"Good afternoon."  Sasha tried to ignore the distinct feeling of deja vu as he crossed the Hogwarts lawns towards the young man, the football tucked under his arm.  At least, this time, the football wasn't on a direct, self-propelled path towards the young man.  And, Dreogan Eleor wasn't a stranger. 

True to his word, Sasha had sent a few letters to Dreogan over the course of the summer.  Most had offered a vague though polite greeting and brief account of current events before expressing a proper dose of appreciation for the ability to keep in touch.  It had been Sasha's unfortunate introduction to their new Headmistress that had motivated the Ravenclaw to initially start the correspondences.  Sasha was aware Dreogan worked at the Ministry and hoped he might be able to offer some insight into the woman.  Or, more specifically, to find out how horribly Sasha had managed to shoot himself in his foot.

But, despite their casual chatter on the topic towards the end of the last school year, Sasha was as careful as he politely could be to avoid giving any impression that the invitation for a visit over the summer was legitimate.  Really, Sasha couldn't imagine a more horrendous scenario than having a Jewish wizard show up at his grandfather's house in Germany.  Luckily, the subject didn't seem to surface and Sasha was able to, largely, avoid the awkward topic. 

Sasha had been surprised, but touched when Dreogan had offered to meet for a little casual one on one football practice.  It hadn't been an easy start to the year - from managing to anger Analiza Snark again to his disturbing run in with Rita Skeeter.  A casual game of football with what seemed a friendly and safe face was more than welcome. 

"A little distraction from the O.W.L.s is always good," he said with a slight grin as he passed the football Dreogan's way.  "I don't know who's more worried - the professors or the students."

Dreogan had been thrilled to see Sasha after a long, frazzled, harried sort of a summer. (As most Summers usually were.) Dreogan's primary regret, of course, was that he had not had the proper time or presence of mind to devote to his young interns that summer. The guilt at knowing they had had a lacklustre experience. . . Dreogan was not sure what to do about that, exactly, other than to write letters of encouragement. Perhaps an occasional meeting. But the young were never interested in meeting with former employers. It was official. Stiff in a carefree, happy environment. Most students did not welcome the shift and Dreogan knew well he was becoming to them a signifier for The Real World and all its ensuing cares and woes. And he looked a bit more the part after this summer, too. He was not greying prematurely as his mother had at his age, but he felt -- if it made any sense -- a little grey. His spirits, now raised high with Akiva back and work running rather smoothly, were his primary tonic against exhaustion.

And so he was pleased that Sasha had wanted to meet with him at all. Dreogan, of course, welcomed an opportunity to gain some more insight into student life here in the UK, on this boy's particular upbringing, and of course, Dreogan welcomed the opportunity to thank him. Because unwittingly, the boy's comments on Kafka had set off a chain of events that were proving more and more fruitful. Big happenings in Israel. The sort his father would be proud of.

"Hello!" Dreogan greeted, seeing the boy cut his way across the green once more. "Good to see you!" The boy was now a comfortable distance and the ball was passed. The first question -- implied question -- raised. Dreogan grinned without restraint at his comment. "Oh, the professors, to be sure," he responded. "I'd have gladly taken some of my students' tests for them, when exam time came around; not that I was afraid they would fail. . ." He looked up rather guiltily as he caught the football with the toe of his shoe, flicking it into the air and bouncing it once upon his knee, attempting some juggling before realising he should perhaps pass it. He let it drop to the ground. ". . . though I might have had my suspicions with some, actually. But there's a way we teachers have of determining our successes by our students' own."

The C.A.M.L.s had not been hard, in his opinion. And he had managed to pass all the subjects he had read for, and had taken more that year than any of his classmates. Of course, he was not exactly like the other students in his year. School was, quite simply, what Dreogan did at Beit Gaddol. He did not allow time for much else. He was no Adon: he had not fit in socialisation, a string of girlfriends, casual sports games, expeditions out, and of course, multitudinous detentions.

"Have you formed a study group for the O.W.L.s yet? That was most helpful to me. Find one person who excels for each subject -- top of the class, if you can -- and alternate subjects with days of the week, with them leading discussion. Everyone gets their turn to teach; everyone benefits by the work that someone else has done."  Dreogan looked up at Sasha, gauging distance as he prepared to kick.

"How was your summer and Germany? I was sorry I couldn't manage to break away this summer. I hear the Bundesliga did wonderfully." Here, Dreogan attempted a chip pass which, rather underestimating Sasha's distance to him, caused the ball to arch over Sasha's head and roll rapidly away from him. "Sorry!" Dreogan called in apology.

Losing his touch. In fact, as Dreogan contemplated, he wasn't even sure if they were simply passing the ball between them or playing against one another. . . With a sheepish smile, Dreogan watched Sasha retrieve the ball, taking his cues from him.

"It's good to see you again, as well," Sasha offered with a sincere grin.  He didn't mind the company of adults - as most of Sasha's classmates would often agree, Sasha usually had more difficulty having casual fun.  "Really?"  Sasha asked, amusedly, grinning slightly though he kept his attention focused, primarily, on the ball's path towards the other fellow.  "I ... you - you can't take exams for students.  It's not - it defeats the purpose of exams.  Doesn't it?"  Sasha approached all his exams with a definite seriousness and he was approaching the O.W.L.s with even more dedication.  But, despite the added stress to the year, he wasn't sure he'd want any of his professors taking his tests.  They were his - the product of his accomplishments - his success of failure. 

"Oh, I'm not worried about failing," Sasha said with complete confidence, his focusing sharpening with anticipation as the football fell to the ground.  "Divination is, really, the only final I'm at all concerned about.  I just - I probably just don't have 'the gift.'"  Sasha lifted his hands in vague air quotes.  It wasn't the exams on their own - it was the extra homework, the extra studying on top of the 'extra-curricular' studying he did for his family's benefit and - not to mention one of the real, profound sources of stress.  "But, our Heads of House meet with us, I hear.  We have to decide what classes to keep taking for N.E.W.T.s - which means knowing, you know, what we want to do.  And, I just ... don't have a clue."  He offered the admission with a clearly apologetic tone. 

Sasha glanced up, briefly, at Dreogan but his attention was, quickly, drawn back to the ball as the other fellow clearly readied himself to kick the ball.  It was a worthwhile recommendation -  and, with a shake of his head, Sasha confirmed the answer to the question was 'no.'  But, group work had never been his strong suit.  Trying to avoid sounding too pretentious, he shrugged his shoulders.  "I'm pretty strong in most of my classes - Divination is the exception."

Giving it a rather valiant effort, Sasha leaped in place, trying to catch the football with his head but the ball had flown far above his head.  He turned and jogged after it, dribbling it back and passing it, easily, in Dreogan's direction.  He grinned, sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders slightly.  "Bundesliga got off to a pretty good start but - well - I missed the championship games in May."  At first, the game was a much safer topic than the previous comment.  "FC Bayern won the championships which my stepfather was more than thrilled to tell me all about.  I saw a few early season games, but of course, who knows what will happen." 

"But, it's alright you didn't come.  It actually would have been a bit - it was a strange summer.  I'm sorry - I didn't want to be rude last year but ... my stepfather's a bit -"  How honest should he be?  He didn't want to offend the older fellow but he also didn't want to lie.  His lies were already threatening to get the better of him.  "- judgmental.  He's a bit - old-fashioned." 

Only moments in to their conversation, Dreogan had already managed to startle the boy. He could not help but smile subtly as Sasha put voice to his concerns. " I ... you - you can't take exams for students.  It's not - it defeats the purpose of exams.  Doesn't it?"

"Well ,yes. The purpose of exams is to ensure that students have synthesised the information for themselves so that, when they are on their own, they will be self-sufficient." Dreogan nodded but still smiled. "That does not stop a teacher from wishing to extend a helping hand out to a floundering student; even at the last minute, when they are afraid the student might not make it." Dreogan had learned, of course -- had always known -- that examination time was beyond the last minute. Students needed to work towards their own success. A teacher could not always be the redeemer. It cheated the student out of a sense of accountability.

