself, Flo felt the power of the words. “All these things, come the time they’re gone, they’re bound to be made mine. There’s nothing more embarrassing, at least, for my demented family, other than the sole fact that they will abandon everything to an unreliable heiress. I was a mistake, not to mention a fatal one at that - more or less the product of a union frowned upon.” 

“Think they’d be surprised to find out how similar their muggle counterparts were?  Purist histories, stifling etiquette lessons.  Wonder if Shakespeare was a squib.” 

“Maybe,” she said tiredly. “Maybe that only barrier that was there was the magick itself. Same thing as saying which one came into contact with magick first: the sorcerers or the wizards? The witches or the warlocks? Different names, different expertise - but in the end, the same blood flowed in the same bloodstream. Have you ever wondered which side truly won in the war? At the end of the day, it had been nothing for nothing. Not nothing for nothing because they have fought for something - but because, both sides were still sore losers in the game. Both sides lost their key players - yes, Harry Potter is alive, but didn’t he lose valuable people in the process? Didn’t the Death Eaters lost their own numbers, their own count?”

“My family were war criminals,” Sasha admitted, with a shrug.  “I’d be a hypocrite for pointing fingers, even if your family were.”

She shook her head and rubbed her brow with her finger nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t be surprised anymore if mine were. My family has a dark, proud history of housing Dark Wizards and Witches over the centuries. Names can be forgotten, but deeds can’t be listed on water alone.”   

"Sometimes it just takes a little bit of digging around and rattling a few bones left to rot in their closets."

A bright blush spread across the Ravenclaw’s features and he grinned, awkwardly. 

She smiled at him brightly before thinking of what to say. “I used to get bruises from the time I was a child. I had to change governesses often, and since I grew up motherless, there wasn’t a lot of things I knew that would benefit me. Childhood was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I’m fairly certain I’m not the only pureblood who made this statement but I’ll have to admit it was true. Playtime was traded in for lessons, no matter how unrealistic that sounds.”

“Magick was something I… from an early age, had to learn how to harness perfectly. It wasn’t an easy task, not with my anxious and curious persona as a child. They say it was something I inherited from my mother - this stubbornness of mine - and Grandmère hated resistance. ‘Little girls should be seen and not heard,’ she used to say. But I wanted to hear. I wanted to know. It was one of those instances in life where you simply didn’t care about what would follow.”

“Never had they hit my face. I don’t know why - I’m not a rare beauty, unlike my predecessors were, but whenever I gathered the courage to come up and ask, they would act disgraced and ask me never to repeat that again. My parents would never hit me, I realize now, but it’s a realization that came too late. I couldn’t apologize, because every single time that I did, they would look at me as if I were a pathetic waif. There was no room for apology, as much as there was no room for mistakes.”

“That’s how I learned the theatrics of looking as if I were truly interested, whereas I wasn’t, because it was easier to do so rather than giving in and being pushed around. Betrothals came and went - so did my age - and soon, I had to hear nothing but the merciless jeer of my own relatives.”

“Hogwarts was the escape. The haven. In here, their mockery wouldn’t be able to follow even in the crisp evening air.”

Again, Sasha grew quiet as he considered Flo’s position.  It was eery how similar her position was to where he’d been two years ago.  Stuck in a situation where his life direction was carefully dictated by his family’s expectation.  He remembered full well how Hogwarts had been the escape and returning home at the end of the holidays was met with uncertainty. 

It was pondering life after Hogwarts that had proved most daunting (and it still did, though for different reasons).  Knowing your choices were to fall back, permanently, in the role that had been prescribed for you or face the unknown consequences of breaking from tradition.  Sasha could clearly see those had been the two options now; he had the benefit of looking back on his situation having found a way out.  It had been a horribly unimaginable way out but it had left him with the advantage of hindsight. 

He knew what the person he was today would tell the version of himself from two years ago.  But, he also knew the boy he had been two years ago wouldn’t have been in a position to really believe it.  Surely, though, it didn’t have to take what he went through to find a way to make the situation work?  There had to be compromise between giving in and complete loss. 

