Sasha was a creature of logic.  He preferred to think his way through any challenge and practice problem solving - he was usually quite good at it.  But, halfway through ... through Madame Snark's punishment, full panic set in and his sense of logic quickly vanished.  He was only reacting - there was no thinking or logic going on at all. 

Sasha Rudolf Schlagenweit was suspended for the rest of the term.  He couldn't - he wouldn't ... but he had to believe it.  For - he had no idea how long - he'd stared at the woman, his mouth dry, the vision of her face blurring as tears pooled on his eyelid.  It was worse than being accused of cheating.  Much worse.  Had he ever been so humiliated?  He couldn't remember a time if he had.  He was going to miss classes - he was being sent from Hogwarts.  And, that wasn't even the worst of it. 

He was supposed to go home.  Midterm.  That had been the instructions from Madame Snark.  And, that glint in her eye - that vicious grin had made it clear she knew exactly what she was demanding.  She'd even had one of the school's house elves hide his trunk during that meeting, forcing him to leave school in the school robes he was wearing.  She'd forced his hand - by later that evening, he'd be showing up on his step-father's doorstep with a note from school in his school robes.  She'd only suspended him but she might have well just expelled him.  The results were the same.  He was, very likely, leaving Hogwarts for the last time. 

He'd just barely held the tears at bay until he'd broken free of the Headmistress' office and found himself in the corridor.  At first, his trek had been a slow death march.  The last walk of a man to his execution.  But, at the end of the hall, he stopped.  Slowly, he looked back towards the large, stone gargoyle.  Madame Snark had sent him ... she wasn't escorting him.  She ... how would she ... if he just left school for a month, how would she know the difference? 

It was only a matter of time before Madame Snark realized that, too. 

He took off, sprinting through the corridors, skidding around corridors and taking the staircase three at a time.  She had his trunk and all his belongings so there was no point in wasting time packing.  He had his wand, he was clothed and he had his book bag.  That would have to do.  If he outran Snark, he had a chance. 

It wasn't until he'd reached Hogsmeade that Sasha stopped.  At the very edge of town, he stopped, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes against the stinging tears.  Winded and sweating, he paused in the street, staring around, starting to realize the obvious question. 

It was annoyingly easy.

For all of its vaunted protections, for all of the rumors about wards and impossible apparition, Hogwarts seemed to be irritatingly simple to penetrate.  Up until now, he had believed the stories about the school's security - that its walls could not be breached, that the Dark Lord himself had nearly been turned back at its gates.  Terry had been cautious about broaching the wards, had stayed well clear while trying to work out what he could and formulate a plan, but apparently his wariness had been ill-founded.  Either the protection only worked in one direction or it was so poor that a teenager could foil it.

Whatever the reason, it made an old task disturbingly simple.  There was no mistaking the gangly blond figure, even if teenagers had been a common sight around Hogsmeade while school was in session.  The only way to improve the situation would have been if one of Thornton's brats had snuck out with the German boy. 

A smirk crept across his face at the thought.  He'd have to suggest it the next time he saw the woman and then dangle hints about the next Hogsmeade weekend.  Let her try to explain to her whelps why they were no longer allowed to visit the wizarding town.

He kept a careful watch as he approached the boy, holding his wand inside his pocket.  From what he could see, Schlagenweit looked to be alone.  No teachers there to protect him - here, on the edge of Hogsmeade in the middle of a quiet day, not even a witness to deter him.  The boy looked shaken and upset, not alert and not thinking, his breathing labored as if he'd just run a long way.

Terry allowed himself a small smile.  If he was here after a frantic rush, then chances were good that the boy hadn't told anyone where he was going first. 

The Old Man was going to have a very, very good day.

"You're out of school," he observed as he approached, giving the boy a smile that didn't quite reach to his eyes.  "No classes this afternoon?"

The rough texture of the building's bricks snagged at the back of Sasha's robes as he slid down the wall to sit on the ground.  A sure sign of the dying year, the ground was dry but cold underneath him and the brick at his back didn't offer much warmth.  It all seemed rather befitting of his current situation. 

He hadn't the foggiest idea where he was going or what to do.  Getting away from Hogwarts and Snark's reach had been his first priority.  Now that the real crisis had past, Sasha was beginning to realize how screwed he really was.  He couldn't go home - that was out of the question.  But, going to back to London meant admitting to Dreogan and his sister he'd been ... he'd been suspended.  He couldn't imagine a more humiliating confession.  What was he supposed to say? 

A fellow was approaching along the main path to the village, and, while his eyes followed the man's progress, his thoughts lingered on the growing list of options in his head.  He could stay here in Hogsmeade.  He had enough money saved away; he could afford the rent for the two weeks.  Maybe ... maybe someone could bring him his assignments.  A professor or someone?  Of course, he'd rather not blow that much money - he might need it one day.  With the way things were going, that day might be soon. 

