Late afternoon,
Southern Ireland,
near Cork.

Kronos had been interrupted a total of five times, and there was now a pile of incapacitated employees by the door of his Divination room.  The fifth man saw fit to start with "Sasha --" and was spared.  Kronos snapped his hand open with his wand tucked tightly under his thumb in anticipation of a letter, still studying the runes on the table before him.  The man walked briskly across the room and placed the opened letter in the old man's hand.  It was lighter than what he'd become accustomed to.  He was beginning to take for granted that he would continue to receive Sasha Schlagenweit's ongoing life story in large episodic letters sent very frequently.  It had been a good few days since he had started to expect his latest response... but it was only a single scrap of parchment tucked inside an opened envelope.

"Get out of here," said Kronos.  He read the note immediately, his face a blank slate.  A few moments later he was moving through the home with a pace that necessitated a sort of hopping motion that gave merit to the middle name of his alias. 

"Someone feed the cats," he barked, his ornate orange and yellow robes fluttering behind him as he half-walked, half-hopped through the sitting room.  There were Wizards all around, most of them lounging or playing Wizard's chess.   "Lazy mules, eh.  Where is my coat." 

He was directing his energies toward a particular person now and had stopped.  A second's pause followed, presumably as the other Wizard gaged the old man's mood to discern which coat he meant.  There were of course hundreds of coats.  But if he said "my coat" he probably meant one of about a dozen.  The effeminate man let his gaze dart over the old man's face and linger briefly over his clothes. 

"Red and gold gilded, Sir?"  He said, producing it immediately with the aid of his wand.  Kronos seemed satiated by this, stepping into the coat and turning toward the long mirror by the entry room.  "Five of you for muscle, come now," he ordered.  They worked it out amongst themselves as Kronos stepped into his curly-toed shoes, and soon were following him out to the area under the willow tree, just beyond the gate all the way across the green, green yard. 

Seconds later, in Sasha Schlagenweit's tackroom in Ricksmansworth, England, Kronos Malvivicus materialized out of thin air, a circle of linked-in Wizards appearing alongside and behind him in the same instant, a human circle.  They all held their wands aloft in their right hands, left hands joined to their neighbor's shoulder, all ready to act in all directions or disapparate as a cohesive whole.  It so happened that Kronos was facing directly toward Sasha as they appeared in the tackroom.  The Wizards on either side of him had one hand each grabbing his shoulders.

"Sasha dear, so good to see you," said Kronos quickly.  "Come with us now, son, we'll be much safer speaking at my residence, yes?"

The smallest of voices had whimpered in protest in the back of Sasha's mind the moment the tiny little owl had launched itself off from Sasha's fingers.  The letters had been easier to justify in his mind - they weren't impersonal but ... actually, Sasha had been relieved by the insistence that they not see each other.  It had just been so much easier to reason that there was no harm in responding to a simple, casual letter. 

But, this.  This was different.  This was outright defiance.  This was going exactly against what Dreogan had asked and Dreogan had asked such because he was concerned.  Concerned, though, was an understatement.  And, if Dreogan found out about this ... well he had so much on his plate already.  Bothering him with this would just make him worry more.  And, Sasha assumed Kronos could handle this without getting overly protective.  After all, Sasha wouldn't ever have demonstrated this level of defiance if the need hadn't been so dire. 

There'd been no shortage to the number of reasons Sasha had come up with to quiet that uncertain voice in the back of his head.  Not that it would have made any difference, anyway.  The owl was gone.  It had already been done.  Though he subconsciously chose not to look too deeply into the realization, he knew not being here when Kronos did respond would be bad. 

Whatever that response may be.

Time passed slowly.  There was little Sasha could do to occupy his time that didn't seem to make matters worse.  His abdomen hurt.  The eight deep gashes across his belly had yet to show any signs of healing - they hadn't even effectively scabbed over.  He'd changed the gauze padding at least a dozen times since last night and they still seemed to seep as much as it had before.  In fact, by earlier that morning, it became clear they were actually getting worse.  And, quickly.  The dose of antibiotics he'd stolen last night from the medicine chest back at the boarding stables near London while he'd been cleaning up hadn't helped much.  If he was being painfully honest, it hadn't done anything.  It had been shortly after the fever had set in that Sasha had resorted to owling Kronos. 