Finally, Sasha retrieved his bundle of food and set it back in his lap, biding him a little more time to gather his thoughts into cohesive sentences. 

“For me, it’s clear which side won the war.  I’m at Hogwarts.  I have a wand.  Even though I can’t prove I wasn’t born to muggles, I’m free.  For me, the war was far from nothing for nothing.  Both sides suffered casualties but that doesn’t diminish the significance of the victory.  I suppose, for me, the casualties just enhance it.  Not knowing where the Death Eater’s grab for power would have stopped,…I don’t know.  Muggle history can give us an idea of what an unbridled grasp for power left unchecked for too long can look like.  Preventing that … I’d have to say both sides were winners even if they don’t both want to admit it.” 

Sasha grew quiet, again, and took a few bites of cheese.  “Do you want some advice?” he asked, painfully aware of the blatant hypocrisy he probably would represent.  “I admit, I don’t really know how much I’m in a position to offer it.  It’s a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ type thing.  And, I know how hard it is to put the advice into action.  I offer it with all the honest humility of someone who can hardly take his own advice.  But wishes he could.  I don’t know.  So, knowing I don’t even know how valuable it is, do you want some advice?"

Deborah stopped her ranting at that moment, having realized that she was divulging too much information to this stranger; sealing her lips for a while, she contemplated his offer. It wasn't everyday that one would come and strike up a conversation with her, and so as she silently mulled over her thoughts, she stopped midway at a decision.

"How should I take it?" she asked him, signature grey eyes sparkling with curiosity. It was what winded her up in trouble half the time. "Literally or figuratively?"

The only people that granted her advice in life so far was 1) the pushy professors who didn't want her to slack anytime soon and 2) the old hag that has long faded into memory. You couldn't count Roarke or Gamp or even Xavier as the best examples of advice-giving bodies either - hence why she wanted to prance around Sasha's field for a while. Not even her own immediate family were eligible candidates for this opportunity.

"I'll listen."

It was short for 'I'm-currently-lost-in-the-middle-of-nowhere' or even 'I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing-but-I'm-fairly-certain-you've-encountered-this-long-ago'. Moving one of her legs slightly to the side to provide leverage, she placed one hand on the ground and leaned back for a bit. "I'll listen," she repeated, more pronounced this time. "In the sense that I used to be the one giving it."

She called it "it" because it wasn't a simple task to accomplish. A fleeting thought crossed her mind - was the latter merely putting up a facade to sympathize with her pathetic, degraded self? - but it managed to leave her mind as quickly as it came, as if it hadn't dropped by for a visit after all.

Later on, she would come to persist, "Aren't you surprised? We must've taken the same classes together, went to the same place - and yet we talk as if we are first years arriving to the same destination."

As usual, she would shrug her shoulders in indecision, bewildered at the formation of such thoughts.

"Neither." 

Even though Flo had done most of the talking, the conversation hadn't been easy.  There were so many undeniable and stark similarities between them.  Listening to her was like reading an excerpt from his own past.  Except, it wasn't him and the story wasn't his.  In the present, he had little emotional investment in the story or it's source and he was removed from any consequences that might come from it.  It offered an opportunity to look at her situation with an emotional safe distance that was impossible when looking at his own situation. 

"I won't tell you how to take it.  I don't know you well enough to make that kind of assumption.  I suppose...take it?  Think about it.  Modify it if it needs modification.  Just consider it and, maybe, try little bits of it at some point?" 

Offering advice, unfortunately, required leaving the safety of her experiences and returning back to his own.  "I felt really alone for a long time.  At times, I felt completely alone in every sense of the world.  When I was suspended from school last year, I couldn't go home.[1]  A stranger found me, petrified me and apparated me to somewhere I didn't know.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't speak.  I was trapped in a room filled with strangers and I didn't know why I was there.  Or what they were going to do with me.  Even after I came home, I still felt completely alone.  My family was gone and I knew no one could even come close to understanding.  For a long time after  - even still now - I feel alone so much of the time.  I don't know how to talk to my classmates half the time."

