(About 6:30 pm)

Though Sasha had never been there, there was something strangely comfortable and familiar about Dreogan's apartment building.  Perhaps it was the knowledge that Jacoba had found her own refuge in that apartment.  Maybe it was Jacoba's reports that he should rest assured that the apartment was as clean and orderly as one might expect when first meeting Dreogan.  Or, maybe it was the act of putting a place to an occasional though welcome face from Hogwarts and comforting and insightful words from a letter. 

Or, maybe it was just an after effect of Hogwarts having become so strange and, at times, almost hostile.  From his now permanent place on Madame Snark's hit list to the new surge of bullying from the various Slytherins to the persistent cold shoulder from Neely to the now nightly dreams involving blood-soaked werewolf claws, the year seemed to have been an exercise in tolerance and endurance.  The most recent blow having left its distinct mark on both.  So, despite having never set foot in this particular apartment complex, it felt as close to a homecoming as any place could.

It had been a relatively long day after a less than restful night.  He'd stayed out on the Hogwarts grounds until late, talking with Ava and avoiding the rest of the student body.  He'd been unable to stomach the idea of returning to the dorms.  He could easily imagine all the questions: 'is it true?'  'what parts are true' 'how can they not know?' 'why didn't you tell us?'  He wasn't ready to answer and Dreogan's reassurance that he didn't need to yet had helped ease some of his guilt. 

As strange and as intimidating as the nurse was, her offer of staying at the hospital hut until he was scheduled to floo to Professor Greyfriar's the next day had proven less unsettling then returning to the dorms.  He knew the older woman was familiar with Dreogan and he'd wondered, briefly, whether he'd had a hand in the woman's offer.  It seemed a likely possibility, especially since he'd fallen asleep remarkably quickly after drinking the tea she'd offered before ushering him off to bed.  If he had, however, Madame Nagde gave no indication of it as she sent him on his way the following morning (though not after requiring him to eat some cereal.)

Sasha had arrived on Dreogan's doorstep exhausted and his nerves frayed, his small day pack stuffed with his camera, a notebook and a few changes of clothing slung over his shoulder.  He was early - by almost two hours - but he rapped his knuckles against the door on the off chance Dreogan was home already.  He knew he would have felt guilty if he hadn't visited Professor Greyfriar but, now, he highly regretted the visit. 

There was no answer at the door.  Unceremoniously, Sasha let his bag drop along the hall and slid down to sit in the hall, his back against the wall.  Left to its own devices, his mind kept wandering back to the former headmasters' comments.  It took only a few moments for Sasha to tug his book out and flip it open for a distraction.

Dreogan had just dropped by home to make sure everything would be in order before heading to his mother's house for Havdalah. It was likely Sasha would arrive shortly after that, so all preparations were to be done beforehand. Not much, granted, was left. Dreogan had been, over the past week, packing and preparing. In two weeks, he would be moving -- work was as hectic as usual, and increasing amounts of time was spent at Akiva's helping her pack. . . weekends were for his packing. But not this weekend. So he'd gotten an early start.

As Dreogan ran through a list of all the things he would need to settle before his houseguest arrived, he had to wonder why the twist in his stomach felt so much like nervousness. He'd already made sure to dust the place, track down pillows, and  restock the pantry. He'd felt little need to have much food at his place since he spent most nights at Kiva's now, and particularly less incentive to purchase new supplies when he'd just need to move it all in two weeks. He would need to hide some of the boxes from view. . .

And yet, Dreogan thought as he trudged up the stairs, it wasn't necessarily a need to impress, for Dreogan was much older than Sasha and while he thought very highly of him, did not think himself in any wise beneath the young man, it was, perhaps, the desire to ensure he lived up to whatever reputation Sasha had placed upon him. Because Sasha wanted a rolemodel. And needed one.

Was that . . . wanting to impress?

Perhaps, he decided, as he reached the first landing -- his -- and stopped abruptly, seeing Sasha sitting beside his door. The boy was silently reading, and Dreogan frowned, wondering if the arrival was owing to a fortuitous, shortened train trip, or if things had not gone as planned at Greyfriar's.