Now smiling a bit more openly, he asked, "And how did your strange summer turn out?"

He shook his head. Allowing a student to struggle had been something he had agonised about when teaching. His mother, in their talks, had told him it was not unlike parenting. Dreogan's mother had also said, rather teasingly, that Dreogan had always parented -- going so far as to leave school in order to safely move his mother across countries. He had always been too protective. It was, in the long-run, detrimental to the development of others.

As the boy surrendered hope on Divination with an excuse of not having "The Gift," the wizard's smile shifted to a slight frown. Divination had been one of his best subjects . There was a certain technique to it and an ability that came not only from an Inner Eye, but an Open Mind and a willingness to receive and sometimes be surprised. His teacher had always been frustrated with his attempts to systematise and methodise the occult field, but Dreogan had found direct, practical useage for elements: scrying, for instance.

Dreogan put his hands in his pockets as he thought over Hogwarts' system. He'd never had to select courses -- that came in the final year. He'd continued with all of them. It had, in a way, kept all roads accessible to him. Then again, without having matriculated, several doors had been shut. "You don't need to know what course you want to take. Pick a few, maybe.  There's always time to reconsider and reroute. You know I've had three careers by now," he assured.

"I'm pretty strong in most of my classes - Divination is the exception."

Dreogan grimaced as Sasha had to run a small distance to fetch the ball. But the residual look of discomfort had little to do with the mis-aimed pass. There was something about this schooling system that Dreogan could not stand behind. Competition: students were given to believe that in sharing their knowledge and effort with others, they were in fact putting themselves at a disadvantage; hurting themselves as they helped others. Dreogan had not been pleased with how British education worked; very different from Beit Gaddol. It was undeniable that the Utopian Gaddol was prone to idealism, but it had succeeded in the case of kibbutzim -- magical or Muggle -- about Israel.

That "idealism" had become a negative word in the vernacular still puzzled Dreogan. If one could realize ideals, prove them feasible governing principles, Utopia did not become a non-existent place, as its name well implied, but in fact the system to which everyone aspired. Had fatalism finally settled in? Governors stop striving for perfection, however unattainable? Or did they, in sensing the impossibility of the task, settle upon a feasible degeneracy? If so, they would never reach anything higher than this.  Dreogan could not abide it. Idealism had materialised before.

Carefully, with a teasing sort of smile, he said, "Well, then -- it appears you'd have a lot to offer to a study group. I'm sure someone could help you with your Divination in return." Dreogan was not exactly easy with his last turn of phrase, either. Things should not be viewed as a system of exchanges. It reduced people to mere vehicles of production and commodified them according to exchange value. Even the most -- especially the most -- ambitious of individuals would seek for an equal return to their input. Sasha, an ambitious student devoted to his own work because of what it might gain him, could not help but see in it a capital value. One which must be rewarded with a value of equal or greater worth to make his efforts worthwhile. Capitalism. Dreogan shoved his hands in his pockets further to hide his fists.

Dreogan nodded absently to the assessment of Brundesliga, his thoughts now elsewhere but his head lifted as he noted that Sasha might easily pass the ball unbeknownst to him. And the information on his stepfather was . . . intriguing. But not surprising. Few Muggle families truly understood what it was to be a part of the Magical community. Even fewer still embraced the potentially frightening foreignness of their child's new life. To realise one day, looking across the dinner table, that you knew nothing of your child's education, ambitions, lifestyle, identity. . . Dreogan could only imagine what it might be to feel cut out of your child's life.

The slight, nagging thought that his stepfather's reticence to meet him might come from his second identity -- that of a Jew -- sat even more unsettlingly upon him. There was no excuse for that. As a Muggle, as a Mage, he would still have a familiarity with the culture. And ought to see the humanity of Otherness.

But Sasha had no apologies to make on his stepfather's behalf. The sins of the father did not, in his mind, transfer to the son. And certainly not the stepfather's. He only marveled at how difficult it might be to live with such a man. "Not at all," he said with a shrug, waiting for the ball to have something to do with the nervous energy he felt building. "I'm sorry to almost put you in that position. You do know," he said pointedly to the boy, "if you ever find yourself in that situation, you may speak plainly with me. I am not," he said, shifting his weight to keep his legs in motion, "I do not offend that easily, I hope."

Smiling more openly now, he followed up: "And how did your strange summer turn out?"

His brow wrinkled in mixture of confusion and suppressed conflicted responses.  He knew what the responses should be to Dreogan's perspective of exams, though he didn't know how much he agreed with his own thoughts.  Most of the time, being as busy as he kept himself granted him the luxury of, legitimately, avoiding contemplating about such topics.  Because, whenever he did consider these topics, he wasn't sure he really liked the thoughts that emerged in his own head. 

No - he tried not to feel a need to do better than others, academically.  And, he certainly didn't look down on others if their marks were lower than his.  At least, he didn't think he did.  But he couldn't deny that, at times, he felt relieved when he did well on something when others struggled.  But, he was certain it wasn't out of a need to do better than others - it was purely out of a desire to feel a sense of personal accomplishment and success.  Right?  "The purpose of exams is to tell you how well you are doing.  If you do well, you should be proud.  If not, you should work even harder for the next one."  It was his stepfather's explanation for anything - any shortcomings were the fault of the individual and could be rectified through self-discipline and effort.

The strange summer had turned out confusing and, it seemed, even as the school year had started, the confusion hadn't really subsided any.  Initially, Sasha offered a dismissive: "it's complicated," and was relieved that the conversation had pushed on.  Even if it had pushed on to his future academic and career options. 

"Except, as I understand, the classes we choose to keep in our schedule will effect our career choices.  If I don't know what I want to do, how can I know which classes are safe to drop?"  That had been the crux of the challenge facing Sasha.  He was so paranoid that the choice he'd end up making would be the wrong on and, ultimately, he'd end up failing before he'd even started.  "I'll probably just end up continuing to take them all.  I - what did you... what have you done?"  He was always on the lookout for ideas. 

Bashfully awkward, even a little apologetically, Sasha turned his attention to the ball at his feet.  Despite his own lack of confidence in his own words, he was painfully aware that the answers he was providing weren't the ones the Dreogan was looking for.  The recommendation to help others with a study group was exactly the type of thing Jacoba would have said.  And, theoretically, Sasha agreed - and he knew well enough that teaching others was one of the best ways to learn.  But, in the daily grind of the week, theoretics didn't have a lot of practical worth.  Frustrated by his own thought processes, Sasha distracted himself by skillfully chipping the ball in the fellow's direction.  With slight disappointment in himself, he shrugged and offered in his own defense, "I'm helping tutor another student."  One other student.  Because she'd, initially, hired him at the end of the last year.  He'd agreed to continue helping Neely less out of an urge to collaborate on studies but more as an excuse to spend more time with her. 

"But, study groups - they take longer.  Since you end up going -"  Sasha cut himself off, covering his mouth with his own hand.  You go at the pace of the slowest person.  They hold you back.  Had that really been what he'd intended to say?  It was true but - Quickly, he tried to redirect the excuse, hoping it sounded less ... self-serving.  "I ... I don't really have the free time to spend on - I don't mind helping others but."  Apologetically, he shook his head.  "I've got a full schedule of Hogwarts classes, Quidditch practice - and I ..."  Admitting the other studies didn't necessarily mean he was admitting to all the lies.  "My family likes me to keep up with ... what I'd be studying if I were in a muggle school.  So, I've got French, physics, calculus, literature and muggle history on top of all that.  And, now, prefect duties.  I'm sorry, I just - I barely get by going at my own pace."   And, - he could hear his stepfather's voice, again - in the end, it was his record of success or failure that would define his future.  Not the success of others in his study group.  He could only imagine what Dreogan was thinking of him now.  It probably wasn't dissimilar than what he was thinking, himself. 