Subconsciously, Sasha crossed his legs underneath him, resting his arms in his lap and stared down at his interlaced fingers.  "I have to consciously remind myself I'm not alone.  The people who should be there, my family...they might not be and they never were.  And, a lot of times ... it's easier to feel alone.  For me...it's safer?  It feels horrible but it's consistent.  Reliable.  There's no fear of it getting worse; no risk of people rejecting you or leaving.  But, if I'd really been alone, I don't think I would have survived.  Even if I didn't see it or believe it, there was always someone who believed in me when I didn't."  Dreogan, first.  But, at the time, Sasha hadn't been ready to really accept and trust that help could come from unconventional places.  Now, he was gone, too. 

"You need two things.  First.  You need a goal.  Something you want and you're striving for.  It can be small, it can be big and it can change.  But, we need something that we can hold on to that reminds us of who we are.  So that when we're home or someone like Winifred makes you lose touch or just lost, we can use that as a compass.  Without it, it's so easy to to lose our way.  It's like walking through a forest filled with dozes of twisting and turning paths and our grandparent pushes us down one while our house points us down another.  But, seeing a destination can help us from getting too lost."

Sasha licked his lips and glanced up, briefly.  "If it were entirely up to you and your family weren't part of the deciding factor, what would you want to do?  It doesn't have to be big.  Maybe it's just spend a year after school traveling or ...I don't know. 

"Second.  You need someone.  Anyone.  Maybe you already have someone but just don't know it.  Maybe you don't, yet.  But, we need someone who can remind us where we're going when we lose track of the goal.  Who can recognize us when all the pushing and tugging leave us unable to recognize ourselves in the mirror." 

"I'm sorry.  I know how corny and idealistic that sounds.  Like I said, I don't mean it as a 'to do' list.  And, I know it's way oversimplified.  But, they can help.  Even if it's just starting with finding someone to talk to.  I don't know."  Sasha lifted his hands slightly in frustration, wishing - not for the first time - that he was better with words.

1.	Sasha was suspended from Hogwarts for four weeks by Headmistress Snark during their fifth year.

"Neither.” 

Unconsciously, she raised a brow at him, stunned, as he set off to begin his ‘advice’. Listening to Sasha was like reading a cut-out from a forgotten book she’s hidden somewhere in her trunk. When he had finished and looked deeply troubled - or should the right word be conflicted? - it was as if the tables had been turned and it was he who was thrown into her situation. She’d have to admit she was mildly caught by surprise, and cruelly lost her cold, intelligible edge. Judging from what she’s heard, the latter spoke from experience alone - and just by offering her ‘advice’, he had unknowingly brought up the demons from his past. Giving him an apologetic glance, she chose to thread in the waters carefully.

“Years ago, back when I was five, my parents left me saying they’ll return after a while. I waited and waited - even though it felt like I was waiting for rocks to rain down on our courtyards. Every single day, just standing hopefully at the gates, thinking that they’ll return this day or the third, and every excruciating second, spent just to be proven wrong.”[1]

“Until one day, paintings were being removed - furniture being changed. The demeanor of the estate was left unheeded by the presence of its owners.”

“When you are a child, you understood everything as a child. You saw things the way a child could’ve seen. You judged the same way a child did - so when the papers were being filed, and my guardianship was being changed, it was hard to question anything. When I was forced to begin calling my uncle, ‘Father’, it wasn’t like there was anything I could do.”

“Monsieur, il ne faut pas filtrer vos pensées d'y penser.”[2] she told him in a comforting manner. “Un cœur qu'un fardeau et un esprit qu'un fardeau n'est pas bon. Il doit avoir été mal à l'aise converser avec moi tout ce temps, et pourtant vous êtes resté.”[3]

“Merci.”[4]

Skimming over what he just said, Deborah took the chance to pour her own conclusions. “I don’t know,” she began. “I never felt the need to be needed or anything like that, so maybe that’s why I’ll have a hard time trying to understand that lesson. Maybe I got lucky with my parents - who can tell? I don’t remember the simplest of details, and that accounts for the holes in my memory.”