In short order, he'd found himself prone on the tackroom couch, trying to avoid movement as much as possible.  He'd faded into a feverish, semi-sleeping state quite sometime before a sudden, loud crack had roused him.  Sasha sat up quickly with just enough adrenaline surging through his bloodstream to mask the pain as he started to reach for his wand.  But, the relief was short lived.  The pain came back with a vengeance, making up for the previous movements and catching him with a wave of nausea.  Sasha froze, mid-motion and scrunched his eyes shut.  Kronos was speaking but the words didn't quite make sense until after several long, slow, shallow breaths had stopped the room from spinning. 

"I-" he started, his gaze flickering over the five men.  One of them might have looked familiar; he couldn't quite tell.  A grimace flickered across his face; he'd grown to hate side along under the best of circumstances.  The thought of it made him nervous - sometimes close to panicking.  Now, his mind was already starting to imagine the feel of his whole body getting tugged across space on top of everything else.  The prospect wasn't pleasant.  His expression probably betrayed that even as he nodded in agreement. 

That voice in the back of his head chirped up, again, as he crossed the room to Kronos but he stubbornly ignored it.  The searing pain with each step was enough to convince it to be quiet.  "Alright," he agreed.  Then, he quickly added, "I'm sorry - I know I wasn't supposed to ... I just-"  He grew quiet, reaching his hand towards the older man.  He assumed the reasonings would become apparent soon enough.  If they hadn't, already.

Kronos's quick eyes seemed to be lighted with fire by the visage of Sasha ambling toward him in pain and delirium.  He extended his left arm out toward the boy in an uncharacteristically warm and panicked gesture; he appeared half alighted by furies and half possessed by some koala-like mama-bear demon.  And his cub, was wounded!

The five hooded dark Wizards who formed a sort of carbon-ring bond with Kronos stood at attention, their stances solid and wands extended in anticipation of action. 

"Now, now," said father Kronos, his curiously dispassionate voice quivering with a paternal air.  He leaned on his right side with the help of his decorous cane, and felt his hairy heart was under the heel of a brutish troll.  His beautiful son stood before him, for the first time since beginning the trials that awaited him on his dark night of the soul.  Sasha was, to his sight, the very image of a star being born in immaculate conception.  Nothing but a godly majesty could become of his darkness increasing.  In his mind's eye, Sasha stumbled through the nine and seven hells, reaching out toward Him for guidance in a fever.  He would answer the call in kind, for it was his calling.  Never before had there been one as great as Kronos, a gorgeous diamond in the rough. 

"Only come here," he said reassuringly.  His gaze quizzed Sasha's face momentarily and with care, registering the grimace and hesitance he showed.  "I can help you -- but we must leave now," he instructed.  "I will put you to sleep, just until we reach safety; do you trust me to do this, Son?" 

Reflexively, Sasha flinched back, slightly, from the hand as it was held out towards him.  Almost as quickly, though, he shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the age old habit as negligible as he crossed the space between the couch and the man's extended hand without any further hesitation. 

Kronos' question was met, largely, with an expression of relief.  The idea of sleep, a relief from pain (if only temporary) and avoiding what was bound to be an agonizing experience of having the opposing sides of the scratches tugged away from each other as he was dragged through space was more than welcome.  Only a fool would take being awake for that over being put to sleep.  And, it was infinitely better than being conscious and full aware and, yet, entirely immobile and helpless.   

But, that voice in the back of his head did speak up, one last time.  It tried to convince him of just how stupid this whole thing would sound if Dreogan or Jacoba ever found out.  That just meant it was all the more important he avoided them finding.  And, when he considered at the man opposite him, Sasha found nothing but legitimate concern and a desire to help.  Yes, Dreogan and Jacoba cared for him; he didn't, couldn't and wouldn't deny that.  They just couldn't understand - or chose not to understand - that the man standing across from him cared at least as much as they did.  Sasha took a deep breath and forced that voice silent, once more. 

He, finally, nodded his head.  "Yes, sir," he confirmed.  He cast another cautious glance around the circle of men.  It was, generally, them that Sasha didn't exactly trust.  Had that Terry fellow been amongst the faces, Sasha may have been more hesitant.  At the same time, Sasha felt confident that he was, quite possibly, safer in Kronos' company than he was just about anywhere else.  Sasha looked back at Kronos and nodded, again.  "I trust you."