He could take the train to Germany.  Go to his grandparents.  Maybe convince them that his school in Switzerland had given him a few weeks off.  For some inexplicable reason.  Or, he could stay at a hostel in Munich? 

The fellow didn't turn to follow the road into town but approached Sasha.  As he neared, the young German braced his hands against the wall behind him and crawled up back to his feet.  "I ... yes," he said, glancing around the vicinity.  "I'm..." 

What?  Oh Merlin, he didn't want to say it.  Didn't want to say those words.  Not to a complete stranger!   Not knowing him otherwise, what would they think?  That he was some good for nothing hooligan?  Like Devlin or George?  Or that he was one to vandalize the school?  He wasn't!  This was all - it was all just so unfair! 

He had no answers for this man, nor was he really in the best moods to chat.  "I don't ... No," he said, bluntly, even a little curtly.  "I don't mean - I'm not meaning to be rude but ... I've got - It has been a bad day.  And, I need to get -"  Where?  Well, he had to go somewhere and he'd already determined he couldn't stay in Hogsmeade.  Would the Three Broomsticks let him floo from there? 

"Excuse me."  Sasha pushed himself upright from the wall to make his way to the street.

Whether or not he agreed with his employer's motivations rarely crossed Tiresias's mind.  Giving approval was not part of his job; he was paid to anticipate problems and make certain that instructions were efficiently carried out.  But somehow, as he coolly regarded the boy, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment.

There was no challenge here.  Collapsed against the wall, unable to think clearly enough to finish a sentence, Schlagenweit didn't look as though he had an inch of backbone in him.  Even if the German boy struggled, how hard would it really be to break him?  Terry doubted that the Old Man would have to lift a finger to bring the youth to his beck and call.  Perhaps that was part of the attraction to Kronos, but it seemed a waste of effort.  Here he was, being forced to outsource so many more worthy hunts and being set instead against a schoolboy who barely required an exertion.

Terry watched, his face expressionless, as the boy fumbled through an apology and climbed to his feet.  Whether or not Schlagenweit had his wand didn't matter; he had no doubt that he could fire a spell quicker than the boy could deflect it.  If he was looking to depart, though, that made the situation slightly more difficult.  Either he would make his way further into town or return to the school. 

The first was clearly not advantageous.  Even on a quiet day, there were too many potential witnesses wandering through Hogsmeade.  None of them might be able to stop Tiresias from accomplishing the task he'd been assigned, but they did have the potential to make his life difficult.  During all the time he'd spent in England, he'd been careful not to scatter a trail behind, and he had no desire to set any red-robed Aurors on his scent because of one of his employer's quickly-discarded projects.

Allowing the boy to return to the school, though, meant that he'd be traveling through the forest to get there.  That was the wager that Terry would have to make - either risk taking him here and being spotted by someone from town, or trust that his quarry would choose a more isolated path instead.

He stepped back, allowing the boy way to pass by him.  "You might want to stay out of the center of town," he said evenly.  His wand was firmly in hand now, but lowered by his side, his body between it and the boy.  "There were some officials from the school moving about.  It sounded like they were searching for a student who skipped out on class.  You wouldn't want to be mistaken for him."

In that moment, it was unfortunate that Sasha's age old habit of ducking his head apologetically when passing someone should surface.  Had he not done so, he might have stood a chance of noticing the man's drawn wand.  But, the man's posture and any intentions he might have had were the furthest things from Sasha's mind.  If he couldn't find solitude physically, he'd find it mentally by gluing  his eyes to the ground a few feet in front of him.  With his mind was still fixated on the swamp of trouble he'd just sunk in, Sasha was oblivious to the building threat the man represented. 

Of course, town had been Sasha's destination of choice, mostly due to a lack of alternatives.  The young man stood to loose more by returning to school than he did getting caught by those that might suspect he was skipping class.  He couldn't risk, nor fathom, running into Madame Snark again.  Not right now.  He couldn't even bear the thought of reliving the humiliation and overall sense of hopelessness that sitting in front of the woman had created.  Nor could she see that smug, victorious grin on her face.  He hated it.  Hated that feeling. 

The man was quiet when Sasha first slipped past him but he'd only made it two steps before the fellow spoke up.  He paused and turned back, shaking his head unconcernedly and, perhaps, with a slight air of defeat.  "I'm ... I'm not worried," he said with a shrug.  He could hear the slight tremor in his own voice as the corners of his mouth quivered.  "They're not looking for me.  I've been suspended."

There.  He'd said it.  Aloud.  Spat it was more appropriate.  Like some lowly, lazy troublemaker or rapscallion.  He lifted his hands in a defeated shrug and glanced towards the street.  "What's the worst they can do?  Suspend me?  Drag me back to school?  Where do they ... expect me to go, anyway, if not here?"  He'd been told to leave school and he had.  He couldn't ask Madame Snark for help getting back, she'd find a way to send him directly home. 

"Look - just leave me alone."  Sasha turned his back and, after kicking an old, dried pinecone out of the way, started towards the corner of the building and the main thoroughfare that lay beyond.