"Sasha! I didn't expect you so early!" He said brightly, smiling as he placed the palm of his hand on the door, hearing the locks turn and click on the other side. He turned the knob and swung the door open, waving him in. "Here," he said, stooping a moment to grab Sasha's pack. "I'll take your things. We'll put them by the couch." He gestured towards the front room which, as with most London flats, was the front entry. "Couch," he said, pointing. "Kitchen," he also pointed, "and bathroom is back there," he gestured vaguely behind him. "So," he said, looking at Sasha contemplatively. The boy was certainly flustered. "How was your visit with . . . Professor Greyfriar?"

It felt odd, referring to a member of the Wizengamot by "professor", but it was how he was referred to, and so he said it, however awkward it might have sounded. Sasha was supposed to still be there, in fact. Perhaps a miscommunication, or a fortuitous train transfer to speed their way along.

As early as he was, Sasha had accepted he might have a bit to wait before Dreogan returned home.  He wasn't supposed to be there until early evening and Dreogan was a busy man.  He probably had a pretty full schedule - even on weekends.  If Sasha got bored, he could always wander down to the cafe for a quick drink before coming back later but, for the time being, he wasn't in much of a mood to be out and about.  He wanted to be around familiar people - even if it was vicariously through the door of an empty apartment. 

His wait proved to be shorter than expected.  Sasha had only made it halfway through the chapter before a familiar voice greeted him, brightly.  Sasha glanced up from his book and smiled at Dreogan, feeling a great sense of relief and gratitude for the familiar face.  "Hi, yes, I'm sorry," he offered as he pushed himself to his feet.  He reached over to grab the bag but Dreogan beat him to it. 

"I got a little ahead of schedule."  It was the truth - an overly simplified version of the truth but the truth nonetheless.  "I hope you don't mind.  I figured it was better to come straight here than - just ... linger."  And, to be honest, some time to relax and settle his thoughts alone wasn't entirely unwelcome.  He felt strangely hollow and empty and lost.  And, in the end, very vulnerable. 

He stepped into the flat, glancing around as Dreogan gave him the grand (though slightly obvious) tour.  "Alright, thanks."  He offered Dreogan a slight grin before nodding his head, assuring the man he had it all straight.  And, even if not, he was sure he could figure it out.  The flat wasn't that big.  "I ... thank you for your hospitality.  It was - this visit's well timed."  He was uneasy, detached and falling on old etiquette patterns as a result.  He wasn't sure if could have managed this week at school.  Right now, returning in a few days still seemed daunting but, at least, he'd have some time to think.  Time to figure out what he was going to do. 

Sasha dropped his gaze when Dreogan broached the topic of his visit with Professor Greyfriar and shook his head slightly.  He wasn't sure what, exactly, to think of that conversation but it all left a disturbing knot in his stomach.  Was that really what Professor Greyfriar expecting him?  Did everyone else?  "He was disappointed in me," he said, simply.  For the time being, it was how he remembered the conversation.  "I - it didn't go as I expected."  Not that he'd known what to expect.  But, it hadn't been that.

"Yes; Absolutely," Dreogan said, reassuringly. You're always welcome here, Sasha," he insisted, watching as the young man seemed skittish -- like a startled horse.

"I ... thank you for your hospitality.  It was - this visit's well timed." 

"So it seems," Dreogan said mildly with a commiserating smile. "I hope you've had, at least, a chance to speak to some of your friends about it before you started off?" A departure at this time, while it might be necessary, might leave them to their devices and lead them to their own conclusions -- which, once reached, took greater pains and efforts to undo. "Again, always welcome," Dree said with a lopsided smile as he laid Sasha's things down by the couch.

With Sasha's news, however, that things had not gone according to plan -- meaning it was from the ideal -- Dreogan sat down upon the couch and motioned to it. "Not as you expected -- first, I suppose I ought to know what you'd wanted from the meeting? And then . . . what happened?"