Sasha quickly dismissed the fellow's apology with a shake of his head.  As his sister would say, it was asinine that one would have to consider such things in this day and age.  Though, speaking plainly wasn't always easy for him.  Then, the subject of the summer came back up. 

As much as he would have liked to ignore that topic, as well, Sasha knew that recent events meant that he knew he may not be able to continue to do so.  Perhaps it was the striking similarity to Sasha's older sister, or the fellow's obvious level-headed tolerance of Sasha's insecurities but, whatever the reason, Sasha was finding it easier to be trusting of the man.  And, who else could he really ask such questions of?  Talking about such things with his family wasn't an option. 

"A girl - well, one of my classmates came by to visit me at a polo game over the summer.  I just ... it turned out complicated."  It occurred to Sasha that, to most, a classmate visiting didn't seem that strange.  But, it had been an occurrence he had successfully avoided in the past.  But, Sasha focused on what had, to him, been the obvious source of confusion.  "I don't understand girls."

"Except, as I understand, the classes we choose to keep in our schedule will effect our career choices.  If I don't know what I want to do, how can I know which classes are safe to drop? I'll probably just end up continuing to take them all.  I - what did you... what have you done?"

"Well," Dreogan said airily as he formulated his thoughts, "it doesn't seem to me as though you're considering every career path out there. Hankering to become a dragon tamer?" he asked with a smirk. From what he knew of the boy, this much seemed at least unlikely. He might be wrong, but it would be easy, at the very least, to cut Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology from the workload.

As the focus turned to him, however, he shifted his shoulders, stretching them as though trying to dispel any tension that might gather there. "Well, I wouldn't exactly suggest what I did. I read for eleven subjects for my exams: C.A.M.L.s, which we actually take in our sixth year of study." He smiled sheepishly here. The load had been abnormally heavy. Only fifteen others in Gaddol history had done such a thing, and only five had taken all twelve. He had been told he was exceptional. He had been told he would be Head Boy.

With a slight shrug, he said, "I was all set to become an Auror -- had chosen my particular classes for that purpose -- but I didn't finish school. I left just before the end of my sixth year." Three weeks after the exams, in fact. Right after Spring holiday. "Becoming an Auror wasn't an option at that point," he added with mixed emotion. It was fortuitous now. It had been heart-breaking then. "But I've found three other careers I've very much enjoyed since then," he added in a brighter tone. "No matter what you do, there's always a way, I think, if you're willing to work for it."

And it certainly seemed that Sasha was working for it. But not knowing what -- yes, that certainly made efforts much less effective. It was heartening, though, to hear about him tutoring. "That's great; in what subject?" he asked, looking up at the boy between the hair that fell just across his eyes and catching the ball with his knee, letting it drop to the ground before dribbling it a bit further away and kicking it back.

"Study groups take longer, but you get more perspectives; it can be a sounding board for your thoughts and a test for what you do and do not know. When you teach, it's like an oral examination. You've clearly studied the material, but you find out how well you can actually vocalise and apply your knowledge. See?" he added, feeling slightly guilty; this wasn't meant to be a lecture. "At least I've always been amazed at how students can push you." He thought of Eldwynn, who had never actually taken Dreogan's words as authoritative until he actually saw the logic and reasoning behind them himself. He loved that about learning.

Question everything.

As Sasha began a recitation of his schedule, though Dreogan nodded, seeing his point. Yes. It would help him to know what he was working towards; focus his energies. "Well," he said thoughtfully as the ball came back to him, it's not requisite for a man to run further than he has strength," he said, repeating the proverb distantly as he thought. "You have to cut a leg of the race. You're right," he agreed, nodding. Between Quidditch, tutoring, socialising -- he assumed, at least, that unlike himself this boy was a social sort -- and Muggle studies . . .

Muggle studies! Dreogan beamed at this. "I'm glad to hear that you do keep up with that; it is absolutely critical. You know, my mother actually tutors magical students in the basic core of Muggle knowledge over the Summer. It's not really "Muggle" knowledge, after all. The magical community -- we forget so easily that we're a part of a bigger world, a subculture. Is that why you've been reading Kafka?" he asked.

Talk of Kafka, too, would have to wait. Because a girl was brought up. He felt slightly uncomfortable at this, with Kiva and his rather . . . dramatic evening last night. He wasn't entirely sure he was in any position to give advice here.

"If it's any consolation, Sasha," Dreogan said, tilting his head in conspiratorily, "I don't think they much get us, either." He gave a light chuckle. "What is complicated about it, exactly?" he asked, looking about and, more for the boy's own comfort than his, pulled out his wand and cast a muffling charm about the area. This was, of course, serious business to a fifteen-year-old.

Sasha watched Dreogan curiously for several moments, the outwardly still demeanor a stark contrast to the image that was playing through his own head.  Him.  A dragon tamer?  He was picturing himself in some khaki safari outfit, a rickety old chair in one hand and a bullwhip in the other like something out of an old movie.  Finally, a broad grin spread across Sasha's face and he even laughed slightly, shaking his head. 

"No, sir.  I don't see myself being a dragon tamer.  But, I enjoyed my internship at the magizoology clinic over the summer.  I wouldn't mind working with hippogriffs.  Or researching why unicorns are sexist."  A distinct sore point.  "My parents -well, my stepfather, really - is hoping that I'll be able to go to the Spanish Riding School in Vienna, Austria when I graduate.  And, then follow him into banking. 

Sasha listened as he caught the oncoming ball with the inside of his foot and, immediately, passed it back to the other fellow.  From what he was experiencing now, with no concept of how demands in each class would changing during his N.E.W.Ts, "eleven doesn't really seem that bad.  I'm taking twelve now.  And, then the muggle subjects.  I don't - If I could back off on the muggle subjects - there really isn't anyone to - you know - help with that here.  The physics seems especially hard to learn on my own. I wast- spent almost two hours the other night on those friction equations and they still don't really make sense." 

It was the second time something Dreogan said startled Sasha.  Looking over the man across from him, he scowled in confusion.  How could ... why would anyone - "You left school?  You just ... up and ... but why?"  Sasha said, baffled, as if he'd never heard anything so outrageous and questionable in his life.  As far as Sasha could tell, there wasn't anything out there so vital, so important that it would be able to make him leave school. 

The tutoring, the continuing with his muggle education - unfortunately, Sasha didn't quite share the same enthusiasm as the other.  It wasn't that he didn't like the studying - he did.  But, it was just part of that bigger picture - the challenges, the lies - it was just so exhausting.  Physically, mentally and emotionally.  And, when the questions came about his reading Kafka and more about the summer, Sasha felt the conversation falling flat.  He couldn't answer those questions - either of them - without lying.  This was, often, the point in such conversations when Sasha sought a convenient and, hopefully, polite excuse to exit the conversation. 

Sasha shifted slightly on his feet, his mind in the search for an excuse to take his leave when he noticed Dreogan cast the muffling charm.  The football skimmed back over the grass towards him but, this time, Sasha caught it with his toe and rolled it while he considered his options.  Sasha was skeptical that Neely didn't get him - she seemed to get everyone to some extent.  Finally, he lowered himself down, perching himself on the top of the football. 

"Well, it's ... you know how there's those girls - those kids?  Who are popular and are just kind of ... the - I don't know - inside crowd?  They, usually, don't seem to notice that kids like you - well, me - exist?  I didn't even think she knew my name, but she hired me to tutor her last year and -"  What was he saying?  Sasha wasn't really sure himself.  "She came to one of my polo games over the summer and - that was nice - but I was, honestly, surprised she did.  But, this girl who didn't seem to think I existed until the end of the year, got so offended when she found out my family didn't know about her or ... anyone.  Really.  And, then, even more so when she ... found out -"  Sasha's face bloomed a deep, brilliant red and he stared down at the ground. 

"I - I was reading Kafka because my parents ... thought it was assigned in my German Literature class.  They always ask about my, um, classes so I thought, since - you know - it's short, it'd - die Verwandlung would be the best choice."  Shamefully, Sasha shook his head before looking up at the fellow.  "They don't really know I'm here," he finally confessed, vaguely.

