Sasha was trouble. Definitely. She could imagine him reeking of it. Tentative swinging. Like a pendulum. He was making her dizzy and off-beat.

One second she felt like he was going against her, trying to prove her wrong. The next, he was grinning at her in anonymous agreement. A silent debate in the making, of which neither bested the other. She looked at him as if he sprouted three extra heads, not unlike the school’s resident Cerberus. He was a different element, something she couldn’t tame nor decipher. ‘What a peculiar gent.’ she thought. She backtracked their conversation a little, trying to recall which point he suddenly decided to bring up. “I…”

It was her turn to feel at war. “I don’t really…” she twirled a lock of her hair nervously, deciding the proper placement of her words. “You won’t hear such poison coming from me. I’ll keep that in mind Mister…?” His last name was suddenly blocked out of her mind, and she returned with nothing. Calmly, she woke up Baldur, who in turn looked at her sleepily. "Gardez un œil sur le jeune maître pour moi.”[1] she whispered to the being with muted understanding, before petting it one last time affectionately. Gracefully getting to her feet due to having received the latter’s cryptic message, she stood on the balls of her feet for a second, stretching her legs. She turned her back to him, walking away a few steps to retrieve her shoes - knee socks surprisingly immaculately clean despite the dirt. When she faced him once more, she had another bright smile on display. "Vous rougir trop solvent, Monsieur.”[2]

Waving whilst stepping away from a… a new acquaintance(?) she giggled unexpectedly. “Qu'il soit belle cette unit!”[3] She didn't actually have any set direction - she only left because she felt unwanted, or rather, for the first time, awkward in a conversation with a peer. She usually acted as the mature side, but at this moment, it was as if her routine was cracked. This Ravenclaw was strange. To her. He didn't seem wicked, nor opinionated - there's just something... something she couldn't spell out.

And yet she still didn’t know what to think of him.

1.	"Keep an eye out for the young master for me." - French
2.	"You blush too often, Monsieur." -French
3.	"My it’s beautiful tonight!" - French

“Schlagenweit,” Sasha offered as the Slytherin got to her feet. 

At her prompting, Baldur rolled over and got to his feet.  He trotted across the short distance towards Sasha, nudging the Ravenclaw with his snout in greeting before taking a good, long sniff of the remnants of Sasha’s dinner.  Before the dog could help himself to what remained, Sasha rewrapped the miniature picnic and slipped it into a front pocket of his bag. 

Her parting words, though, were confusing.  The Ravenclaw stared after the Slytherin, a touch of surprise in his features.  He blushed too much?  That was the conclusion?  Sasha blinked and looked down at Baldur.  She didn’t think it was a voluntary activity, did she?  That he could summon one on command and switch it off, again, when the point had been made.  It just happened.  Much like apologizing.  They were often almost as involuntary as glancing over your shoulder at an unexpected sound. 

Truth was, Sasha was still trying to figure out himself.  For the first time, in a very long time - perhaps in his life, he was trying to figure out who he was in spite of the various tugging and pulling of external expectations.  He’d broken free of Gerhard Schlagenweit’s expectations and he was, finally, self-aware enough to not follow Kronos blindly. 

The external influences were still there.  There were still so many warring factions.  He still loved Kronos like a father but he also loved Professor Trishna like a father and, in both cases, both men were so removed from his own experiences with a father figure - Gerhard Schlagenweit - that Sasha didn’t feel the habitual and desperate tugs and demands of conditional expectation.  He wanted to love Professor Storm as a son but he felt the constraints of conditionality much more strongly with him and he didn’t know how to rectify the damage already done.  Or, at the very least, prevent more damage.  His faith still stood in opposition to his identity as a wizard, as it had for years.  Still, after everything, his identity was still a carefully pound package of lies and deceit.  And still, despite being seventeen - or maybe because of everything, the thought of being truly self-reliant still terrified him. 

He definitely didn’t have himself figured out.  But, he was trying.  And, he could see a few of the places he’d gone wrong.  For whatever good that would do.