Kronos lifted off of his cane and allowed it to stand in the air of its own accord.  "This is good, Son," he said quietly, reaching into his coat for his wand.  He aimed just above the crown of Sasha's head, humming Lavender Blue.  "Go to sleep now; Quiesco Potior," he said.  A purple stream of light cascaded over Sasha, enveloping his body in a violet glow as Kronos sang: 

"Call up your friends, dilly dilly, set them to work
Some to the plow, dilly dilly, some to the fork
Some to the hay, dilly dilly, some to thrash corn
Whilst you and I, dilly dilly, keep ourselves warm."

Sasha's head lulled as the light fell over him, his body bearing no weight but still not falling over.  He floated in his purple haze like a sleeping ghost or an idle puppet, and Kronos stepped forward out of the bond with his men, securing Sasha's arm around his shoulders and holding onto him. 

Turning round he looked over at his men.  "Get me Priestly and supplies and go back to the house," he said with a sudden terseness.  "If this Wizard isn't well by night fall, each of you boys will be going to the basement.  Get the bloody hell out of my sight and get me a professional."  He grabbed his enchanted cane and gave them all a good, one-eyed warning glare before disapparating with his snoozing son.

They arrived under the giant willow tree and passed through the tall iron gate, Kronos leading the idle and weightless Sasha Schlagenweit across the long green yard toward his Queen Anne Victorian style house in Southern Ireland.  Sasha's feet and lower legs sort of drifted behind him as he glided effortlessly along through the air under Kronos's complete control.  If Sasha had been conscious, he would have seen a large and elegant four stories, with domes and spires on its corner towers and delicate carving in the wood.  They entered through the shadowed deck out of the wet, grey day, and the decorated double doors closed behind them....

"Eximo Quiesco." 

Kronos sat on a padded stool by the chaise longue on which Sasha hovered horizontally with his head and torso elevated slightly, held down by a hand to his shoulder.  The counter curse collected the vibrantly purple, fluid light back into the tip of Kronos's wand, lifting from Sasha's toes to the tip of his head as he was gently roused from his slumber and regained his relationship to gravity. 

"There, there," said Kronos, patting his shoulder as he tucked his wand away.  "A healer is en route.  Do you remember what has happened?"   

Whether this was good or not simply wasn't a question Sasha was considering.  The voice of opposition had been quieted - there was now only the prospect of relief from pain.  And, like a blessing, the relief came.  All he knew was the soft (and now quite familiar) humming voice and the sudden cascading of cool light - not unlike so many images of the northern lights.  The light was followed by a ripple of cool, disconnected numbness as the pain vanished and, then ... nothing. 


Sasha's eyes fluttered open.  He was staring straight up at a high, cleanly painted ceiling.  He was, definitely, not in the tackroom anymore.  As consciousness slowly eased back, he became aware of the warm weight of the hand against his shoulder.  Momentarily confused and disoriented, he jerked his head to the side and started to scramble upright but the hand on his shoulder held him in place.  But, he quickly recognized the voice and the face as belonging to Kronos and settled once more back against the chaise.

At Kronos' reassurance, Sasha took another more thorough glance around the room.  The other men were gone.  When they'd parted ways or why, Sasha didn't know.  The room was completely unfamiliar.  Sasha was pretty certain he hadn't seen all of the castle in Scotland but this room didn't even resemble it in style.  What he could see of the landscape outside of the window was entirely different.  He returned his gaze to Kronos, watching him curiously.  "Where are we?" he asked.  "We're not at the-" he started to add when the curse finally faded away completely. 

The pain returned with a vengeance.  Sasha couldn't tell if things had actually gotten worse since he'd lost consciousness or if it just felt that way in the wake of the blissful numbness.  "Scheiß," he groaned under his breath, clenching his eyes shut and biting his lip as he waited for the initial intensity of the renewed pain to fade. 

But.  He wasn't going to cry. 