"Unicorns? Sexist?" Dreogan asked with a broad smile, interested in this theory. He said nothing on his stepfather's hopes, but noted two things: (1) his stepfather's expectations had nothing to do with the education he was currently receiving and (2) he never spoke of his father.

As Sasha explained his troubles with Muggle subjects in addition to his twelve additional, Dreogan, who had deflected the ball off the side of his foot and had been dribbling the ball slightly, stopped in surprise. "You are taking twelve courses?" Had Dreogan been a pettier man, he might have been embarrassed. Or envious. But he'd done alright for himself. But this young man -- very promising indeed! One could not take twelve courses without the use of a time-turner, a permission which was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain from the Ministry with Gibson's gross conduct. Even students had proven themselves capable of horrendous crimes. To put such an instrument in the hands of a student who might not make good use of it, well. So it was.
 
Dreogan was thoughtful as he brought up the problem of the difficulty in keeping up with his Muggle studies. "I can see your problem. It's for that reason my mother tutors mages--wizards and witches--in the summer on the basic core of knowledge." He thought of Akiva's father and Akiva's proficiency in all things scientific and mathematical. There was something to the nurture v. nature case. "I can't say I know much about physics but I'd imagine perhaps that your arithmancy professor might be able to assist. There are many who do interdisciplinary studies. It's very popular just now," Dreogan said, thinking of Henry Spindler who had actually studied for a time at a Muggle University in order to enrich his magical endeavours. "Your professors are here to help; they like to be put to use."

It seemed that Dreogan was able to surprise the boy in return. He had thought as much. He had surprised the school and himself in withdrawing. Dreogan gave a hesitant -- perhaps even nervous laugh at this. "You're certainly not the first person to ask that." Beit Gaddol's headmistress had asked the same thing, frustrated that the darling of her house and future Head Boy would leave them so near to the end. "I didn't just up and leave," he said with a good amount of patience, determined to make this a mild sort of explanation.

"Unfortunately, a great family tragedy occured, and it was necessary to remove my mother from Israel for her own safety. By the time I felt comfortable leaving her, half of my final year at Beit Gaddol had passed and I'd already forfeited the position as Head Boy. I don't regret it," he added, feeling this was very important. "I did what I had to; I was a son before a student. One always hopes he'll never have to make the choice between them, but I did." He now lobbed the ball back to Sasha -- taking care not to do anything too fancy. The ball, mercifully, went directly to the boy who seemed to teeter on the edge of confessing something. Finally, the boy sat upon the ball and Dreogan crouched down upon the grass, willing to listen.
 
He knew very well "those girls." They'd teased him in school. He'd finally dated a Muggle one in America. This confession was, in part, about a girl. But it was also about what Dreogan had suspected since the letters exchanged over the summer. Sasha did not tell his family about his magical abilities. And he was terrified they would find out.  And now he had to worry about people in the Magical world worrying that he kept that life a secret from his Muggle family.

Dreogan gave a sympathetic smile at the overt confession. It didn't surprise him, but he thought he might be able to help at least with that. "And your step-father . . . he's very traditional, you said. What about your mother?" He'd gotten no reading from that side and while his step-father appeared to be the dominant force in the household and in Sasha's life, there were always other factors.

It wasn't a full force blush (which Sasha was notorious for), but a hint of color rose in his cheeks and he shrugged slightly with a subtle nod.  He'd heard all the arguments - girls were more pure; girls were more ... whatever but that didn't really, exactly, help any.  He liked unicorns - he'd been so excited to see them when he first arrived at Hogwarts - but he always resented that they, as a species, had chosen to dislike him on account of his sex.  But, despite his resentment, he'd learned quickly that no amount of complaining would change that fact.  Continuing to do so would just seem petty.

"I'm - yeah," Sasha confirmed, shrugging dismissively.  "It's not that bad, really.  Well, it's a lot - especially when practices start but I manage."  Professor Greyfriar had been as much a part of Sasha being allowed to take the full gamot of Hogwarts classes, just as he'd been a part of Sasha being able to enroll and continue studying at Hogwarts in the first place.  And, he managed well enough.  The change of leadership at the school had been a considerably unfortunate turn of events for the young Ravenclaw, even despite the new Headmistress' interest in him.  "I'm got mostly Os.  I've never managed an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts, though.  And, of course, Divination."  But, part of Sasha knew, he was always so tense in Divination - sometimes so uncertain he really wanted it to work for him or his partner - that he, simply, rarely opened himself up to the exercise.  They weren't perfect marks, but they would do. 

Sasha could see how, for many students, the tutoring Dreogan's mother offered could be helpful.  For him, though, "my parents are, you know, expecting I'll know all of it by the time I get home for summer."  As much as the added classes wasn't, exactly, an additional stress he needed, Sasha was pleased he was continuing with the muggle subjects as well.  "I mean, it'd be nice if it ... it's a lot more work.  But, I am glad I'm doing it.  I just don't understand - I know we think they're different worlds, right?"  Sasha hesitated a moment, staring at the man opposite him.  These thoughts - these questions - had simmered in his head for over four years but he'd never had the reason or opportunity to discuss them before.  It was a strange feeling and, purely out of habit, Sasha felt a strong urge to grow quiet and shrug off the topic.  But, for whatever reason, this young man seemed willing to let discuss them.  It felt slightly uncomfortable, but Sasha swallowed slightly and continued.  "I mean - try to explain that everything falls at a rate of almost ten meters a second and they'd think you're insane.  But - we still, you know, live in the same world, right?  If I stand on a street corner and a muggle stands on a street corner and we both drop an apple - they both fall on the same street.  Right?  So, how is it - neither can be wrong.  It's just - how does it all really work?" 

Shaking his head, Sasha looked down at his hands.  Perhaps it was foolish - he suspected the older fellow might figure it was.  But, Sasha had quickly learned about the animosity muggleborn students received from some of the other students.  And, he often just got enough grief for being himself.  The thought of admitting he was pretending to be a muggle was terrifying enough on its own.  "I ... don't really talk about it - with my professors," he admitted, apologetically.  "Actually, Professor Greyfriar knew, obviously.  And, I know my head of house knows.  I - until Neely found out, I don't think anyone else knew."  And, part of him wished it had stayed that way.  "Except, now I guess, the new Headmistress knows," he said bitterly. 
 
"Oh - I'm sorry," Sasha offered, quickly, shaking his head.  "I didn't - know."  He shifted awkwardly before finding himself nodding.  As much as he would like to think he, academically, understood, he wasn't sure he could emotionally do the same.  He couldn't fathom anything that'd drag him away from school.  Nor could he see his stepfather allowing for it.  Other than, of course, discovering Sasha was at a different school than Gerhard thought he was paying for.  "And, you couldn't - you know - go back the next year?  I mean - I.  I'm sorry." 

With a slight sigh, Sasha nodded.  "He's - both my mother and Gerhard are Catholic.  They kind of give more credit to the ... old family nobility than, well, most people think necessary these days."  His mother?  Sasha shrugged slightly.  "She follows Gerhard's lead.  My younger sister's even seems like him, now," Sasha said, remembering how surprised he'd been to hear how like Gerhard Anna had sounded when she'd spoken down to Neely.  "Neely talked me into sending an ... an owl to my older sister.  Jacoba's more ... much more, well, like you?"  Sasha offered, tentatively. 

"But," getting back to the important matter at hand.  "This girl- well, Neely.  She found out and started playing along and then - when she found out ... well,"  Sasha blushed slightly, yet again.  "You know, I mean - when Gerhard asked if there were any ... well, good girls at school.  I had to say something.  And, I told him what I knew he wanted to hear.  When Neely found out - she got so ... offended.  And told Anna I'd left Hannah for her.  When, she didn't even know who I was a month before.  And - I don't know.  It's confusing." 