He had no intention of leaving the boy alone.  The information was too perfect; it was as if all the stars had aligned to fulfill the Old Man's purpose.  The boy was alone and defenseless.  He had stated that no one was looking for him.  If he disappeared now, with no one to witness, there would be no way to trace his vanishing to Kronos Malvivicus.

Schlagenweit was too young, too sheltered to know when he was tempting the Fates.  The talk of suspension almost made Terry smirk.  It was a schoolboy's fear, a threat to hang over the heads of those whose world was defined by childish walls.  The worst that could happen was punishment inside that world; being torn from it never crossed their minds.  If that was what they were teaching the young at Hogwarts, it was no wonder that wizarding Britain constantly seemed on the verge of being torn apart by internal forces.  The boy was fortunate that he had a secret benefactor who wished to increase the quality of his education.

He raised his wand, almost lazily.  "I know somewhere you can go," Tiresias said calmly, and then cast a silent Stunning spell at the boy's back.

As the burst of red light subsided, he started forward, his attention more focused on the nearby buildings and alleys than the form of his target.  There was no noise, no movement, no sign that anyone had seen. Even if the sound of apparition raised some alarms - unlikely in a wizarding town - by then it would be too late.  There would be no observers when they arrived on the Isle of Skye.

It was time to gather the boy and take him to his new home.

"Terry's got him.  They're here, Sir." 

Inside the castle-like palace, down deep, lights were dimmed and Nat King Cole was playing on the phonograph.  An old man below the stone steps that led to the cellar wiped the blood from his hands with a damp rag -- looking up suddenly, stopping at the brisk, solidly spoken alert, he asked,  "Inside?  Now?"

"They've just been spotted coming along the path, Sir.  Should be not ten minutes.  The boy appears to be paralyzed but unharmed."  As this report was given, Kronos dipped the crimson-tinged towel in a silver bowl of ice-cold water and wrung it out carefully.

Kronos Hoppus Malvivicus had a very hairy heart.  So when it started fluttering, it felt the slightest bit ticklish.  He gave a surprised cough.  "The boy," he said with urgency.  His voice raised to travel upstairs, a warbling warp to it.  "He's coming!" he bellowed loudly (an unnecessary announcement that was more for him than his audience).  "Gerroff your bloody arses!"  Then to himself, with more than a hint of mortification, "I need to change, oh galloping gargoyles, I need to change; I'm all speckled.  Um."  Glancing over at the now vacant, blood covered body tethered to the basement pillar, he waved his hand distractedly.  "Get rid of this," he said. 

The old man cut off the phonograph and climbed the stairs, and his henchman watched as the silk robes swung round his master's ankles.  He had sung, "My boy!  My beautiful boy!" in an almost stunning vibrato before vanishing at the top.  And the henchman looked back after a moment to his carved cadaver -- an old 'co-worker' no less-- sighing before setting to work cleaning up the boss's mess.  Everything was already underway upstairs, of course -- they had been instructed on all the various tasks that would need to be set underway for the boy's arrival.  But it was inevitable that Kronos, in his excited state, would still hover over shoulders and yell about perfection a few times, before he slipped into the bath to scrub the blood off  and to soften his skin.  Nothing said "good first impression," after all, like the stray hint of orchid and of linden blossom clinging to the warlock's fresh dress robes.

A legion of men stood ready in the entrance room.  When the boy was inside, the old man's fortress would be in immediate lock-down, even more than it already was.  These men were charged with leading the boy through the various comforts, making sure he participated by way of terse orders and close proximity if need be.  But all of them knew that this was first and foremost Terry's operation.  He had been put in the lead, for it was very important to Kronos.  The boy must eat a most fantastic meal.  He would be made to enjoy himself.  Even if they had to put him at wand-point to do it.

---

As they approached, the door opened from the inside.  And when Terry'd stepped in with his prize, a Wizard went to work muttering spells at the exit.  Someone had changed the record at the old man's request.  As the boy stood there, still stupified, inside the grandiose entrance room laid with marble and fit for a King, the old scratchy record played out in full -- and the men, who'd been instructed to do so, stood silently in reverence, waiting till the dead crackle from the horn-style phonograph gave way to blistering silence. 

A scar-faced Wizard stepped forward beneath black hood, coming within inches of Sasha Schlagenweit where he stood stiff as a board by the entrance.  A pause.  Then, the words that came were spoken with extreme delicacy, in a slow Scottish brogue.  "There is no escape," he said.  "You will be calm.  If you comply, you will remain unharmed for the duration of your stay.  You will enjoy your stay.  We will -- see to it -- that you enjoy your stay.  You will remain calm, and you will be shown to your private quarters.  You will have a bath and a change of clothes provided before dinner with the Master of the House.  I think that we understand each other.  Terry?" 

Someone muttered a spell and with a flash of wand-work, the incapacitating enchantment was lifted.

