While Dreogan never sought to replace Adon in the hierarchy of the Trevelyan sphere, he could not help but feel something like an usurper tonight—or perhaps a tease.  Gwenna had simply resorted to staring suspiciously at him during the course of the meal from across the table. But Artie had continually left his chair at dinner to go to his father to whisper questions in his ear, which Jonas either distractedly nodded or shook his head to.  Until finally, the boy had whined, “But is Uncle Adon coming next time?”

Dreogan had striven to keep a straight face, but placated the boy by insisting that Adon had wanted to come—he was only preparing a surprise for them for next time, which kept him busy.

He’d need to warn Adon of that, Dreogan decided after the fact, but felt fairly confident at least that not much work would be required on Adon’s part.  Artie’s level of reverence for the younger Eleor brother was so strong that had Adon appeared on their doorstep one evening with a paperclip that he insisted he’d made especially for Artie, Dreogan suspected it would have received a special place of honor on Artie’s bookshelf beside his bed.

Which was why, when dinner came to a close, and it was time to turn the kids in to bed, Dreogan made only a gesture at offering to help—the kids, to be honest, seemed willing enough to be done with the Boring(er) Eleor—and instead remained to help with the cleanup.

The job could probably be accomplished in 3 minutes with a wand. But that would not give Anna enough time to return, so Dreogan began carefully stacking the food-spotted china from the table by hand, carrying it over to the sink and rolling his sleeves up.

“So—Meant to tell you this earlier.  My mother’s back to her flat. Which means the kids' lessons can resume as usual at her place, if you’d prefer." Dreogan turned the faucet on and began to scrub.  "Also..." there was a pause as he shifted some plates to the other side of the sink to make space, "I wanted to say good work. On getting the bastard."  There were few times that Dreogan ever gave any title resembling a profanity.  But Dreogan was not going to call Dugan Macduff by name--he did not deserve that recognition. And he did not deserve the comfort of indifference.

Capturing Dugan Macduff was some of the most promising investigative work Dreogan had seen since coming to England. Perhaps this was because he saw only the results, and in this case--unlike with Akiva, or his father, or the Runespoors, they knew who did it, and he was no longer a threat.  Closed. Definitively.  "I'm glad he's gone, I mean," he said more neutrally.

The red-headed Auror had been distracted all throughout dinner.  Jonas had obviously been trying to remain cordial with their houseguest -- his relationship with the elder of the two Eleor brothers was still rocky enough that it took an added effort to make his friendly intentions clear -- but in the moments between, it had been clear that his attention was elsewhere.  Any lull in conversation seemed to prompt him to drift off in thought, and his wife, who normally forbade him from pulling out his mobile phone during social engagements, had only given him a concerned look when he'd shot up from the table and hurried into the other room to answer the ringing landline midway through the meal.

Anna had taken the kids up to bed, politely declining Dreogan's offers to help (even if everything went as well as it could have, the mage's presence at bedtime would have likely started a riot), and so Jonas had accepted his services as a dishwasher.  Their own automatic dishwashing machine had stopped working reliably when Adon and Dreogan had installed the new wards; it had taken two Biblical-style floodings in their kitchen, the second of which had ended with Jonas throwing up his hands and calling Adon instead of the plumber, before they'd sworn off the machine entirely. 

With Dreogan washing, Jonas had taken up the assignment of drying, patting each dish down with a towel and then returning it to its proper place in the cabinets.  He had slowed down considerably as the effort went on, staring off distantly at the counter, and had already spent three minutes patting down the same china cup when Dreogan's comment made him start.

"What?"  It clearly took him a second to catch up with the conversation.  Frowning, he looked at Dreogan for a moment, and then glanced down at the cup, his forehead creasing as he realized it was already completely dry.  "Yeah, well.  Reckon we all are.  It's one less bit of trouble to worry about.  But thanks, mate," he added as an afterthought, frowning at the cup for a moment before returning it upside-down to its shelf.  "Can't say I did as much as the rest of the lot, though.  I wasn't there."

He let his gaze shift down again, his forehead creasing as he picked up another plate.  His comfort level with the two Eleors in conversation was just another way that they were different.  Silence had become comfortable with Adon; they didn't necessarily have to talk, and they could communicate in ways beyond words.  Dreogan was easily as perceptive as his younger sibling, but he relied much more heavily on turns of phrase.  As much as they looked alike, as much as they shared a sort of communal Eleor-ness in their indignation and their insistence on standing up for what they thought was right, it was sometimes hard to believe that they were brothers.  But that was what siblings did.  Even though they might not seem alike at all, even though they might not necessarily see each other all that often or have very much in common, there was still something unshakeable, as if underneath it all, it was just --

Jonas stopped.  He wasn't going to think about this just now.