He held his breath and finally reopened his eyes.  He got his hands underneath him and once more tried to push himself a little bit more upright on the chaise.  "I ran into an old classmate on Wednesday," he started to explain.  Spots of blood had seeped through his shirt.  "She was expelled last summer.  For being - for being a werewolf.  You know, they had all those-"  his voice trailed off as he grimaced.  If Kronos read the Daily Prophet, he would have read the articles about the mess of werewolf attacks. 

"I forgot it was the full moon."  His face bloomed scarlet.  "She transformed and jumped me.  She caught me with her claws.  I ... I thought I could handle it myself but-"  Sasha hitched up the bottom of his shirt just enough to gently ease the tape free that was holding down one of the soaked gauze pads.  There was no doubt; the gash was angrier than before and, quite clearly, already infected. 

"No," said Kronos lightly.  "No, we're not."  There would be time to explain their change of residence later, for tours and discussions on architecture and the different boons of his distinct villas across the British Isles.  But for now, Sasha was in incredible pain, and it was all Kronos could do to squeeze his shoulder as the boy recoiled from the absence of sleep. 

Kronos looked on with concern as Sasha lifted the gauze treatment and revealed one of the wounds -- it was relatively deep, oozing, and unclean.  Setting a palm on Sasha's forehead, Kronos felt his temperature.  It was somewhere around blazing.  He only listened as the boy explained in brief what had happened to him.  He told the exact truth.  Kronos had already known that Sasha had an encounter with a Werewolf during the transformations -- he'd been informed by a watcher of his -- but, like others in Sasha's life, he hadn't yet known that anything grave had come of the encounter.

"It will all be okay," said Kronos, assuming for his own sanity that his son hadn't been infected with the saliva of this beastly creature who had attacked him. 

At that moment, the door swung open and all five men came in holding back a visitor -- a rotund Wizard dressed in crisp blue robes, who had the appearance of a disgruntled scholar.  It seemed the others were having a time keeping him still as they entered together, but the man stopped struggling as he spotted Kronos.  Kronos turned to look over his shoulder at him, and a short pause followed.

"Come here, mister Priestly; I want you to appraise this young man for treatment, then you can be on your way with your usual payment."  Kronos looked back to Sasha, not moving from the stool at the boy's side, his voice unusually placid.  The situation seemed to confuse the Wizard who Kronos had called Priestly, and it was another moment before he shook himself free of the men and slowly approached the chaise on which the sixteen year old boy lay prone and wounded.  Priestly cast a wary glance at Kronos before leaning down to lift the boy's shirt.  He made careful eye contact with Sasha in a way that seemed aimed to communicate his trust-worthiness, a hesitance to invade the boy's personal space.  What was a little boy doing in Kronos Malvivicus's care, he thought with carefully veiled astonishment.

The Wizard sighed as he lifted the third bandage.  "I suppose you already know these are the scratches of a Werewolf," he supplied.  "They need to be washed out with a magical solution -- common infection treatment won't stay these wounds.  He needs to start immediately on a blood-replenishing potion, the flow is seeping but won't stop before an antidote is given.  Probably a magically oriented bacteria is at work in his system.  A common magical antidote should accommodate....  Afterward, a long soak in murtlap essence would be ideal.  Give him something for strength, for rest, and he shall be ready by night's fall, Sir."

Kronos eyed the men standing by the door as he held his hand to frame his face.  "So?  Go with them to gather supplies from the store room, bring them back to us upon a cart.  See that Priestly receives his payment and escort him home.  You have five minutes to get us what we need.  Take six and do be assured that I will terminate your employment."  He said this all with such a fatherly voice that it seemed a harmless threat, but the six other Wizards evacuated the room as if their lives depended on the conclusion of this strange scenario.  Four of the men had left immediately, while the fifth went to collect their weary healer.  They were all out in a matter of moments, but just before the last two closed the space of the room, Kronos called to them with an unexpectedly genuine thank you, then said, "Set someone to make a bath of murtlap."  They closed the door hastily behind them.

Alone again with the boy, Kronos set his dark amber eyes on the wounds some more.  "You absolutely did the right thing in coming to me," he said.  "My men are learning that your life is as precious as mine.  Let's off with your shirt, Son.  We'll be ready for treatment in only a moment."