The moment Sasha had turned his back on the stranger, his mind had quickly turned to the important matter at hand.  The man was long forgotten; the question of what Sasha was going to do now was the foremost thought in his mind.  His back to the stranger, his mind refocused on the how-tos of getting to London, Sasha didn't see the man draw his wand.  He remained blissfully oblivious until the moment he heard the man's voice behind him.  It was during the moment those words reached his ears that it all became obvious.  The context clues, the subtle cues and the warning signs all fell suddenly into place. 

But, the realization had come far too late.  Before the thought to call for help could even cross his mind, Sasha saw a flash of red around the periphery of his vision and every muscle in his body bound up and grew rigid.  He wanted to cry out for help but he couldn't force his lungs to expand to draw in the air for the vocalization.  Nor could he move his vocal cords to force the air into sound.  He couldn't run; he couldn't scream; he couldn't even fight back. 

All he could do was remain there perfectly still and helpless as the stranger approached from behind and, with a gut wrenching jolt, pulled Sasha away from Hogsmeade. 

---

Like a tall, heavy piece of luggage, Sasha was carted along next to the stranger as he made his way up along a long path.  While the scene in Madam Snark's office must have taken place only an hour or so before, Hogwarts was already feeling so very distant.  Back in the mountains of Scotland, Hogwarts students were probably just finishing lunch but in this bare, treeless landscape the heavy cloud cover and fog made it feel much later.  Though he was completely immobile, all of his senses were working just fine.  He could hear the persistent crashing of wild waves against rock.  The heavy saltiness of ocean air filled his nostrils.  He could see the very base of long, dark, stone towers and walls at the end of the walkway he was being escorted up, though the true size of the building was shrouded by fog and mist. 

He was going to be killed.  He knew that.  What he didn't know was why.  What did this man have against him?  Sasha had never met him - didn't even know his name.  Did the man even care who he was or was Sasha just unlucky.  Wrong place at the wrong time.  What he dreaded finding out the most was why he'd been brought here, to this barren place - this dark castle to be killed.  Every answer - every possibility that came to mind was more horrible and terrifying than the last.  If the man simply wanted him dead, he could have carted Sasha off into the forest to do that.  His face was too rigid, too unresponsive to depict any of the terror that had tied the young Ravenclaw's gut into knots by the time he'd been set, still immobile, in the middle of the grand, elaborate entrance hall.  The only exception to the boy's blank, passive expression were the tracks of tears that ran down his cheeks. 

There was some clear, torturous irony to the scene that stretched out before him.  A brilliantly elaborate staircase stretched up from the foyer in front of him.  If he were to choose the soundtrack to his own murder, the scratchy, terrifying record would probably have been one of his last choices.   Facing away from the door, he was unable to see the efforts of the men sealing the door.  But, he could hear the muttering, especially after, like some elaborately choreographed scene, the music ended.  The tension in Sasha's gut redoubled, painfully, as a heavy set, scar-faced wizard approached in the silence.  He was convinced, just as the music had ended, this strange, deranged, sadistic scene - his scene had ended.  Had the young man not been held by the invisible bounds of the cures, he would have undoubtedly shrunk back from the man and braced himself for what he knew would be the final blow. 

Sasha heard the words that made up the man's instructions but understood very little of the message.  He was far too panicked - far too braced for a miserable death to make much sense of them.  Suddenly, without warning, the invisible binds were lifted and Sasha regained full control of his body.  No longer supported by the immobility of the hex, Sasha's knees were unable to support him and he stumbled and fell forward.  Surprise seemed to register in the scarred man's face first, closely followed by a brief flicker of fear as he reached out to grab the boy just moments before his knees hit the ground. 

It was the feel of the man's thick, muscular hands around his own arms that helped Sasha regain his footing and spurred him into motion.  "Leave me alone!" he cried as he pushed away from the man and scrambled to his feet, turning and sprinting for the door.  Sasha fully expected the effort to be useless - each step towards the door he expected to be met with a bolt of pain, the sudden immersion into blackness or even that infamous flash of green that kids whispered about in the halls at school.  But, nothing happened.  Nothing at all.  In fact, not a single person had budged an inch by the time Sasha had reached the front door.  He didn't pause to question it, though. 

He reached out to grab the handle but his fingers passed through thin air, closing on nothing.  Again, he grabbed for the door but, again, the metal handle seemed just out of reach.  Over and over again he grappled for the handle, the panic building again with each unsuccessful grab.  In desperation, he threw his shoulder against the door but it just felt like falling against a spring mattress - the air gave and then gently nudged him back again.  Even with throwing all his weight against the door, his body was unable to connect with the wood. 

Sweat was beading across his brow and he was panting from exertion by the time he stopped and turned back towards the entrance hall.  He chanced a glance between the three men standing at attention.  "Let me out!" he demanded, forcing himself to look at each of the three of them in turn.  But, the scarred man simply shook his head and reiterated the only thing they were willing to do was escort him to his quarters ... to bathe and change. 