His long, thin, strong hands brushed rhythmically over each other as they wrung slowly together as Sasha stood in the middle of the living room.  Giving the room a more thorough once over was a natural and convenient way to occupy his mind.  The simple, practical arrangement of the flat was rather unsurprising even given how recently Sasha had really come to know Dreogan Eleor.  It wasn't entirely unlike dissimilar from how Sasha kept his bunk area - though he wasn't at liberty to choose his furnishings. 

In focusing on the surroundings, he was trying to forget that afternoon.  To put that whole scene, and it's effects on his emotional state, out of his mind and focus on the present. This was supposed to be a happy occasion - a brief break from school, a visit to the Ministry and a chance to see his sister. 

But, it wasn't working.  He couldn't shake that image of Professor Greyfriar's disappointment from his mind. 

Dreogan's question caught him off guard and he looked to the man, staring blankly a moment.  "I - not really."  His face flushed and he shook his head, his gaze lowering.  "I mean, one friend came to ... talk last night, tried to convince me to go to the Halloween dance."  She hadn't succeeded.  Instead, they'd kissed.  Unwillingly, a pinch of color rose in Sasha cheeks and he shook his head.  "I didn't want to see anyone.  I didn't want to have to explain.  I'm sorry." 

"I - don't know," Sasha admitted, shaking his head.  He hadn't known what to expect.  Professor Greyfriar was, after all, different now.  How was anyone supposed to know what to expect.  "I mean - I wanted to apologize.  I know it wasn't my fault.  I'm not that naive," he put forth in his own defense.  Somehow, all those things he'd wanted to say back there and couldn't were bubbling forth rather uncontrollably.  It was a feeling Sasha'd never quite enjoyed.  "But, I made a mistake.  I broke the rules - I was trying to accept responsibility for my misbehavior and he wanted nothing to do with it.  He thought I was ... childish to try.  And, he's just - he was ..." 

Actually, Sasha still wasn't entirely sure.  He was trying to make sense of what he'd heard but it seemed so illogical.  "He was disappointed.  He was ... he was disappointed I didn't just get myself expelled and disowned."  Sasha's shoulders slumped and his face scrunched, pinching his lip between his teeth to try and school his emotions back under control.

"You know," he said, "I neglected to say in the tour, but this couch is also the venting couch. Come. Sit." He tilted his head in its direction, smiling gently. When Sasha seemed to glumly respond, Dreogan's smile widened as he looped an arm over the gangly boy's shoulders and steered him there. "Now," he said, looking at Sasha sidelong. "I'll first say there's no need to apologise about not going to any party. You need to remember: I left school. Completely. I didn't go back. Now, by those standards, you're doing a lot better than me. Well, until I pulled you from school as well, of course," he said, teasing slightly.

"But sometimes 'toughing it out' isn't productive. Sometimes taking the time to think things through and work things out makes all the difference. How can you explain 'it' to people until you've sorted 'it' -- whatever that may be -- out in your mind?" Dree asked, raising his eyebrows.

He frowned slightly, hearing the account of Greyfriar. He was as surprised as Sasha; of course, this was Sasha's account, and any confusion Sasha might be experiencing on the matter was doubtless being experienced second-hand in Dree now. No, this did not make sense. "He wanted you to be expelled and disowned -- was this perhaps because he wanted you to take a stand and, how do they say it -- 'come clean'?" If Greyfriar was looking for a revolution, he had been looking at the wrong boy.

What Greyfriar wanted, however, Dreogan realised after only a moment, was not the issue here. It was what Sasha wanted -- if Sasha wanted to please Greyfriar more than he wanted to stay at Hogwarts, or stay in good graces with his family . . .

"Sasha," Dreogan said with a soft and metered speech, "I've come to find that one of the most devastating realities and inevitabilities in life is that . . . someone -- whoever it may be -- will oppose anything we do. Whether it be in actions, or just opposing our beliefs through a contrary school of thought -- I'm not going to say 'you can't please everyone' because, well, while true, it doesn't help. I think it's a matter of deciding who you please. You don't need to apologise to me about not going to the party, because you did right -- in your way. You felt it would be taxing to go and you held your beliefs. You pick what matters, Sasha, and you do what you can to keep that. You can't do it all, but you do what you can. Don't ever do any less." He gave a soft smile here, leaning in slightly. "And you know, I don't think that you've ever been at risk of that."