This wasn't the first time Sasha had found himself in the company of this older man without the knowledge of where, exactly, he was.  Then, like now, Sasha couldn't have identified whether he was still even in the British Isles, let alone pinpoint his exact location.  But, entirely unlike now, back then that realization had been met with the profound fear that could only come from knowing, even if he'd been able to call for help, he'd have no idea where to send the help to.  Or, indeed, if he was even within reach. 

But, on this visit, that fear was completely absent.  What immature shadow of trust Sasha had held in Kronos when he'd first been returned to Hogsmeade back in December had solidified fully during the months of letter exchanges.  Sasha simply accepted the lack of knowing with a slight nod of his head, trusting that he would know the answer if and when it was decided he should know. 

And, really, amidst the pain and fever, the words that offered quiet reassurance held more importance than the others.  He nodded, his features still clenched with pain as he watched the wounds ooze with morbid curiosity.  "I-" he started, his voice breaking slightly.  He swallowed past the lump in his throat and quickly shook his head.  He was grateful to find his voice sounded more steady when he finally voiced the biggest fear that had been looming over him the past day.  "I'll still be normal, right?  I ... won't have to go to the Ministry."

The door swung open and the five men returned, baring some stranger between them.  Sasha cast a quick, questioning glance towards Kronos but his host was already beckoning the stranger over.  As the stranger drew closer, Sasha shifted self-consciously on the chaise and, with his hands pressed against the cushion behind him, pushed himself into a more upright and, therefore, less vulnerable position.  He grimaced from more than physical pain as the man inspected the wounds, even closing his eyes as the remaining bandages were removed. 

None of the prescribed treatments sounded pleasant, other than the man's reassurance that things would improve by evening.  Of course, time was of the essence.  Already prone to being alarmed, Dreogan was likely to panic if Sasha's whereabouts went unknown for too long.  Sasha hadn't actually checked but he was fairly certain his mobile was as useless here as it was in Diagon or Hogsmeade.  "How badly is it going to scar?" Sasha asked, finally opening his eyes and looking up at the stranger.  "And, is it just scarring ... will there be any other ... effects?"  He wasn't going to start having fleas or dreams about chasing rabbits, was he?

Sasha watched as Kronos issued directives and sent the men off to gather supplies.  How he managed to encourage such ... efficiency, Sasha didn't know.  But, if that helped alleviate the pain faster, he was alright with that.  And, in only a matter of moments, the room was, once again, empty aside from Kronos and himself. 

"I ... sir?"  Sasha glanced up, perplexed for a moment by the man's insistence that their lives were equally valuable.  "It is- they are?"  Sasha's eyes darted to the door through which the men had passed.  Admittedly, it still confused him ... this still confused him.  Whatever this was.  What he was to Kronos.  The whats and the whys still hadn't quite worked their way out in his head, yet and that had been part of the reason Sasha had been content with the letter exchanges.  But, the gravity of his injuries had been enough to help him overlook those questions. 

He should have expected it; it was a logical chain of events, after all.  But, even so, Sasha was, noticeably startled when he froze, his hand clutching the hem of his shirt.  Color flooded his face, the red quickly pushing to the tips of his ears and well passed his hairline.  He'd always been extremely modest and self-conscious about his body.  But, the shirt at this point was ruined.  And, the need to be free from pain was quickly overriding his sense of modesty. 

His lips thinned to a terse white line as, after a few moments hesitation, he slipped free from his shirt. He shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of the number of prominent scars on his torso.  His gaze traveled the room as he searched for a suitable distraction.  "I wasn't quite sure what to do," he admitted, settling on the previous conversation as a possible distraction.  "I mean - if I went to Dreogan, he would have panicked.  And, he would have been disappointed.  And, if I went to St. Mungo's, they would have told him.  The professor that helped me let me leave before the Ministry arrived so I wouldn't have to get questioned by them, again.  I didn't want her to get in trouble for helping me, either." 

Sasha looked up at Kronos and shrugged, apologetically.  "I know it was risky.  I'm sorry.  But, thank you for meeting me."

Kronos had had to pass on answering the boy's important inquiry over the consequences of this attack, on whether he would be normal or have to visit the Ministry, just until their company had left.