---

It had taken nearly an hour and a half for Sasha to be convinced to leave the foyer.  It hadn't really been by choice though he hadn't really been compelled, either.  Eventually, it became clear there were no alternatives and the man with the scars was getting impatient.  The man they'd called Terry - the one who'd hexed him in Hogsmeade - had already left by then, apparently bored with the proceedings.

The scar-faced man had led Sasha up the stairs and down a serious of corridors and through a doorway to ... well, a suite that easily rivaled (and likely surpassed) the luxuriousness of any of the places his father's company had put them up in.  After a brief 'tour' the scarred man had left Sasha, sealing the door to the suite in much the same way the front entrance had been sealed.  In the quiet solitude of the ornate quarters, Sasha slowly wandered the space numbly, constantly on the lookout for an escape. 

Had it not been for the nature of his arrival, Sasha would have thought he'd died and gone to heaven.  The bathroom was even better than his at home though, given the circumstances, the deep bubble bath was more than a little creepy.  It was a little too close in nature to any number of those horror movies about psychopaths who only killed their victims when they were clean.  His sister seemed to love watching those.  The bed was more plush than anything he'd seen.  The contents of the large closet was enough to momentarily distract Sasha from the true nature of the current situation.  He had been leafing through the carefully tailored wizards' robes for several moments when the realization struck him: everything was in his size.  Realization flooded back and he turned and ran back out of the closet, giving the door another frantic attempt. 

On the second attempt, his hands were able to close around the handle but when he wrenched it open, one of the men from earlier was standing on the other side, the man's wand still in hand from removing the seal on the door.  "Dinner is ready," the man explained, seeming to take no notice of Sasha's renewed look of panic.  The wand still raised as incentive, the wizard led the way through the corridor's beckoning Sasha through a pair of double doors before closing them behind him. 

For a moment, Sasha stared at the man that awaited him in the room, unsure what to say or even if speaking was the best choice.  But, finally, he spoke. 

"I ... what do you ... you want with me?"  He asked quietly, his voice shaking slightly.  "I ... if it's money ... my - my father will -"  He grew quiet as a wave of helplessness washed over him.  It seemed unlikely this fellow wanted money, given their surroundings.  And, these people were wizards.  If they approached Sasha's stepfather, he couldn't help but wonder how likely it was that Gerhard would agree to pay.  "I'm sorry."  He had no clue what he was apologizing for but just in case ... just in case he'd done something to warrant this, it was worth a try.

For several moments, Kronos only watched the boy.  He knew so very little about Sasha Schlagenweit -- outside of all his measurements, major interests and diet restrictions -- he knew only what he had read by the hand of Rita Skeeter and his own personal imagining of the boy's potentials, of his fate.  He had heard of the boy's episode in the entrance hall, and dinner had been delayed for the bath that he didn't take.  So he only watched Sasha, waiting for some signal of how to make the fifteen year old boy comfortable eating supper with his kidnapper.  Unfortunately there were no written guides that explained how exactly one should go about calming a person down after putting them through such an ordeal.  At least not when you were the one who'd been the cause.  And this was terribly different than all the other hostage situations under Kronos's belt -- of which there had been too many to count.  He did sincerely want the boy to enjoy himself. 

After he had spoken, stumbling over words, Kronos waited a moment more.  He was still in his school clothes.  His hair, disheveled.  He was not taking well. 

"Your father," said Kronos, and for a moment that was all.  He sighed, then spoke again deliberately, on his best behavior.  "Let's not put the cart before the horse, shall we?  That will all come in due time, Master Schlagenweit.  I will assure you first that I want nothing that isn't in your best interest -- not money, not blood, not fear nor pain.  I want to teach you and to spoil you as my own son, because I've seen a spark within you, Sasha -- you're special.  But we can hardly get to talking before you've settled in, relaxed, and had your supper."

The table was lined with dishes, and though Kronos had been wanting a rack of lamb, there wasn't a scrap of meat in sight.  There were acorn squash baked with fresh butter and brown sugar, savory pastries and spinach tarts, sherpard's pie and Asian pear salad with walnut and a raspberry vinagarette, stuffed tomatoes and cheesey mashed potatoes, a wheat-meat roast with caper and lemon sauce alongside seasoned, sauteed carrots, cranberries and garnish galore. 

"I would say that our supper will grow cold, Sasha, except it won't.  What you see before you is the result of magics that are within your control.  I know that life has thrown you rocks; I also know that you can transmute them into gold, and I will show you the way.  All you have to do is greet your power."  With that, Kronos held his gaze.  "You are a powerful Wizard," he said.  "Everything you see before you, everywhere here in this castle, it can all be yours.  I'm only here to show you your natural path, son.  Please, sit with me."