Dreogan shook his head in impressed -- and amused -- disbelief. That many courses and mostly O's. Quidditch practise; Muggle academic studies; football; and what seemed to be the potential for a burgeoning romance. Jehu, the boy before him had a cv twice as long as his own.

At the mention of Divination, and the boys defeatism -- well, it did help to know one's limits, of course -- Dreogan lifted his head. "Did you ever try Magic Eye as a kid? You know. . . those Muggle drawings you look at?" They'd been popular in the Muggle Community when Dreogan was growing up, at least. He had no idea what Muggle kids were into these days. Except bands and dying their hair. He thought with a sick twist in his stomach of Sean Wald. He probably didn't look at Magic Eye; no.

He nodded as Sasha explained his family dynamic. "Yeh," he muttered sympathetically. "It is a lot more work but they build off of each other. . . this shutting out of  -- it benefits both sides very little. We do live in the same world, governed by the same laws and principles. Magic, however, is . . ." he smirked. "It's like a tricky lawyer. It doesn't change the fabric or composition of being to create alterity; it finds the loopholes. The previously unexplored areas. There's a problem in mathematics. . . or computer science. I'm not sure. But P versus NP. It's --" he laughed. "Well, I don't know what it is, really but my friend Aleron and his coworker -- the Arithmancy professor -- are working on a magical explanation for the unsolvable problem. And then there's relativity. Albert Einstein, some Muggle physician. . . no. Physicist. He said that to spend a half hour with your hand on a hot stove was like an eternity. Spending a half hour with a beautiful woman felt like a moment. That's relativity."

He smiled. "Even science and math and hard, quantifiable fields of Muggle study make room for mystery. And its those unexplored areas -- at least I think -- that Magic chooses to inhabit. We're the underground. The subculture. But we exist within the larger structure and culture. It's like --" Here, Dreogan hesitated and juggled the ball a moment as he thought.

He wondered if Sasha was at all uncomfortable with his Jewishness. The evasive letters; the way the boy would sometimes avoid direct eye contact when speaking of his stepfather. He would soon find out. "Being a mage is like being a Jew. You have an identity within a larger one. I am British; that is my nation. But I am Jewish, too. That is also my nation. The one does not -- should not -- negate the other. I would be very poorly served if I denied the existence of a realm beyond Judaism. Worse -- I would be laughable. Ignorant." Bigoted, though Dreogan did not go so far as to speak this word. "There was a time when Jews were not allowed to reside in England -- in many places, really. And we had to hide what we were. Many tried to keep it separate: professing to be British to all the world, but to each other, professing to be Jewish -- and hating the British for what they had done to us. It did not -- it does not profit anyone, this structure. Even Zionism, the partitioning off of land for the Other so that they can be seen as the Other -- separate, divisible -- while acknowledged, creates unnecessary conflict. Those who are able to acculturate and accept both identities are those who are able to view the world more richly. And I speak of everyone there." He smiled warmly and passed the ball.

"And so I think it is with the magical and Muggle communities, really. We're much nearer to that, I think, in Israel than other places. On my kibbutz, we lived with Muggles as we did with mages. And!" Dreogan said, shocked he had forgotten. "I meant to tell you! Do you remember what we had said about Kafka in . . . April?" Was it April? "Well. . . It got me thinking. And I told my friend Aleron -- Ihopeyoudon'tmind -- about our conversation and Kafka's exclusion from both the Jewish and magical community as a non-practitioner and a squib. . . and we. . . well, he really. . ." He was getting too excited and flustered about this. He grinned. "Aleron's been in contact with Beit Gaddol -- the magical school, you know -- and they've decided to instate a Kafka Chair of Squib Education. Funding is still pending, but. . ." Dreogan was beaming now. Glowing. Speaking breathlessly. "They've admitted five squib students as well. They will be taking the theoretical courses only, owing no doubt to their inability to practise magic. But there is no need for them to be shut out from their heritage."

He was quiet a moment, running his tongue along the inside of his teeth as he smiled. "And it was because of our conversation -- I wanted to thank you for asking that question. It has brought on big changes."

It was time for him to come down from his elated state, flying high in utopian euphoria. At Sasha's stammering apology, Dreogan shook his head, sensing that his cryptic -- or at the very least limited -- response might be more unnerving to the boy. He thought about the previous night, how his taciturn answer, and the attempt to keep it all in had nearly caused everything to come crashing down. Akiva had been scared. Because she didn't understand.

Dreogan exhaled his breath through his nose to try to disspell any tension before he tried this. "Not to worry." He smiled slightly. "Not many did know why I left though everyone knew what had happened." He met Sasha's eyes here. "My father -- you actually might have read some of his articles: D.Z. Eleor. He was a leading theorist in Muggle Studies. His writings upset some more . . . conservative groups and w he was taken by, well by one of these groups and, well, I didn't much care about academia after that. It took me a while to return, at least." He smirked. "I think I learned more as a teacher, actually." It was short. To the point. Probably nothing one couldn't find out by reading a preface to one of Dreogan Z. Eleor, Sr.'s books. It might have been too much, really, and Dreogan looked back at Sasha, rather anxiously.

He didn't want to focus on himself. And he didn't think Sasha much wanted to, either. He wanted to focus on two things: the bitterness expressed at the pronouncement of the words "the new Headmistress" -- hissed and pronounced with an almost undetectable grimace -- and Jacoba. He thought he understood what he needed in the explication of Gerhard's power dynamics. But Neely and Jacoba -- an interesting force pulling Sasha away, it seemed, from conformity to Gerhard.

He could see Sasha trying to make sense of it all. For himself, Dreogan had no idea who Anna and Hannah were. They'd get to that. "Neely might have offered some good advice; why did she suggest you write?"

"And did Jacoba write back?" he asked mildly.

"You mean those weird ... images which require you to give yourself a headache to see the hidden image?"  Sasha nodded, not entirely sure what those digital prints had to do with Divination.  Other than the fact that both seemed quite capable of giving him a headache.  Sasha shrugged his shoulders, nodding his head.  "They're interesting.  My little sister, Anna, is better at them then I am." 

"So,..." Sasha said, awkwardly, turning his attention briefly to the ball in a relative degree of play.  Really, through his few years in the wizarding world, that was probably where he found the most interest.  This crux between the wizarding and magical world - and their perceptions and views.  Even Hogwarts isolated them.  Muggle studies just didn't even seem to really touch on the topic.  "There ... there are people who study this stuff?" he asked.  "Could you ... could I ... How would I get into that?  They don't even really do that here."  The prospects of having to settle on an academic path still loomed large - He just wasn't sure he was ready to make that decision.  He liked being around animals and working with them - he suspected he'd always have them.  But, he wasn't sure that would become a career.  But, this - studying the grey area between the muggle and magical world and trying to answer some of these questions - that seemed like something he could see himself doing. 

After all, he'd spent a fair amount of time in that grey area between the worlds.  Regardless of whether it was by choice or force, Sasha was still distinctly tied to both worlds.  And, while he would give anything to not have to hide in either world and pretend, he appreciated continuing to develop an understanding in both worlds.  He looked up across at Dreogan, watching as the fellow regarded the ball in his hand in thought. 

Despite his best intentions, Sasha couldn't help shifting uncomfortably at the analogy the other offered.  He didn't want the man's faith - identity - whatever - to bother him.  Logically, intellectually, he knew it didn't matter and he could hear Jacoba's voice in the back of his head telling him he was strong enough and smart enough to see past Gerhard's bigotry.  But, even that inner conflict contributed to his discomfort for it proved to add an element of discomfort in himself.  This was, very much, a conflict Sasha generally opted to just ignore.  Which only makes those thoughts more sinister and compounds the issue, he could hear Jacoba's voice, again, saying.  "I know," Sasha said simply, with little to no affect in his voice.  Disconnecting emotionally from the issue was, at least, easier than the uncertainty.  Or lying.  Which, despite his success out of necessity with his parents, he'd never been good at.  "Jacoba took a Jewish history class at Uni."  Gerhard might have been more livid if he had been expecting anything different.