"So what's on your mind, Dreogan?" he asked suddenly.  Clamping down on that particular train of thought, the Auror began scrubbing furiously at a nearly-invisible drop of water.  "I mean, not that we mind having you over for dinner -- you and Akiva are welcome anytime, you know," he added nonchalantly, not looking at the other man as he extended the verbal olive branch, "but I reckon you didn't stop in just to stay after and help with the dishes."

Dreogan had taken enough opportunities to look at the spot on the counter which Jonas seemed pointedly--yet distantly--focused upon to know that there was nothing there.  The investigator had been uncharacteristically distant at dinner, but his distraction hadn't been the idleness evasion.  At times, Jonas had responded this way in conversations at Wagamama when a particularly tangential comment pricked his interest;  Jonas would break off in thought--only to rejoin rather jarringly to contribute whatever conclusion he had resolved upon on his own.

But it was apparent that Dreogan could not attribute anything he had said--or even anything in their conversation at dinner--as the source of the man's mood.  His own family life seemed healthy.  The children seemed very attached to him, and Anna very--remarkably--supportive.  Adon would have prepped him to tread softly on this visit, had Jonas been particularly anxious about work-affairs; Dreogan already knew somewhat about Adon's take on Rosier, for instance.

It was something else.

Jonas rejoined him in a moment, self-consciously from a thought by the wayside. Dreogan nodded, acknowledging Jonas' point, at least. Even if he didn't fully agree.

"It doesn't always come down to the number of Aurors in a room, when it goes down," Dreogan said with a slow, hesitant smile.  "While perhaps not as visible, I know there's a lot of front-end work involved in those sorts of things. I've a real appreciation for the investigation-side.  All the work that goes into it." Though he wouldn't bring up their mutual efforts in congregating enough evidence to arrest Trevor--that had been, primarily, the incident that had shown him the level of attention and detail these issues required.

And it had given him enough confidence in  Jonas' investigative abilities. Even if--at times--he did not trust Jonas' strategem. He handed Jonas a new plate, muttering a quiet, reiterating "Thanks."

Jonas was quiet again, and Dreogan watched him as subtly as he could, with mounting concern.  Though he would never present the sentiment to Jonas in these terms, he had always felt a heightened sense of compassion towards the man.  They had only known each other about a month before it became quite apparent that Jonas had felt very alone. He had heard of his estrangement from magical society, of the loss of his best friend, and of his separation from his wife and children.  And Dreogan had known--very well--what that solitude, what the self-exile could feel like.  And Dreogan had tried to be worthy of the trust Jonas had lent in the man.

And--as events unfolded--Dreogan had not been.  It had troubled Dreogan; he would not deceive himself into thinking it was not still present. But they were talking.  Dree was talking.

"So what's on your mind, Dreogan?" Jonas cut back in, and Dreogan smiled a little sadly, happy to have company in the conversation once more.

He wished he might have asked Jonas the same thing.  And some day perhaps, if he was ever in Jonas Trevelyan's confidences, he would.  For now, he noted that he ought to spur Adon on to more aggressively investigate the wellbeing of his friend.

"I appreciate you making time for me tonight. I know you're very busy. And I am happy, you know," he said, smiling a bit more readily, "to help with the dishes. Anytime. It's about the only think Akiva will let me do in the kitchen.  I've gotten decent with cleaning charms, at the very least."  He took a moment before putting his sponge beside the sink, allowing the soapy, food-crusted pans to soak.  Tilting his head towards the deserved dinner table, he moved towards it.

"But you're right.  You've heard--I know--about the new Muggle Affairs office..." Something they'd somehow managed to avoid in their dinner discussion.  They had talked of the upcoming wedding, and Akiva's pregnancy, which lead seamlessly into childrearing stories, which had given Dreogan a sufficient level of horror and misgivings to elicit enough nervous laughter to fill the rest of the week.  "All the press seems to really hone in on is that we're there to help Muggles and Muggleborns. And while that's the end goal, I suppose that's not strictly it's methodology. . ." He looked up at the ceiling as he formulated his thought. "What we truly hope to do," he said, "is to help the various branches of the Ministry carry out their preestablished missions--with an eye towards facilitating any interaction with the Muggle world--or Muggle borns and squibs that they will inevitably have.  For instance," he said filling his lungs, "we'll be working with the Department of Magical Transportation to help ensure that magic-less individuals in the magical community--such as Squibs, Muggle relations, sentient creatures--have access to the same modes of transportation that Magic-weilding members do. Accesibility. Not unlike Muggle chairlifts for those in wheelchairs. Something to facilitate access to Diagon Alley; ability to purchase floo. M.A.O. is looking into Ministerial subsidies for that and some sort of chaperoning service..."