Likewise, the questions which Sasha had posed to Priestly were still hanging in the air unanswered, for one glance toward Kronos and previous experiences had been enough to convince the medical man that it just simply wouldn't be wise to speak to the boy direct, to answer his questions.  The ever-controlling Kronos Malvivicus would administer the treatments and answer to his concerns, he with the drawn lips.  There was an unspoken current of control that the Wizard had grown accustomed to during his time "working" for Malvivicus.  It was one which automatically suggested that he should answer only to the man with the 24/7 wetworks staff and the big money bags, and certainly not to his injured house guest, no matter what ethical sort of training he may have had.  It simply wasn't the way of things here, wherever here was.  When he was in the presence of Kronos, he answered to no one but Kronos.  At least until he was inevitably passed off to his industrious Kronies.

He had said how his life was as important -- and this, Kronos genuinely meant.  He crinkled his face in a grin at Sasha's surprise, despite himself.  His sense of modesty was just terribly adorable.  He really didn't realize what a star he was yet, but it did make the journey that much more enjoyable, watching the young man startled by the insight.  "Of course they are, my dear boy," said Kronos amusedly.  "You are only to be treated as my own kind in my care.  With enough experience they will be no doubt following your command."  Should they want to keep their heads -- Kronos chuckled softly.  "It is only benefits this side of the fence, Son.  You're the most important person in the world to me, other than me.  You'll always be treated in kind."

There was an obvious elephant in the room as Sasha bloomed scarlet.  Kronos stood and turned away as Sasha blushed furiously, seeming to be bracing himself to take off his blood-stained shirt, hesitant to expose himself.  Kronos walked over to the fireplace and drew his wand fluidly from his long wand pocket, lighting a fire as a distraction to relieve some of Sasha's anxiety.  He took the time to take off his coat, exposing his own orange and yellow, velvet robes.  He listened to Sasha's return to the conversation as he folded his coat and laid it over the back of an armchair near the fire. 

"Naturally one has to weigh their options," he said.  "I'm sure you're catching on that -- here -- nothing is beyond reach, there is no judgement, and, I'm glad to see you." 

Working his way back over to the little foot stool near Sasha's side, Kronos sat down again, his eyes level with the boy's own.  "I don't think," he said pensively, "that you should need worry about being... infected.  If you haven't yet transformed or experienced anything especially wolfy, the chances are that you've sustained the Full Moon.  The only long-term effects you may experience aside from the likely scars would be perhaps psychological -- say in a sort of pathological hatred for Werewolves."  Kronos smiled wryly at this.  "Dirty critters in my opinion.  There are all manner of sordid affairs in the happening where it concerns the Werewolves of the British Isles, Sasha.  Never be fooled to trust a one of their sort.  They are all full of the rage of self-loathing.  But don't go on what I say.  What do you think about it?"

After hearing Sasha's response, had there been one, Kronos set his gaze out of the window beyond Sasha, which looked out on an orchard.  It would all be in bloom soon.  He allowed a moment of silence to engage them, then said, "We are in the South of Ireland now.  One of my homes, one of yours."  It was an idle moment in waiting, and the men were no doubt scrambling to procure all the possibles, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that if they did not produce medical supplies in excess they would likely be -- at least -- severely punished for their inability to produce in an hour of need.  He may as well comment on their location, as he did want Sasha to be in the know when it came to what he would, hopefully, one day inherit.  It was potentially one of his greatest downfalls -- his sudden and fast love for this boy, whom he trusted implicitly.  Not a more perfect creature walked the Earth, Kronos thoroughly believed.  That was why on learning from one of his recent letters that Sasha so loved Spanish horses, Kronos had purchased one for him.  It was a gift in waiting.  For when the time was right, which, unfortunately, wasn't now. 

And yet, how the current moment was held in perfection, solidifying their bond. 

"Enough experience?"

Sasha's fingers maintained their tight grip on the hem of his shirt as his blue eyes followed Kronos' path across the room to the fireplace.  As the man busied himself with lighting the fire, Sasha watched him for a few moments in silence.  That hadn't been a conditional statement, Sasha was well aware, but he wasn't entirely sure what experience Kronos was referring to. 