He was quiet a moment, hands clasped around his knee as he also looked about the room, allowing his thoughts to distill. Finally, he straightened, placing both feet level on the floor before pushing himself up. "I've just remembered something. One second -- feel free to unpack any of your things while I'm gone. Only a moment," he said, his voice rising so it could carry as Dreogan crossed the living room and back into the hall.

He entered his room, began scrounging about in a trunk at the foot of his bed, looking through wooden cigar boxes, frowning. It was somewhere. He hadn't used it in years, but it was somewhere. Finally, he pulled it out -- a scratched, tinny looking circle of metal which Dree, beaming, clasped in his fist as he reentered the sitting room. "So, when I left school," he said, settling once more on the couch, this time facing Sasha directly, crossing one leg over the other so he was halfway towards "Indian" style, "my mother -- she's full of bits of widsom -- but she actually borrowed a bit from a gentleman by the name of Shakespeare -- well, Polonius to be precise. From Hamlet: 'To thine own self be true.' Polonius' departing words to his son before he goes abroad. My mum gave me something to remember what mattered: this ring." He held up the circle of dull metal. "Haven't worn it in a while and I don't really have mch of a need of it anymore," he said, feeling the need to make it clear it was not a sacrifice, but a token. "But if you'd like it, I'd like you to have it." He looked down at Sasha's hands, weathered through Quidditch and horsemanship, then to his shorter, knobbly, but also muscled hands, laced with veins and hardened by callouses from rock climbing. "It may fit, but can always hide in a pocket."

He was quiet again, appearing to contemplate the panel of dark mirrors which Dree used for scrying, but spoke agian. "Now, you can't do it all or please everyone, but that doesn't mean you can't make the best of situations and try to make as many ends meet as you can. That's called diplomacy, and I might know a bit about that. . . so if you'd like to explain to me a bit more about what Greyfriar said . . ." he said sincerely.

"Or," he offered, lightening his tone, ". . . it's earlier than I thought, and so there would still be time to go watch the sun set from atop St. Paul's." The boy might want to settle, feel himself in a welcoming -- at least Dree hoped it was -- place, or he might want to keep moving. Dree often felt restless when trying to work things out. It was why he liked climbing. You were always progressing. And then, from the top, you got not only the sense of accomplishment, but a new vantage point.

Sasha's eyes followed the direction of Dreogan's nod and rested, briefly, on the couch.  Complaining - or venting if that's what Dreogan preferred to call it - wasn't something Sasha did a whole lot of.  It certainly wasn't something that came naturally.  In his experience, complaining usually just made a bad situation worse.  He was still regarding the couch when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the movement of Dreogan's arm as it moved towards him.  Reflexively, he flinched, slightly, his eyes flickering shut before, with a slight blush, he caught himself.  He allowed himself to be steered towards the couch where he settled himself against one of the smooth, flat cushions. 

"I'm planning on going back, of course."  He tried to counter the teasing with a grin, hoping to distract Dreogan from the flinch.  "Even if it seems most would rather I wouldn't."  Well - at that point, most included Snark and Greyfriar.  A weird combination if one were to think about it.  Sasha wouldn't have expected those two to be in league on an issue.  "And, it probably isn't that ... I don't know ... big of a deal."  Certainly, the reasons Dreogan had for leaving school were easily quite a bit more significant.  "It's just humiliating.  And it ..."  Sasha shook his head. If there was an audience to which he needed to argue that he wasn't a liar or ashamed of being a wizard, Sasha knew the man seated next to him wasn't it.