He blushed and cringed. "I will have to think of a better term for that..." With another nervous laugh, he shook his head. "Sorry.  That is not very much to the point.  Put simply, I want to help each Department and agency assess their needs, and to see where we might effectively contribute.  Why I'm here--talking to you--is because, while I've put some thought to how we might serve as an auxiliary to some of Level Two's efforts, I'm not fully conscious of all of Level Two's proceedings. And--" he said with sharp emphasis, "I don't expect to be. But what I'd like, is someone in Level Two who could, in an official capacity, coordinate efforts with M.A.O.  Hopefully someone who's also put a lot of thought into this. And has thought of opportunities--" Dreogan was looking pointedly, with level eyes, at Jonas, "and would appreciate any bureaucratic advocates to push for implementing some change..."

Taking a deep breath and easing back into his seat, he said with a casual tone that he hoped, did not betray the anxiety he felt in his stomach, "And, if I were to be completely honest, I would prefer that to be you--though I'd understand if you've got a busy caseload."

At first, it took an effort to concentrate on what Dreogan was saying.  Jonas had heard of the mage's new office and its unfortunate acronym, but he hadn't really dedicated much thought to it beyond expressing sympathy when Adon griped about his brother's latest pet project.

He had followed Dreogan back to the table, awkwardly taken a seat as well, but when the mage began speaking of problems with magical transportation, his immediate reaction was swift and defensive.  Jonas went still, clenching his jaw as he followed the mage's movements, his expression tight.  But it quickly became clear that any reference to his problems with magic wasn't what Dreogan meant.  Aiding Squibs and Muggle family members with transportation -- it was certainly reasonable.  And the mention of collaboration with other departments led to the next logical conclusion, which was that if Dreogan was getting into the business of collaborating, he'd also want to work with --

It was all extraordinarily reasonable.  Jonas bit his tongue, his expression thoughtful as he let his gaze slide past Dreogan.  He would be the first to admit that in recent months, Level Two had been completely outclassed by their opponents' knowledge of Muggle life.  The attack on Rosier.  The WBA using polyjuice to move so freely throughout Muggle society.  Even the incident with Hyskos and the run-in with Tait's murderer in London -- it had become abundantly clear that magical criminals as a whole had realized that the Ministry's lack of familiarity with the mundane world was a weakness that they could exploit.

The suggestion was completely logical, but Dreogan's conclusion still took him by surprise.  Jonas blinked, glancing at the other man in surprise.  Use MAO to support Level Two's efforts -- it made perfect sense.  But using him as the official go-between -- even if he was the most obviously familiar with Muggles --

"Look, Dreogan," he started, trying out the sound of each word awkwardly on his tongue.  "I...appreciate you asking me.  And yeah," he said slowly, "I reckon I've thought about how we could do things better.  It's no secret that I think the Ministry can be bloody gits when it comes to policy, and they don't know a goddamned thing about dealing with Muggles," he added bitterly.  "But I don't --"

It wasn't that he didn't, Jonas realized as he let the word hang in the air.  The problem was that he couldn't.  Couldn't make amends.  Couldn't be whatever Dreogan expected Aurors to be, though he still suspected that the problem lay less with generic 'Aurors' and more with the specific 'friends of Dreogan's brother.'  They could be civil; they could chat; they could even act as though they were on relatively decent terms and invite each other over for dinner, but the interaction would never be the same as it had been.  The mage had made that uncomfortably clear.

It was nice for Dreogan to have asked.  Thinking of him, going through the obvious gesture of setting up a chance to make the request, made it obvious that he wasn't trying to run Jonas out.  But acquiescing would be a disaster.  They didn't need a reason to work more closely together; what they needed was an excuse not to get pulled in to each other's business at all.

"I just think you'd be better off pulling in someone you trust," he said, shaking his head.  "This'll be a mess otherwise, and you don't need more to juggle on top of what you've already got on your hands, mate.  There are other blokes on Level Two who know a bit about Muggles," he added encouragingly, not quite meeting Dreogan's gaze as he flashed him a crooked smile.  "Reckon you could try your brother, even."

Dreogan kept his expression impassive at Jonas' methodical response.  He was working through his emotions even as he spoke, and when the long pause, in which Jonas didn't--for some extended time--kept Dreogan's own emotions suspended somewhere between misgiving and disappointment.


From the first two words--careful and slow--Dreogan had known the answer was not a "yes."  At least not a simple yes.  Dreogan was willing, though, to do what he could to turn it that way.  He'd had years of experience in getting to yes.  That was what conflict resolution was, and Dreogan felt that there was seldom this much at stake in a resolution.  Adon's good-will, the wellbeing of M.A.O... a restored friendship...


"I just think you'd be better off pulling in someone you trust."