Aside from the uncomfortable analogy, Sasha was able to identify the point he was making.  Sasha had two identities.  Or, he thought he could identify it.  But, as he tried to verbally express it, he found himself becoming more confused.  "So, sir.  You're saying ... I'm a wizard and - but I'm not a muggle.  Well.  I pretend to be.  Or - do you mean that I'm German and English?"  Well - that was somewhat obvious.  The oncoming ball gave Sasha a moment of distraction and he caught the football with his left foot.  "Or, do you mean, being a ... you know.  Being a muggle and being a mage aren't, necessarily, - well, they are mutually exclusive.  But, they shouldn't be so - divided?  But, what about the Statute of Secrecy?" 

Despite his previous discomfort, the news of what Sasha's fleeting question had prompted brought obvious excitement to the young Ravenclaw.  "Really?  I ... no - I don't, of course I don't mind," he said.  Surprised, pleased (and slightly embarrassed) that a confused, fleeting question had drifted so far.  Dreogan's excitement was contagious and a grin settled on his face.  If Jacoba could only know.  "I - that's neat.  Do you think ... could I ... I'd love to see it.  Or, at least, ... i don't want to be presumptuous but, I'd like to meet him one day."  Though there was really no concrete reason for it - he'd really done nothing more than pose a question but Sasha couldn't help feeling a touch of the pride he'd felt when he'd received his prefect's badge.  A thought which prompted another thought. 

"Do you think ... if I got, you know, expelled here that - well, rather than taking my wand.  I could go there?" 

Because, really.  What better way to ensure his step-father's absolute and resounding fury than to discover he'd transferred from one wizarding school in Scotland to a wizarding school that preached socialism in Isreal.  But, at the rate the school year was going, he should have alternatives, right?

"Oh," Sasha said, surprised at the news of the fate of Dreogan's father.  "I'm sorry, sir."  The explanation offered Sasha some intellectual understanding of the situation but, still, relating was a different story.  He could imagine how school would be difficult after that - and, perhaps, he could see how the fate a man's handed as a result of academics could make such things difficult.  But, again, it was, ironically, a purely academic understanding.  He, therefore, was at a loss for what more to say.  Feeling slightly guilty, he frowned apologetically. 

"I ... I told Neely that I'd considered writing her before."  Sasha dribbled the ball back and forth between his feet, briefly, before passing it back towards Dreogan.  "I told her, of my family, she's the most likely to accept it."  Maybe even be pleased.  If not proud.  "Even if ... well, she's not alright with it.  I know she won't tell him.  They haven't talked in two years.  But, I think she'll be okay with it."  Of course, the unfortunate encounter at the lake had come after Neely and he had sent the owl so there was no way it could have contributed to the decision.  But, in retrospect...  "And, sir, I think I might be in trouble."  He had to admit it to someone.  So far, Dreogan had done very little to warrant any concern.  Worry settled in behind his eyes as he shook his head.  "I don't know how or why she knew to come but ... Rita Skeeter - you know, from the ... Prophet.  She came looking to talk to me over the weekend.  I didn't know how - but I think she ... knows."

Sasha shook his head.  No, he hadn't heard back from Jacoba.  The wait was killing him.  But, they still seemed to be avoiding one of the more important issues.  "So - girls," he said, oblivious to the fellow's discomfort with the topic.  "How do you know ... how do you know if they actually like you or ... well ... if they're just ..."  If they're just what?  What was Neely?  That was the question, though, wasn't it?  So, he spat it out.  "Just pretending to date you so you're parents think you're not dating the girl you made up?"  In other words.  "How do you know it's not a game anymore?" 

Chuckling slightly at Sasha's description of Magic Eye, Dreogan nodded. That might explain some of the difficulty with Divination, then. "Yes. They're similar, in many ways, to a lot of scrying in Divination. The hardest part is the letting your eyes go out of focus and not expecting to see anything but preparing yourself for it anyhow. . ." Well, maybe he'd demonstrate some day. Another time.

Dreogan was much too interested in their conversation on Muggle Studies and interrelation between the two worlds to bother with crystal balls. "There certainly are people who study it. Scholars, diplomats; there are conferences. Until this point, most scholars have been interested in finding magical currents in the Muggle world: ethnic studies, for instance. But I think that's largely reductive and, well, presumptuous. I think it's better to find ways to make the two cultures collaborate rather than trying to make the Muggle world more magical. We don't need to find ourselves in others to be able to appreciate them, after all." He bounced the ball off his shoe once more, relieved at its straight line towards Sasha. He really wasn't paying much attention to the path of the ball.

When Sasha mentioned, however, that such things were not "done" at Hogwarts, Dreogan frowned deeply. "You don't explore these questions in Muggle Studies?" What was it for then, he wondered? "Perhaps it's something that most post-graduate schools explore. Such as. . . well, I happened to teach Muggle-Mage Relations at Laevenstrome. It was for those who had completed their magical or Muggle studies, or were returning students. They still teach the subject there," he added with a bit of a quiet tone to his voice. They had not wanted him to leave and Aleron had mentioned that the professor that had taken his place was not well-liked though published more readily.

"There are some programs that you could look into. I know that there is the one in America. Then one in Italy, at least. I can put you in touch with some of the scholars I know. And give you some articles, if you'd like." He hesitated a moment. "It. . . I'm sure it sounds rather ego-centric, but a good place to start would be D.M. Eleor's 'Of a Culture of Duplicate Futurity.' It's. . ." he smiled broadly, now. Perhaps more broadly than he had since talking about the Kafka program at Beit Gaddol. "It's a bit dense, but it's my father's style. Isa-- Professor Frasier should have it, I'd think. It's pretty canonical, at this point. There's a lot to do in the field. Research and studies. Policy and international relations. . . "

There were few things Dreogan wanted more, he realised, than to see a boy of this much promise in a field that needed that much work. He had felt the same way about Eldwynn Penn when he had approached him. "If you'd like, I can speak to your Head of House -- or the Headmistress -- about coming to see the Department of International Cooperation. It is a good starting-off point. Better than Muggle-Worthy Excuses, I think, for that sort of work. Perhaps on your next Hogsmeade day."

Easy, Eleor. The boy was swamped. He'd need his social expeditions as much as his professional endeavours. "I'll get that article to you," he promised. It would be a beginning, at any rate.

At Sasha's reductive answer, however, Dreogan's smile diminished somewhat. Not the response he had been looking for; it concluded rather than continued the train of thought. It was no discussion on Kafka. That was for certain. But then something happened. Sasha seemed to press through a threshold that had been there, working it out. Dual-identities. Double-consciousnesses.

"On the contrary, actually. You are everything that makes up your identity: Muggle, mage, British, German. Even if you don't allow yourself to be. It's still there. The best peace comes in accepting the double-consciousness of identity. It helps you see the world in various ways and can help others. But it's risky. And needs to be navigated well. Changes in society must happen before people can feel truly comfortable being more than one thing at a time." There was an essay by an Americanist, Du Bois, on that. Maybe he'd show Sasha that one day as well. He didn't want to overwhelm him though with paperwork and enthusiasm.

The Statute of Secrecy. Dreogan frowned. To speak as Dreogan Eleor, Jr.? Or to speak as a Ministry official? Dreogan rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. "Well, that's where it gets tricky. And that's where there is a good deal of work to be done, I think," he said vaguely, hoping Sasha might read enough into his words to sense at least disapproval. "As I said, there need to be great changes in society before true acceptance can take place. But, for instance, Beit Gaddol's program is a significant step in that.

"Aleron will be visiting I think for a conference next month. Perhaps the one after." Was it already September? "He'd love to meet you; he's said as much. As for Gaddol, if you ever find yourself there, I'm sure --" Dreogan didn't really like to take people there. He'd taken Eldwynn to Israel, to see the Kibbutz, and the young man had paid for such associations and knowledge with his life. He'd not make the same mistakes again. "I'm sure if you were there, you could visit," he said elusively.