At first, Sasha shook his head and then nodded as he watched intently as he tried to pick at some imaginary dirt from under one fingernail.  "I ... I'm not sure," he admitted.  He hadn't thought much about the reasons Professor Greyfriar had for giving the advice he had.  "He just - he said getting me disowned and expelled would be the best thing Hogwarts could do for me.  That I should make my own decisions.  He didn't - he didn't care that I wasn't ... that I'm not ready.  For them to hate me and to be on my own.  I know it's inevitable but ... I'm just not ready. And - he was so ... so proud of Fauna for sneaking out and breaking rules and getting us in that mess and so disappointed in me."  The bitterness he felt towards the last little bit was impossible to hide. 

But, the bitterness quickly changed to a defeated sigh as Sasha's shoulders drooped and, with an air of frustration, he shook his head.  "I don't want to please everyone," he insisted.  Of course, that was only marginally true.  There was no doubt he felt a profound need to please those that had any degree of impact on his life.  It was, generally, safer.  "But, he was the one that helped me actually get to Hogwarts.  He was the only one who knew all along what was going on.  I thought he was proud of me.  And - I'm on the Headmistress' radar because I got up and stood up for him.  She's trying to find a way to get me expelled and disowned because of that and ... it's still not enough.  It's never enough."  The cadence of Sasha's words had increased in speed until he, finally, placed his fist against his mouth as if the physical barrier would stem the flow of words. 

Sasha nodded as Dreogan pushed himself to his feet, inwardly relieved for the opportunity to regain control of his thoughts in the few moments of the man's absence.  Exposed, uncontrolled emotions was a sign of weakness and he'd never felt comfortable with the vulnerability.   In those few minutes of solitude, Sasha had managed to school his features back to a more neutral expression by the time Dreogan returned to the room. He watched, curiously, as Dreogan settled on the couch, facing him.  "I ... yes," Sasha offered with a nod.  "I read it.  My third year.  I'd told my parents we were studying poetry and -"  Sasha's gaze dropped to the ring in the man's hand and he stared at it a moment.  Perhaps it was residual emotional vulnerability from Sasha's visit to Professor Greyfriar and the trip here.  Perhaps it was the uniqueness and sincerity of the gesture or, perhaps, simply a combination of the two.  Or, perhaps, the significance of the gesture was amplified when compared with the way the rest of the day and the start of the term had progressed.  Whatever the reason, Sasha couldn't maintain what little control over his emotions he'd managed to gain a few moments before. 

"I - really?" he asked, glancing up at Dreogan before quickly dropping his gaze as he brushed a hand across his cheek.  "Thank you, sir. It's - I'm ... touched."  He reached out for the ring, taking it carefully and gingerly between his fingers. 

The ring provided a convenient focal point for Sasha's attention as he tried to think back to what Professor Greyfriar had said.  "I said I didn't know where I'd go if I got kicked out and ... he got angry."  At least, that's what Sasha assumed was the cause of the shouting and the table slamming.  "He said if I got expelled and kicked out that I could go wherever I wanted.  But - that's not the case.  I mean, I'm a minor.  The Ministry would send me to ... to an orphanage, right?  Assuming - that's assuming they do kick me out.  Which, they might not."  Sasha had spent years considering the what ifs, the worst case scenarios as he tried to determine contingency plans. "He said I was a disappointment as a muggle so it ... it wasn't like telling them would make that big of a difference.  And that I should just ignore Headmistress Snark and ... and kick and scream and I'm ... I just - I ... Every time I do it just makes it worse."  Snark, Skeeter, that article - standing up and speaking out at that feast had only made matters worse and Greyfriar was still disappointed.  He'd be so much better off if he'd just stayed quiet.

He brushed his cheeks with the heel of his empty hand again, shaking his head slightly.  He wasn't in any condition to be out in public. 

Aleron was splanning to sublet Dree’s apartment, once Dree moved in with Akiva. It would be a week or so till everything was ready, but he thought he would stop by to see how Dree was doing. He was still worried about Dree, after the episode of the sleeping potion...