“I feel like…” she glanced at him, trying to be certain of what she’s saying. She wasn’t so sure anymore. “I feel like you, in a way.” Breathing in the cold evening air, Flo closed her eyes for a second. “Sometimes family didn’t feel like family anymore. Maybe it’s just me - or maybe there could be a dozen other purebloods out there who feel the same. I stand in a room full of… Of relatives, whatever it is they call themselves, but I feel distant and unattached. It’s easier to assume the role of an onlooker rather than the protagonist.”

“Others talk about their families like it’s the one thing they can’t live without. Ask me the same question and I’d tell you we barely have informal correspondence to talk about. Everything was up for show - it just… gets the best of me every now and then.”

“Being alone feels like… Knowing familiar territory. It’s like not having to make a decision every now and then because there’s just you in there, and it’s up to you to take the next step. I grew up in a solitary nature, so maybe that’s why I simply thought it’s just natural that I’d die in the same surroundings. I was used to having people come and go through me, that’s why it made it all less complicated.”

“I don-” she looked at her own fingers and pursed her lips. “I’ve never set goals for myself so it does throw me off a bit that that could possibly help. Others set it up for me. Like most pureblooded girls, I have my entire life mapped out already.” She didn’t know how to elaborate further on it to him, in a way that he’d find it practically understandable. “It’s twisted, I know. Sometimes I feel like I’m going in circles but how can you possibly snap off the chain?”

“Je devrais être celui disant Désolé.”[5] she shook her head in apology. “Vous n'avez pas fait quelque chose de mal. Je trouve étonnant que vous êtes sorti de votre chemin et donné des conseils.”[6]

“Vous êtes merveilleux, à votre manière - peut-être vous trouverais en soi d'arrêter de s'excuser pour tout un jour.”[7] Flo told him quietly. “En outre, n'utilisent-ils pas de dire, même le changement est inévitable?”[8]

1.	Flo's parents were killed in a train accident when she was five years old. It was orchestrated by her grandmother - but until now, the poor girl doesn't know anything about it. She's blind to the truth and continuously thinks she has been abandoned.
2.	"Monsieur, you don't have to strain your thoughts thinking about it." - French
3.	"A burdened heart and a burdened mind does no good. It must've been uncomfortable to converse with me all this time, and yet you stayed." - French
4.	"Thank you." - French
5.	"I should be the one saying sorry." - French
6.	"You have not done something wrong. I find it amazing that you got out of your way and gave advice." - French
7.	"You are wonderful, in your own way - maybe you would find it in yourself to stop apologizing for everything someday." - French
8.	"Besides, didn't they use to say, even change is inevitable?" - French

The Ravenclaw smiled, sadly, and initially shook his head but concluded the gesture with a slight nod.  A burdened heart and mind was a good way to put it.  He’d had both for a very exhaustingly long time and keeping his mind otherwise occupied had been the best temporary medicine.  She was right, it had not been an easy conversation but, at the same time, “it’s been easier than many conversations.  Truth be told, it’s kind of nice to talk to someone my age and not feel like were in two entirely different worlds.” 

“Neither did I,” Sasha admitted, shrugging his shoulders.  “I didn’t think I needed to be needed.  Most of the time, I felt like a burden.  My parents sent me to muggle boarding school when I was five - my mother had an affair.  I think she did it to keep my father from finding out I wasn't his - but they found out, of course.  Then the magic - which they never forgave me for.  I had to earn my right to belong.  But -“  Sasha hesitated, closing his eyes.   

He’d reached the limit of what he could talk about; the burden on his mind that, for better or worse, had to stay where it was.  It was likely going to stay there for quite some time to come but he had to go it alone. His own associations with Kronos Malvivicus[1] were safe (relatively...not really), as long as only he was involved.  He’d made his bed and he was now lying in it and he’d have to get smarter about it.  As much as talking was a way to lighten the burden, it simply wasn’t an option.  For Flo’s safety, he couldn’t elaborate. 