Once his escort had excused himself from the room, the long dining hall was vacant except for Sasha and an old man seated at the table.  Thinned skin, whips of white hair and the well-balded patch on the man's head hinted at his advanced age but nothing about the man even suggested age had served to weaken him or dull his senses.  Even without rising from his seat, the man commanded a regal and even intimidating presence and what Sasha could see of the man's attire matched the splendor of the castle's interior in every way.  Even without introductions, there was no doubt in Sasha's mind.  This was the Man of the House.  There'd only been a few scattered instances in which the panic had settled enough to allow Sasha to take stock of the events of the afternoon and give them consideration.  Since his arrival at the castle, not a person had come near him - not a soul had lifted a hand against him.  When Sasha's knees had given out; the scarred faced man had almost seemed terrified of catching him.  The conclusion was obvious.  Sasha's fate laid with this man.  Whatever would become of this meeting. 

"Your father."

In the silence that followed, Sasha felt his chest clench as color flooded his cheeks.  So.  He knew.  It was humiliating.  Sasha was standing there, in a castle with a closet full of clothes his size in front of a man who knew Sasha's father - stepfather - was no source of help or support.  He felt like a diary left open to the juiciest news on a bench in the subway station.  This man claimed to have 'seen a spark' and, Sasha didn't even know the man's name. 

The man claimed Sasha was in no immediate danger though Sasha could hear Dreogan in the back of his head warning him not to take the man's word at face value.  Either way, while the man currently intended no harm, it was clear there were expectations.  For better or worse, it was a situation Sasha knew all too well.  Behave, play by the rules and live up to expectations.  The better you succeed the less likely you were to find yourself on the receiving end of something unpleasant.  It was a game Sasha was well versed in.  If it'd keep him alive - if it'd keep him safe long enough to get out or be found, that was all he needed.  And, if the man was lying ... what really could he do at this point?

Self-consciously, Sasha's hands trailed over the front of his shirt and his head, trying to brush out as many of the stray wrinkles and ease his hair back into place.  Of course, it was becoming increasingly obvious that this man was expecting someone else; being special, greeting power and powerful wizard were just not phrases associated with the gangly German lad.  Smart, yes.  Hard worker, certainly.  Powerful ... not quite so much.  However, bursting that hopeful bubble now was probably not the wisest move - Sasha really preferred not to think about what would happen to him once this man realized how off the mark he was.  Disappointment was inevitable; Sasha was used to that by now.  If he was lucky, though, maybe he could hold it off until he could find a way out.  In the meantime, he'd just have to sustain the act.

"Yes, sir.  Thank you.  It looks ... lovely."  A few last tugs at his shirt and Sasha finally approached the table, lowering himself into one of the chairs.  Now with something of a plan brewing in his head, it was easier to stave of the panic.  And even find the courage to find his voice.  As quiet and unsure as it was. 

"I would like to contact my family, sir.  Let them - let them know where I am."  Like a taunting flashback, Sasha remembered telling that Terry fellow no one would be looking for him.  Though, perhaps, not all the details had been passed on.  In case he had, perhaps pointing out that at some point someone would be looking, he added: "my sister.  She lives with an auror.  She'll wonder if she hasn't heard from me." 

"How ... if I might ask, sir, how do you know so much?  Are you - have you been watching me?"  It was one of those questions for which, again, Sasha wasn't sure he really wanted to know the answer.  'Yes' seemed the reasonable and logical answer even if that answer was exceedingly discomforting.  And, of course, it seemed to beg another question though Sasha wasn't sure if the expectation was that he was allowed to ask.  Or, if he should since it threatened to expose his potential uselessness to the man.  But, curiosity got the better of him.  "Why?" He shrugged his shoulders slightly.  "Why ... me.  I'm not - I mean, I'm good at schoolwork but - I -"  He looked down at the bowl of salad in front of him, tempted to steal a piece of pear to divert him from digging his own grave (literally) but etiquette stayed his hand.  "I've ... never met you but ... you want to keep me here?"  His gaze quickly traveled the room, his mind still racing to figure out this fellow's ulterior motives.

As the poor boy yammered on out of nervousness or distress about letters home and Aurors, Kronos tapped their self-serving plates once with his wand and sat back as a pile of each entree arranged into what would become a heaping feast.  "Good," he said.  "If I did mean you harm, you know where your power lies now."  Kronos gave his signature smirk -- a one-sided, predatorial upward curve with open mouth that somehow made him seem like a hyena.  "We can arrange for a letter to your sister soon enough," he said.  "I wouldn't want any misunderstandings to lessen our time together.  Very considerate of you."  The plates settled down before their company alongside full salad bowls and goblets of pumpkin juice.

"Still," said Kronos, cutting into his wheat roast with shiny fork and knife.  "It's important that we wait until you feel comfortable and at home for that.  It could take a few days, Sasha, but I do think that you'll fit right in here."  Kronos took a bite of his food and closed his eyes, savoring the flavors and the seeming acceptance of his guest of his special plan.  It would be good to have the boy assure his family first of his safety and comfort, to keep them at bay.  But Kronos was sure that they wouldn't put forward much of a threat.  After all, you didn't avoid notice for sixty-eight years to be bothered by the mention of a Muggle and a single Auror.  Best to give it some time till his handwriting and assurances would mirror his own confidence in the situation.  It would come with time. 