Like everyone else in the wizarding community, Aleron was shocked by the Hogsmeade werewolf incident. First of all, it was inexplicable that with wolfbane potion so readily available, a werewolf would not avail himself of it. True, there were always rogue werewolves who enjoyed the feeling of omnipotence that a full moon gave. But from what Aleron’s sources at the Ministry told him, this werewolf was not that sort. As he began to recover from the thrashing the werewolf hunters had given him, more and more it appeared that the creature had been half-starved, reacting as much to hunger as the influence of the moon. He was co-operating as best he could. But that wasn't much help because he remembered nothing from before the attack...not even his own identity. This was disturbing to Aleron, because it reminded him of what had happened with Akiva. Aleron was convinced the two incidents were related, but so far he had no real evidence to back up his theory. Neither Greyfriar or Dragulia had been branded with runes...

Coming to Dree's place, Aleron stopped out in the hallway, and knocked. He hoped this wasn't a bad time...

It's never enough. How many times had Dreogan thought that? He could apologise to Eldwynn's parents as much as he wanted. They'd still never read his letters, open their door to him, or talk to him. How many years could he search for his father? Dedicate to his mother? Spend soothing his brother's temper?

"Sometimes what we do won't be enough. We make due. And we don't allow ourselves to be guilted by our own insufficiencies. We set our own goals. That we can keep. And we stay true to them." He nodded towards the ring. "We make goals to be the best we can and pursue the best course we can. And that's all." Dreogan thought of the boy's conflicting promises -- to Muggle and Magical studies, to people on opposing sides. He was fascinating -- a child of both worlds, walking the line, but Dreogan had learned in his years pledging allegiance to the very enemies of his father to win their trust and, hopefully, gain information, that it ripped a soul apart. A man could not serve two masters, for he would either love the one and hate the other or despise the one and love the other. Sasha could not do it all. And it was wrong for others to expect it of him.

"There is a time to stand up and speak out and there is a time to sit down," Dreogan said gravely, thinking of his father. Of his fights with Adon on this very matter. "It's . . . one of the most difficult balances to strike in this life, I think." He gave a bit of a helpless shrug. "I'm still working on it. But if Knox Greyfriar is looking for bold-faced, unbridled rebellion. . ." he gave a soft smile to Sasha, "he doesn't know you. And he doesn't know politics." Which, given Greyfriar's somewhat ambiguous and obscure departure from Hogwarts, was more than probable. Dumbledore -- now there had been a man who had been sound in his political dealings. Even he had had a fall from grace.

Sometimes the Fall was necessary for the redemption of the whole. Now look at that. He sounded almost Christian. But they did not have a monopoly on virtue, he decided, off-handedly.

"We will obviously try our very hardest to make sure things don't reach as far as expulsion. There is nowhere in any legal mandate," he said with no little authority, "that absolutely requires Muggle family members be told of their son's or daughter's gifts. It is certainly abnormal and may, to some, appear disingenuous, but," he emphasised strongly, "completely within the laws as they stand at present. In England and elsewhere. Non-disclosure works in conjunction with the Statute of Secrecy. . . Now," he said, falling silent a moment, thinking this over. "You are what, Sasha. . . fifteen? In two years, you will have -- in the Wizarding World, at least -- come into your own. Until that time, you would need a guardian. . ." He frowned, thinking as he tapped his lips with his finger. "Sasha, if it comes to that, you'll have a place here. We've talked about Laevenstrome or Muggle schools in London -- but you'll have a place right here."

Dreogan just hoped Akiva wouldn't be angry with that resolve. Taking in a teenage child -- well, they'd made pie charts on the logistics of keeping Tabitha, Lady, and Gordon. And Sasha was soundly above domestic pets. And he'd just gone and --

There was a knock at the door and Dreogan's brow knit, considering who it might be. Sasha was, well, he was crying and didn't exactly want to go out. Dreogan could only think of a couple of people -- Akiva, Aleron, or his mother -- who he'd welcome into the home, given Sasha's situation and so, as he moved to the Peeping Tom, he did so quietly. Maybe the person on the other side of the door had not heard anything.

Well, he knew they hadn't. There were sound-proofing charms on the flat, after all.