Taking a deep breath, Sasha shook his head.  “You don’t want to fall into the trap of discovering that feeling of being wanted and needed in the wrong place.  It leaves you vulnerable,” he concluded, vaguely. 

“I don’t know.  I haven’t spent a lot of time around pureblood families.  Usually, the families of purebloods I’ve met just want me out of their lives.  It seems common among my friends and teammates, though.”  Family griping had always seemed a favorite topic of conversation amongst his polo teammates.  "Muggles in similar roles.  Politics and status always trumped other priorities.  At least in the families with generations of money.  The kids of celebrities, or people, who came into money quickly it seemed different with.  Sorry.  Not that that’s really, you know, relevant.” 

Sasha shrugged his shoulders.  “I think it’s harder to figure out how you’re going to get to someplace different before you know where you want to go.  Before all this -“  Sasha gestured towards the castle, symbolic of the wizarding world.  “I was supposed to finish secondary education with top marks, go back to Germany for military school and bring the family back to Germany.  Especially after starting Hogwarts, military school was the last thing I wanted to do but I love riding horses."

"Getting into the Spanish Riding School in Vienna - it’s a prestigious classical riding school - became a new goal.  It was one my parents accepted so, while my parents thought I was going to boarding school in Switzerland, I came here during the year and did what I needed to to get into the riding school when I was home.  Last year, my goal started to change and I, well, needed to find a different route.  Until…everything blew up.  Once you find a goal, the way to break the chain might become more obvious.” 

Flo switched to French and a bright blush spread across Sasha’s features even as he shook his head.  Awkwardly, he shook his head again.  “You don’t know me very well.  If you knew half the stuff I’ve done, you wouldn’t be saying that.  I’ve ... made a lot of mistakes.  I have a lot to apologize and for things no amount of apologizing can set right.  I’d just … I’d give anything to know then what I know now.”  And, in many cases, he couldn’t apologize to those he’d wronged.  Perhaps, if his parents’ faith was right, all the stray apologize would find a way to drift up to where they really needed to go.  Or, at least, lots of small acts would someday balance out the guilt associated with everything else.

Sasha blinked rapidly and quickly diverted his gaze to the cloth satchel on the bench next to him.  He fished out a piece of cheese and broke a small piece off to put in his mouth.

1.	Wizarding Crime Boss

Not only did he have a habit of apologizing, he was also frequented by bouts of being red in the face. “I didn’t show signs of being a witch until I was seven.” she equaled. “Most people in the family thought I was a squib, and I had to be whisked away to a finishing school in Romania to somehow pay off my ‘abnormality’. My life is a labyrinth of moving places and blurry recollections.”

“You had to earn your right to belong because you have the magic. I had to earn the right to belong because mine arrived too late.” Flo chewed on her bottom lip. “In publications, you’d never hear the name ‘Clarencieux’ because it was old gold, but not only that - it was also rumored to bring forth misfortune. I don’t know whoever came up with such a lie, but to each his own, I suppose.”

“Just talking to you right now writes me off as an idiot for doing so, but I don’t believe that.” she attested firmly. “It never made sense to me why purebloods wanted to keep to their own, because if you view the big picture, no one’s really that ‘pure’ anymore. The purity of my line was broken off[1] when my father decided to marry my mother - or if you retrace, have me therefore. All this nonsense makes my head ache.”

“You don’t want to fall into the trap of discovering that feeling of being wanted and needed in the wrong place.  It leaves you vulnerable,”

“Someone[2] from my past told me the same exact thing. I’ve been warned.”

“Getting into the Spanish Riding School in Vienna - it’s a prestigious classical riding school - became a new goal.”

She smiled, picking out a sliver of memory. "My mother..."