"We do things a little differently around here," he told Sasha in response to his string of questions.  "Out of common courtesy, I needed to gather as much information as possible, to see how best to accommodate you.  Your new wardrobe, the fun things we'll do together, the food we'll eat -- I want it all to be satisfactory for you.  And if it ever isn't, Sasha, I want you to tell me.  Demand the best!  It'll all be yours, tailored to your most nuanced preferences.  That is the way it should be."  Kronos dug into his acorn squash with an untouched spoon.

"My name," he said, a small smile growing as he put as much drama into his enunciation as he could, "is Kronos Malvivicus.  So now you've met me.  Do you remember the articles in the Daily Prophet about you?  I can relate to your situation, Sasha, and I want you to have a role model, someone who doesn't question your talents or your future, someone who understands -- you belong to the magical world, you see.  You are a divine being, a miracle, and you cannot allow them to take that away from you."  Kronos's eyes grew heavy and dark as he slipped back into silence, devouring his food. 

A little while later he looked over at his company.  "Tell me you like the way people treat you," he said.  "Do they show you respect?  Do you get along with the other children at school?  Are you recognized for your accomplishments?  Do you get letters of praise from home?  Proud fans in the pitch, cheering just for you?"  Kronos took a sip of his pumpkin juice and patted at his mouth with a napkin.  "And then tell me you don't deserve it -- the praise, the gifts, all the support in the world.  I can show you the way to all of that -- and all the pretty little horses."

By all accounts, the mention of having an Auror connected to the family should have sparked some sort of response in the old man.  Some hesitation - some uncertainty - some acknowledgment of what this man had done to Sasha wasn't right and could get him in trouble.  In trouble with those like the Auror living with his sister.  If Sasha were in the man's shoes, such news would have made him at least a little nervous - of course, though, that was why it was unlikely Sasha would ever find himself in this man's shoes to begin with.  Sasha didn't really know Dreogan's brother; the man had been off somewhere the week Sasha had been in London.  But, even still, it felt like that was the only factor Sasha had in his favor right now; it was what helped bolster Sasha's belief that someone would be looking for him - someone would find him before this man realized how ... off the mark he'd been with Sasha. 

Surely, at some point, someone would come looking.  Right?  Aurors were good at that kind of thing - finding people who were missing.  They had to be!  Though, how long would it take before they started looking?  How long was it going to be before anyone realized he wasn't where he was supposed to be?  If everyone thought he was home ... And, somehow, the man's simple, mocking response made it clear he knew just as well as Sasha what the predicament was.  The man wasn't worried.

Wouldn't want any misunderstandings to lessen our time together.  His eyes followed the path of the food-laden plate until they came to rest on the table in front of him.  Despite an obvious lack of appetite, Sasha had to admit the array of dishes was quite impressive - especially in a country that seemed rather lacking in decent vegetarian cuisine.  Avoiding meat on the Hogwarts house tables usually left one's culinary options rather limited - but this just ... nothing about it felt right. 


It didn't feel right but it felt very familiar.  For better or worse, Sasha had plenty of experience with playing the part in order to avoid consequences; he'd been doing so since he was a small child.  He was much more adept than Jacoba had ever been.  And, one look across the table at the flamboyant way the man tasted his food, partaking in the meal was just a component of playing the part.  And, it was clear that's what he intended if he was expecting Sasha would 'fit right in.'  "Thank you, sir.  That's kind.  I know she'll be anxious to hear.  I - so..."  he hesitated, unsure whether the question would be welcome.  But, 'lessen their time together' - that did imply, as far as Sasha could tell, that this man didn't intend to keep him there indefinitely.  "How long ... How long are you intending on keeping me here?" he asked.  "When will you let me go home?" 

"It's ... what do you mean, it'll all be mine?"  If the man's comment hadn't caught the lad by surprise, he would have likely thought twice before asking.  But, given how this little adventure had started, that was probably among the last things he'd expect to hear.  Was that some sort of hospitality thing?  Some sort of Scottish colloquialism Sasha wasn't aware of?  Certainly, the man couldn't mean it literally. 

Kronos Malvivicus.  Sasha was careful to quickly commit that name to memory.  What good that would do, he wasn't sure. 

"Of course," Sasha said with a shrug, finally convincing himself to take a bite of salad.  He slowly chewed the bite before shrugging again as he swallowed.  "Of course, I remember them.  I - they've - they've gotten me in ... a lot of trouble."  Either directly or indirectly.  "You're ... you're parents didn't know you were, you know, a wizard?" he asked, that being the obvious assumption of the man's ability to relate.  Perhaps, Sasha was taking that statement too literally.  (Not surprising; he was prone to being overly literally).  "I don't - I ..."