The face that appeared through the glass made Dreogan breathe somewhat more easily. "It's Aleron," he called quietly to Sasha over his shoulder, knowing that Sasha had wanted to meet the wizard for some time. "I told him he could come by," he said, slightly apologetic. Aleron could be a good influence to Sasha -- he was kindly and understanding; he'd helped Dreogan through it all. But if Sasha gave any indication he did not want him there, well, then they could always meet up tomorrow.

As it was, however, Dreogan swung open the door, smiling warmly. "Aleron!" he waved the man in. "Sasha's just arrived from a long trip. I was telling him a bit about the time my mother gave me that ring I always used to wear." He hoped Aleron might remember some of the circumstances of it; right after his father's disappearance, right when Dreogan was deciding whether to leave school, to move to London, to stay in Israel. . . "We'll need to grab dinner soon," he observed idly as he latched the door shut. If worse came to worse, he could always send Aleron off for a couple of minutes to fetch some take-out while Sasha composed himself.

His gaze dropped to the ring in his hand, tears still occasionally spilling onto his cheeks, Sasha turned the metal band over in his hand with his thumb as he listened to Dreogan.  He wasn't sure how to respond to the advice; it was so starkly different than anything he'd been told before.  You should always strive to do better.  Being content with anything but the best was admitting to being inferior.  How many times had he heard that?  How much did that drive his academic career - his insistence on taking every class.  His disappointment in not being able to achieve higher than an A in Divination.  His unwillingness to drop the class. 

But, he took Dreogan's words to heart and resolved to give them more thought. 

Sasha believed the Ministry couldn't force Sasha to come clean with his parents but he was less convinced Snark couldn't find some way to force him.  Snark was entirely within her right to contact his parents for disciplinary reasons and it wouldn't take much for her to raise enough suspicion in his parents to start the chain of events that would lead to them finding out.  All it really took was enough suspicion for his parents to try to contact the school in Switzerland for more information.  Then, they'd discover he wasn't there and, progressively, the lie was bound to unwind.  But, the certainty of his protections and doubt in their ability to keep him safe were nothing new.  The offer that followed it ... well, that was very different.  It was a very similar gesture to the ring only that much more profound.  "Really?  You mean..." he started to ask before there was a knock on the door. 

Dreogan moved from the couch to answer the door and, in the moment of solitude, Sasha slipped the ring on a finger and quickly set to wiping his face on the inside of his shirt.  The attempt was, of course, highly insufficient and as soon as the visitor was identified and Sasha had nodded to confirm he was alright with the visit, he ducked his head and slipped into the bathroom, his comb in hand, before the guest was admitted into the apartment.  He knew of Aleron and he knew Aleron was aware of him.  First impressions were, of course, crucial and, not knowing the man at the door was the same as the man who'd tossed sandwiches into the Amazon to distract a school of piranhas, Sasha was still determined to salvage this first impression.  Looking like an emotional wreck wasn't the way to do it.  A quick splash of cold water to his face, a little warm water on the comb to thin out the hair gel and a careful inspection for wrinkles on his clothes and he was confident he looked halfway decent.  Decent enough to make his way out into the apartment's main room. 

His posture once again stick straight and, he hoped, no sign of wayward emotions, Sasha approached Aleron with an outstretched hand.  "Sir, it's a privilege to meet you," Sasha offered Aleron, along with a polite but firm handshake.  "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Sir, it's a privilege to meet you. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Aleron did recognize Sasha as the student who had almost been lunch for the piranhas. He had no idea what was happening here, but though Sasha had done a good job of freshening up before coming out of the bathroom, his eyes were still red and a trifle swollen. Aleron could not help guessing that at very least the young fellow had been close to crying. Of course Aleron would never let on that he suspected.

Smiling, he extended his hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he responded. “But...am I mistaken, or have we not seen each other before? A few weeks ago, in the Amazon rain forest?” Perhaps there had been trouble because of that day, he reflected. He recalled that one of the teachers over-reacted to Sasha’s difficulty, threatening him with Detention. It was unfair, in Aleron’s opinion. After all it was a muddy area, with steep banks. Anyone could have fallen in...

It occurred to Aleron to wonder why the boy was not in school. Was there a holiday he didn’t know about?