Sasha was well aware of what others said about Kronos and Sasha could certainly see how ... intimidating the man could be if one was on his wrong side.  Sasha even knew, directly from Kronos himself, that some - if not most - of what everyone said was true.  And, Sasha vividly remembered the fear that had taken hold when he'd first been brought into this man's company.  He'd been certain Kronos was looking for someone vastly different than the gangly 15-year-old Ravenclaw that had stood before him.  And, he'd been certain it was only a matter time before Kronos discovered what he actually had dangling on his line.  Sasha was convinced he was going to be dead the moment that inevitable disappointment set in.   

But, Kronos was anything but daft.  He knew what was going on around him.  Given the control he had over his employees, he had to understand people.  At least enough to read them.  He had to know, by now, what he was actually getting and, still, there was no sign of that disappointment.  Quite to the contrary - Sasha had never actually been the most important person to anyone before.  It was a strange statement to hear.  And, in its own way intoxicating and addictive. 

And, yes, there was still Kronos' reputation and everyone else's warnings.  But, someone out there had something against Sasha.  Someone out there wanted to hurt him.  They'd gotten to his family when he'd been at home.  They'd gotten to Ava and had framed it on him when he'd been at Hogwarts.  Thus far, the only places he'd been safe were Dreogan's home and in Kronos' home and company.  In the next few days, Sasha would be leaving Dreogan's home.  Perhaps, there was also some small quiet part of Sasha that actually knew and understood he couldn't simple get up and walk away from Kronos.  All of this calculated together led to one undeniable understanding: especially right now, being in Kronos' favor was a far safer place to be than otherwise.   

Sasha took a deep breath and braced himself, this time against the physical discomfort, as he pushed himself into a sitting position and tugged off his shirt.  He closed his eyes, again, as his head swam with the pain and fever.  Biting his lip, he lowered himself back against the chaise and took several long breaths before opening his eyes, again.  "I'm glad to see you, as well," he offered in return, watching as Kronos crossed back across the room. 

"Gott sei danke" Sasha breathed, relaxing his head back.  "I - no.  I don't...I still have no desire to eat a hamburger or ..."  His mind fished around for especially 'wolfish' behaviors.  "-scratch.  Or anything.  If that's what you mean."  He wasn't sure how he could handle being ... changed.  Infected.  The idea was horrible - shameful, even.  That, of course, was Sasha's foremost priority.  But, that did little to stem his disappointment in hearing there would be scarring.  "They'll be hideous."  He didn't have to give Kronos' question much thought.  He immediately shook his head.  "I hate them - I already hated them before this.  I was there, you know, last October when Professor Greyfriar was attacked.  I ... it was horrible.  I shouldn't have bothered talking to Olivia but - I just ..."

He hesitated a moment then pressed his palms against the chaise again to (despite the renewed protests from the gashes) push himself upright.  "You remember that girl in Hogsmeade?  Fauna?  We used to get along alright but this year-"  It was like Fauna had hit some teenaged rebellion streak late and had been going at adolescent foolishness with the determination of an adult.  He shook his head.  "She just started on this path and she was there, too.  When Greyfriar was attacked and fought the werewolf."  He flushed, hoping Kronos wouldn't ask why he hadn't, as well.  Of course, with Sasha's old wand, that would have been foolish at best.  And, suicidal at worst.  "I wasn't there when the fight ended.  But, she started this whole SAWS - some sort of werewolf rights thing.  It's just so ... stupid.  But, I was talking to one of the other students and we realized we weren't sure if she, you know ... been bit, too.  And, she'd ... dated Olivia.  Dated a werewolf!  I wrote the ministry about my suspicions and she- Fauna- got angry with me but -" 

Sasha's voice trailed off, partly from the fever swimming in his head and partly from how foolish the reasoning sounded in his own head.  He closed his eyes, again, to stave off some of the dizziness as he laid back down.  "I just wanted to know if Olivia knew if Fauna was infected.  I didn't even think if it was the full moon."  Sasha's face scrunched for a brief moment as he took several slow, long deep breaths.   

But, even as he was fighting off the tears forming in response to the pain and humiliation, Kronos' offered a distraction in the form of a topic change.  Sasha took hold of the distraction and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as he turned his head to look out the window.  "I've only been to Ireland for shows," he admitted.  "Gorey - no ... I think Warrington was the furthest South I've gone.  I've got a qualifier coming up in a couple of weeks in Kildare."