"Do you think ... if I got, you know, expelled here that - well, rather than taking my wand.  I could go there?"

Mirth was quickly displaced by a sinking feeling. "What do you mean?" Dreogan said, his voice instantly losing its edge and softening in confusion. As the ball came back to him, he rested his foot atop it, bringing it to an absolute stop.

The boy apologised for the loss of his father. Dreogan waved agitatedly and dismissively in the air. This was all just distracting material. As was talk of liking girls at this point.

Trouble.

"Rita Skeeter knows what, exactly, Sasha?" he asked in a voice of quiet intensity.

Sasha listened intently to Dreogan's description of the academic side of upper level muggle studies.  Conferences and other scholars.  Groups of people, presumably not unlike this Dreogan and his German friend, who were all fascinated with this cultural grey area.  It sounded fantastic.  Perhaps it was presumptuous, but Sasha could see himself in the company of such people.  That, alone, made the career an inviting option. 

"I ... well, no.  At least not yet," Sasha admitted, quickly adding on the qualifier.  They really hadn't looked at such topics yet in Muggle Studies.  "Though, this year we did start talking about primitive tribes.  So, maybe we'll be doing more of it.  But, most of it has been - you know - what muggles are like.  About toasters and how we - they travel to places and all.  I took the class hoping it'd help with my other studies - but it's been more basic than that."  Which, in the end, had made it one of Sasha's more restful classes.  But, as he'd said, "this year we started into some more ... new stuff.  Maybe we get more into it during NEWTs." 

For a moment, Sasha's mind wandered into fantasy as the other fellow described the other programs - less because of the programs themselves and more for the prospects of traveling there.  Living there.  Italy didn't hold the same excitement - he'd spent years traveling around Europe and most corners of it had lost its mystery.  But - America!  "Wow," he said quietly, coming back to the conversation at hand.  Sasha, admittedly, knew little about the Muggle Studies professor and, other than being a strong student, as far as Sasha knew, the professor knew little about him.  "I ... so - you think I should ... well ... talk to Professor Frasier?  I mean, in general and about ... this stuff?" 

Sasha caught the ball with his foot and dribbled it a few times before stopping and looking up.  Going to the Ministry?  Was he serious?  Was that really possible?  Sasha was more than willing to overlook the complications as he focused on how utterly exciting the idea sounded.  "That'd ... that'd be fantastic!" he admitted before chipping the ball back his way.  "I'd love to - really.  And, maybe if you got - well, you may want to talk to my Head of House.  The Headmistress isn't really fond of me.  But, Professor Bombay might let me.  I don't usually go to Hogsmeade - I don't have a signed permission slip, so I'm usually not doing anything those days."  He could see himself going to the Ministry instead - how fascinating it'd be.

Sasha could only imagine what his step-father's response to Dreogan's comments would be.  Double-consciousness of identities - he could almost picture Gerhard and Jacoba locked in some, loud, vicious argument on such a thing.  He couldn't remember Jacoba ever discussing anything like this but it had that universal equality feel to it.  And ... Sasha's eyes widened.  Was Sasha reading through the lines properly?  Was Dreogan recommending working on the Statute of Secrecy?  "You don't think it should be there?  The Statute of Secrecy?  It's - isn't it there for our protection?"  Or Muggles' protection?  Sasha wasn't sure which.  But, he knew they protected something.

"I'd love to meet him when he comes," Sasha admitted but his enthusiasm was quickly tempered when Dreogan seemed to skirt around visiting his school.  It hadn't been intentional - he'd just gotten excited but Sasha had, obviously, over stepped his bounds.  He wasn't sure why, of all the previous conversation - such as visiting the Ministry and his father - that would be the request that would step beyond the line.  But, he accepted that he had, readily.  "I understand," he said with a reserved nod.

When the ball came to a rest, Sasha took a deep breath and looked from the ball up to Dreogan.  Of course, given the fellow's previous response, perhaps Beit Gaddol wasn't an option - should the need for one arise.  Which was, really, a terrifying idea.  Until this year, Sasha had always taken some comfort in knowing that if his parent's found out about him and he was on his own, he'd have some place to go.  He didn't know how, but he knew he'd find his way.  But, Sasha knew there'd be no way to lie and explain away getting expelled.  If he were to get expelled and that led to him being kicked out - his options would be rather limited. 

Sasha ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath.  "Well, I'm sure, you know, you've heard about the other expulsions?  Headmistress Snark seems - really strict.  And, I don't think - I'm not sure she's very fond of me.  She hexed me at the end of last year - which, I guess I deserved.  But - at the start of the year, I was late to the opening feast because a first year fell out of the boats.  By the time I swam her across the lake, the feast had already started and she ... punished me again.  I just - I don't know.  I just - I'm worried.  So, I just - trying to keep options open?" 

He shifted on his feet and rubbed his hands before walking a few paces towards a nearby tree and sitting down at the base of it, leaning against the trunk.  "I don't know," he finally admitted, quietly.  "Skeeter started asking me about school and - well - the End of Year Feast.  But, she kept pressing me about my history.  She finally asked me what my parents think about school.  It just seemed ... I don't know.  I didn't answer but - I'm just worried, I guess.  I don't know if this is the end of it."

Dreogan frowned at the description of the Muggle Studies curricula. He supposed this made sense: it was not Muggle-Mage relations. But really, what good did it do to study the cultures separately when in every moment they seemed naturally to relate back to the other?

He gave a bit of a resisting smile. "Yes -- you likely will," he said, though there seemed no such promise. Now that he thought about it, Akiva hadn't known about his father's articles. And she'd been in Muggle Studies until the time of her graduation, he believed. "I do believe that Professor Frasier's expertise lies in the Muggle aborigine and indigenous peoples." He remembered something about South America. "But I'd imagine -- he publishes and presents at conferences -- he would have at least encountered some discussion on the socio-political intersections of the Magical and Muggle realms." At the very least, Isaac was kind-hearted and very approachable. "It certainly could not hurt," he encouraged, especially seeing Sasha's enthusiasm for higher education.

It seemed only equalled by his opportunity to go to the Ministry. Sasha was not your average teenager, Dreogan decided. He wasn't sure he'd know what to do with one who was. "I'll write a letter to Professor Bombay," he promised, thinking a visit in person might be overbearing. The lack of signed permission might be an impediment, but Dreogan was a high-standing Ministry official. Dreogan had not often used such status to his advantage so he had not yet tested the reach of its influence, but he was certain it could get him somewhere. Still. . . "If you'd like to go in to Hogsmeade -- I'm sure there's some way that could be arranged. I hear it's really very diverting." And the boy could do with some unstructured time. "There's always next Summer, if you'd be interested in an internship. Or sometime during the holidays." Though there would not be many others in at the Ministry at that time.

"You don't think it should be there?  The Statute of Secrecy?  It's - isn't it there for our protection?"  

Dreogan nearly grimaced at this, letting loose a slight "Ah, mmmn. . ." as he tried to phrase this properly. He was, now, even more grateful for the silencing barrier he had cast earlier. "I think it is, at present for protection. Society might not be ready for assimilation. That's what must be worked on. . . As it stands, it is a wall; a barrier of separation for the preservation of different lifestyles. . ." He said, emphasising that word -- wall -- knowing it would have particular resonance to those of German heritage. It had striking reverberations to those in the Near East with the security fence along the Green Line in Israel, cutting through Palestine with the brutality and efficiency of a surgeon's scalpel.

Such walls and barriers were, of a necessity, particularly cruel. They were self-enforced: the threatened people, thinking themselves in a need to be protected, ghettoised themselves, seeking solidarity but inviting estrangement and in most cases ostricisation. The Panopticon of the West -- the overbearing ideology of discipline and punish -- succeeded when the inmates of the system chastised and punished themselves while, ironically, seeing it as an act of self-autonomy.

The only way to break free of barriers, of segregation and marginalisation was to break down those walls. And one day, Dreogan would see them come down. Legislative act by act, he would do what he could.