The man launched into a long, flamboyant combination of blind compliments and eerily astute observations of Sasha's situation.  If the man's observations of Sasha's experience at school weren't so accurate, Sasha would have, again, assumed he'd grabbed the wrong person.  But this Malvivicus clearly knew too much - he had the right person; he was just grossly ill-informed of what to expect.  Sasha's hand brushed absentmindedly over the side of his ribcage, gingerly tugging the bottom of his shirt up just enough for him to glance at the brilliant purple bruise still lingering on his side from when Knight cornered him just the night before.  A careful layer of powder concealed the bruises still lingering on his face.  It had proved to, indeed, be quite magically waterproof. 

"What if I'd just rather go home?" he asked, quietly, setting his utensils on his plate.  "I'm ... I'm not sure I am who you think I am.  I'm muggleborn - at least, I think I am.  I don't really know.  And I - I'm ... I'm good at studying and essays but I just get by with my wandwork.  I'm not - I'm sorry."  Perhaps, confessing his weaknesses would prove a bad move.  But perhaps, just perhaps, Sasha would be lucky and he'd just decide to let Sasha go. 

Kronos was clearly startled at the boy's soft resignation.  He, too, put down his utensils gently.  By all accounts, that was him sitting beside himself.  Only -- younger.  Yes, Kronos had been much different by the time he was Sasha's age.  Albeit a brilliant student, he was corrupted by dark values, and a narcissistic eccentricity ruled his being.  He didn't have any friends.  He had pawns.  Kronos, at age fifteen, was already well on his way to committing the first murders that would set the stage for his evolution.  He knew what he was.  He was different.  He was better.  He was best.

He leaned forward, sighed, and looked far off into the distance.  "You may not see it now, Sasha," he said.  "But this is your home.  Do you really have somewhere better to be?  Do you really think that your family would welcome you in -- mid-term?  No.  You can stay with me for the length of your suspension, and they won't have to know anything about it.  And when you've settled in, Sasha, you can write to anyone whom you wish, do whatever it is that you want.  But no, you cannot leave prematurely.  As long as your suspension lasts, you're safest here with me."  He blinked heavily, turning his gaze on Sasha.  "And sod it, if you won't allow yourself a present.  Get into the X-mas spirit, boy."  Suddenly Kronos was frowning, a deeply dramatic sort of frown.  Why was Sasha not happy? 

"All their fault, that," he said, answering his own inner monologue.  He did not sound angry, though his speech was emphatic.  "You're smarter than them; don't you see?  They've been filling your head with codswallop! --  Not enough!?  Never enough for the likes of them, O no no no.  Best to go home now, face your punishment?  Is that -- is that what you're thinking?  Well, -- rubbish!  You are you, Sasha.  You are a Wizard."  Kronos knotted his brow, retrieved his fork, and paid some attention to his carrots and potatoes.

"My parents knew what I was," he said darkly after a stretch of silence.  He wasn't looking up from his plate anymore, just moving his food around aimlessly.  "Saw fit to make my life a living hell, they did.  Didn't like the truthsie.  I was different.  Like you.  Magic.  Have you ever wondered what would have happened if they knew, Sasha?  Makes them scared, gaumless, daft.  Oh -- dear...."

His thoughts took a bitter, sharp turn toward his mangy father, who had been an utter failure of a man with a scowl as deep as the sea... and he never could recall an instant where the broad, big-nosed fisherman had smiled upon him as a little boy.  It was, rather, always with that harrowing look, that disapproving grimace filled with silence or harsh words.  He was a burly, manky, bullheaded old codger.  And, at the moment, causing Kronos to recall a song.  I see all too clearly now, it went, -- why you could be discarded.  And though I could pray for you, I probably shan't -- having had my cup filled up!  With your lies, and your makeup... you were nothing, thinking you're something.  And nonetheless I still write this Gothic love song -- a sign to myself and a memory of my past.  I still write, this Gothic love song -- a sign to myself and a memory of my past... and a way to shut out your face!*

Kronos wore a very unpleasant look for a while, holding up his hand for silence and bowing his head painfully.  In his mind's eye he envisioned the man he'd hired that day, to wipe his father from the face of the Earth.  He was fresh from Hogwarts then, and on a mission.  He played out the entire exchange in flashes in his mind, from the payment to the delivery -- of memories to put in his pensieve and watch time and time again -- when feeling blue.... 

Then he smiled.  And it was cranberries to the rescue.

"I have some of my men shopping for horses, Sasha," he said conversationally after a few (especially well-savored) bites.   "Tomorrow and every day after you can ride in the field!  You'll like the field.  We will also, of course, see to it that you're ready to retake your exams afterward -- you'll have full tutoring sessions in all subjects as much as you like, you know.  Because when I say that it can all be yours, Sasha -- I really do mean that it can all be yours."  Kronos smiled broadly at his guest, pausing a moment before adding brightly, "We can work on your wand hand, too, -- son."

His eyes tried so hard to glitter.
 

---

* Lyrics by Current 93