"Their side had numerous connections. She wasn't allowed to attend the school itself  but given the chance, she would've done so. She was Spanish, you see - born in..." Flo tilted her head slightly. "Pena Vella, I remember now. A village near Ponteva located in Ourense, Spain. Traditional purebloods, probably not as dysfunctional[3] as my father's side."

“You don’t know me very well.  If you knew half the stuff I’ve done, you wouldn’t be saying that.  I’ve ... made a lot of mistakes.  I have a lot to apologize and for things no amount of apologizing can set right.  I’d just … I’d give anything to know then what I know now.”

"We all do." Flo shrugged. "Who you were yesterday was decided by the choices you made. You're right - you can't apologize for everything forever." she looked at him straight in the eye. "Tu sei ossessionato, vero?"[4] said she in the language she knew best.

"I hardly know such things by heart, and I doubt that I ever will. Life is a riddle all in all. Muggles have a god they talk fondly of, and I don't know about you but," Baldur moved his head on her thigh. "Not even apologies can spare a lot of things. You can try piecing back a broken mirror altogether but you'll still notice the cracks in it. A dead woman once told me, 'Do you think that if you say sorry you'd be forgiven?' and I didn't know what the correct answer is, until now. It's one of those things you reflect about when you reach a certain stage in life."

"Yes, I may not know you very well - but the same goes for you and for me vice versa. If everyone depended on that account, then we might as well think of each others as killers and such. Everyone says that 'I wish I knew,' or 'If only I had known,' but that doesn't resolve, change, or distort anything. What's done is done. You can try reaching back to the past via a pensieve or a time turner then what?"

Shaking her head fiercely, she carried on. "Then again, like I always say, maybe it's just me being naive and seeing goodness in everyone, no matter how corrupt they make themselves out to be."

1.	The Clarencieux family continually claims their bloodline is clear of any 'mishaps'.
2.	Lorelei. The fortune teller who worked in the same circus where Ezio Clarencieux (Flo's biological father) once worked at.
3.	The Clarencieuxes were famous for their deemed 'insanity.'
4.	"You're haunted, aren't you?" - Italian

The Ravenclaw half-snorted, half-hmphed his agreement that all the pureblooded - and muggle - isolationism was nonsense that could give one a headache.  “Imagine what could be accomplished if they set aside their differences and came together.  It would never happen, but…imagine.”  He’d been doing a lot of that, lately.  All it had led him to do was uncover new and exciting questions he couldn’t wait to start finding answers to.  Or, try.  Seeking a goal and, finally, finding conviction in a a goal had gotten him through the last couple years.  Since achieving his GCSEs, those goals had finally become more a reality and less a dream of one day. He was eager to get started on them. 

“Someone from my past told me the same exact thing. I’ve been warned.”

“Heed it.  As best you can.  It’s good advice.”  Things would be so very different now if he’d had that advice years ago. 

Confusion briefly flickered across Sasha’s features as Flo mentioned her mother being from Spain.  After a moment of hesitation, he shook his head slightly and let the misunderstanding pass.  It wasn’t important and he was used to the muggle world cross firings when speaking with purebloods. 

The Ravenclaw licked his lips and nodded his head.  “Maybe you’re right.  Maybe, it’s easier to see things in others then to believe it in ourselves.  Maybe that’s why it’s better not to go it alone.”  Sasha looked up and over at Flo.  He closed his eyes for a brief second but then offered a tentative half grin.  If that was so, the next comment was obvious.  And, welcome, even though it could prove to be the most awkward part of the conversation for the Ravenclaw.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head.  “Thank you,” he offered.  “So you know, I’m not … I’m not a gossiper.  People won’t hear anything from me.  And, if you ever want to talk or get confused or … if it’s easier this is a one time in passing kind of thing.  Whatever you need.  If I can help, let me know.  And, if you wanted to see the muggle world more or study or... Sorry, I don't know.  Or, just-”  Social awkwardness was quickly catching back up to him.  He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing or what he was trying to convey.  Another bright blush rose in his cheeks and he glanced around, looking for a convenient exit.