Dreogan felt a pang of guilt at Sasha's immediate curbed enthusiasm, wishing to explain why he was so ready to bring Sasha into his world of diplomacy, but never to Israel. Never again -- but how to explain such a thing?

It appeared he did not have to. It was time to get to the root of this: the Headmistress not liking him, Skeeter's article. . . Dreogan did not like how this was starting. "Other" expulsions. Sasha -- did he really feel himself at such a great risk?

She. hexed. him.

Dreogan's foot, resting atop the ball, in his anger as this echoed more and more resonantly in his mind, pressed the ball into the sod until the ball, apparently unable to bear more weight, darted out from beneath the pressure. Dreogan didn't even look at where the ball might have gone to.

He was reigning in an anger he did not often feel. "You mean," he said, trying to keep his voice level and in so doing, growing exceedingly quiet, "that she hexed a student? Why? For what cause? Under what right, what mantle of authority, could she possibly--. . ." Dreogan broke off, looking away and taking a deep breath.

He was acting like Adon. He wanted nothing more than to . . . Dreogan looked back in the direction of the school accusingly, as though the walls themselves were condemned for housing such a woman.

In an effort to loosen the tension held there, Dreogan cracked his jaw, then thought as he ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. "Sasha," he said, feeling the red emotion ebbing away as he met the boy's eyes again, "you are a student of unparalleled ability. You will never be without academic opportunity. Laevenstrome -- he'd take you in in an instant," he reassured. "Do not worry about that. It's not the end."

But Dreogan was worried. It seemed the education system in Britain was growing increasingly capricious. It was not his position to deal with this; he knew for a fact that several in the Ministry were combatting it. The enmity between Gertrudis and Snark was common conversation.

The residual tension from the first piece of information was slowly dispelled in a shuddering exhalation and Dreogan shook his head. "She's a fool if she casts you out. And the Wizengamot even--" he stopped himself. He could not condemn, or seem to condemn the Wizengamot for their election of such a woman, though he felt them more the fools.

He wondered what Tulo thought on the matter. Tulo would, by her nature and position, know more about this. They would need to speak in the near future. It was not his place, of course, but Dreogan could no longer remain disinterested.

Sitting on the ground, Sasha rubbed his chin slightly in thought.  Truth be told, he'd never considered approaching Professor Frasier.  To some extent, he'd accepted that what he was learning in the Professor's class was ... the extent of what there was to know.  Especially during the first few years when the material had proved very basic, Sasha had even considered dropping the class with the intent of using the time to study his other non-Hogwarts subjects.  But, - like with Divination - dropping the class had felt like some level of failure and, on some level, not taking one class felt - perhaps his sister was right about the OCD. 

Sasha nodded, confirming he would, indeed, approach Professor Frasier.  For all he knew, doing so might increase his chances of being able to go to the Ministry during the Hogsmeade weekend.  If nothing else, having more allies around the school couldn't be a bad thing.  "I'd rather go to the Ministry," Sasha admitted, though immediately he wondered if that would only make things worse with Neely.  If things could get worse.  He knew they'd talked about Hogsmeade in passing.  Or had it been more than just in passing?  Apparently, they'd talked about being boyfriend and girlfriend and Sasha had managed to miss that.  Completely. 

But - it was the truth.  Surely, Neely would understand how the opportunity to go to the Ministry would be so important?  Right?  "I'd probably just worry about the studying I should be doing if I was in Hogsmeade."  Truth be told, he'd probably end up wandering back to Hogwarts as soon as the novelty wore off.  Though, of course, exploring until the novelty wore off wasn't necessarily a bad thing.  "if they won't let me go to the Ministry.  I wouldn't mind still going to Hogsmeade."  Just in case Dreogan misinterpreted his reasonings for preferring to go to the Ministry as a lack of desire to go to Hogsmeade.  Even after he'd said that, a thought occurred to Sasha.  "Of course,..." he said slowly, hoping he didn't come across as greedy.  Which, there was a high risk of.  "If I can get to Hogsmeade - there isn't anything that says, you know, Hogsmeade weekends are officially Ministry weekends."  Seeing as how there weren't official Ministry weekends.  Of course, if he had to choose, the Ministry was still his first choice.  But, if he could manage both...

His expression was, likely, rather blank as he stared at a random tuft of grass but Sasha's mind was focused, intensely, on Dreogan's answer.  Sasha had accepted the Statute of Secrecy as a inevitable necessity.  But, then, he'd seen personally and first-hand the negative reactions some muggles could have to the existence of magic.   He could only imagine what his stepfather's reaction would be to the presence of real, live werewolves.  Sasha had grown up on the same Brothers Grimm stories that his stepfather had - few of which painted werewolves and other human-like creatures in a positive light.  And, he'd seen enough muggleborn discrimination and he knew enough about mugglebaiting.  But, yes, the wall analogy did resonate with him - though, probably, less so than it would have with his sister.  He'd, certainly, seen the stretches of the wall that still remained in Berlin - and the stretches that still stood in the countryside.  And, he'd heard plenty of stories from his sister and parents. 

His mind, however, did not make the jump to what, inevitably, would have been Dreogan's own experiences with political walls.  Therefore, his mind fixated on the most obvious and glaring difference between the physical wall in Germany and the social walls between the magical and muggle worlds.  "But," he started, but hesitated.  Unsure of even his own answer - or if it was even appropriate, he hesitated.  His attention remained on the tuft of grass as he spoke again, slowly, clearly picking out his words with deliberation.  "The Berlin Wall was, mostly, a political division.  The barriers between the magic and muggle world is ... well, for me - wait, more in my case is a religious one.  At least on the muggle side."  From the witch burnings in the 17th century to his stepfather's own reaction, it was religion at the heart of the conflict.  "And, religion always just ..." he hesitated a moment.  Well aware of who he was talking to.  "It always complicates things - makes them more ... heated." 

Sasha licked his lips, well aware he hadn't offered any conclusion with his comment.  He wasn't even sure if he had one, yet.  At most, it only seemed to illuminate for him the relative complexity of the issue.  But, no.  This was leagues away from what they, usually, covered in muggle studies.  At the end of last year, Sasha had been helping tutor Neely in common muggle sports.  But, he was fairly certain he'd be asking Professor Frasier about these articles.  To read during all his free time.  Why couldn't Professor Gunnar invent a potion that was liquid sleep?

Sasha's eyes widened as he watched the ball getting pressed into the grass.  He hadn't been expecting his confession to be received with that much animosity.  Sure, it hadn't been pleasant but had Sasha, somehow, unknowingly exaggerated the incident?   "It ... it was just a silencing hex," Sasha offered, quickly, shaking his head.  It had been humiliating, yes.  But, it wasn't painful.  "I regularly get worse from other classmates."  What authority she had was a harder question to answer than what the cause was.  No one had known what authority she'd held. 

"I'd ... I'd talked back to her."  Sasha confessed, shrugging his shoulders.  "I behaved inappropriately.  But, I didn't know - no one knew she was our new headmistress.  Even Professor Greyfriar had been unaware.  She'd barged in on our End of the Year Feast and was ... well, talking inappropriately to Professor Greyfriar.  If I'd known she was our new Headmistress ..." Would he have held his tongue?  "But, I told her Professor Greyfriar was still our Headmaster and he deserved to be treated as such - I'd talked out of turn so she ... silenced me." 

Sasha met Dreogan's gaze but as he offered his assessment of Sasha's ability, color flooded Sasha's face and he looked, once more, to the patch of grass that had previously captured his attention.  He'd never been good at taking compliments though, -especially those of the strength this fellow had just offered.  And, Sasha did find the assessment having more weight because of its source.  So, despite how tempting it was, he did manage to avoid offering some sort of qualifier though he couldn't, as readily, avoid awkwardly running his fingers through his hair.  He was just relieved that, if worst came to worst, he'd have options.  Contrary to what Neely had warned, it sounded like, "they ... won't snap my wand if I get expelled?"