Dreogan also shook his head at the anticipated protest, his jaw set.  "I trust you absolutely in this," he said with conviction.  "I've put considerable thought into this.  To my knowledge, you're the only Auror who has been fully enculturated into both worlds--who has investigated in both worlds.  Even if there are other Muggleborn Aurors who I could trust with this, they wouldn't have the knowledge to know what resources were even available. They haven't had the time away from Level Two to view it objectively." 


Dreogan tried to keep his face stoic, but his agitation was apparent. "Jonas--you are a resourceful and dedicated investigator; I'm  perhaps too selective with who I want on board... and while I understand that not everything will go according to plan..." he exhaled through his nose.  "In my mind, the plan'd always been you for this. Now," he said, expanding his lungs with a deep breath, "you're right. There are others. And I can find others. And I would understand--of course, I would quite easily understand--if past differences, or if increased workloads--were disincentive.  And if that's the case--" He gave a hesitant smile at the investigator across the table, tapping his fingers softly on the wooden surface. "I suppose I'd be interested in who you would be willing to recommend."

The red-haired man stared off distantly into space.  Letting out a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.  After the week he'd had already -- the end of their vigilante experiment, the news about his sister Euphemia -- he felt far too tired for another battle of wits with Dreogan Eleor.

"Adon'd be your best bet," Jonas said tiredly.  That probably wasn't anything that Dreogan didn't already know; the mage's younger brother certainly didn't keep quiet about his myriad of talents.  "He knows more about some of the technology and security systems'n I do, he's good with the legal bits, and he's probably the most thorough investigator we've got.  Daphne Spencer'd be the other one, but I dunno if she wants to come back to the Ministry." He gave a helpless shrug; disillusioned Muggle-borns were something that were too easily understood. "Reckon you'd have to feel her out."

Jonas sighed, plunging a hand into his pocket as he leaned back in his chair, craning his head upwards as he tried to think.  The again-comfortable weight wasn't there -- he'd left his badge in the pocket of his coat, as he usually did when he was home -- but the action was familiar enough that it came without thinking. Overhead, the ceiling let out a series of subtle creaks -- Anna's footsteps upstairs, as she checked on the children one last time to make sure Gwenna hadn't suddenly decided to turn into a vampire after the lights were out.  Assuming everything passed muster, they had probably another minute before she'd be back down.

Plenty had changed for the better in the past few months, and none of it had happened by chance.  Stubbornly staying his course had yet to solve any of his problems; in most cases, it made things like his relationship with Anna much worse.  He could certainly refuse to have anything to do with Dreogan: stay as far away from the other man as he could, avoid any contact with his best friend's brother.

If he had learned anything since January, though, it was that walking away wasn't the same as a solution.

"Tell you what." The words came out sounding more resigned than he'd meant them.  Jonas let out a breath and looked back across the table at the mage, his expression still cautious as he met Dreogan's gaze.  "Write up a description of what you're thinking for this, and I'll run it by Raynor and Rosier, yeah?  If they get on board -- and A and Anna are both alright with it," he added, warily and tentatively, "then I reckon you and I could talk."

"Adon'd be your best bet."  Dreogan's smile grew strained as he fought the twinge of disappointment. It shouldn't have smarted; he should have expected it.
 
Jonas had more reasons to say "no" than "yes," anyhow.  He nodded to what the man was saying, adding only, "Well, Spencer's going to be working directly under me, actually." He grinned.  "It did take a bit of coaxing, though. I'm excited to have her on board."

The silence that now passed, in which he heard the floorboards creaking from above; in which he watched Jonas, with an air of exhaustion, puzzle something out, filled him with increasing concern.  It was apparent that though Jonas had freed his schedule for this dinner, he was not, in other senses, available.  And it wasn't right to have continued the conversation after Dreogan became rather certain that--
 
Dreogan put both his hands on the table, ready to push out and apologize for intruding, when Jonas cut in again.
 
"Tell you what." However defeated they might have sounded, Dreogan could not help but smile.  Listening attentively to Jonas' conditions, Dreogan began to nod.  Jonas was impressive--he was proving to be quite sensible, wanting to go through the right circuit, get the proper approvals... He seemed almost cautious in his approach.  It had not been what Dreogan had expected.
 
"Of course." Dreogan actually had such a write-up on hand, but he refrained from mentioning this to the tired, care-worn Auror in front of him. "And we can discuss once you've had a bit more time to think things over," he said with a reassuring smile.  "I really just wanted to run the idea by you--to hear your thoughts. . ."
 
He glanced over by the stairs, wondering if Anna would come down soon, and vascilating between broaching the subject with her as well--or, "Jonas--" he said, abruptly, "I also wanted you to know... about the book fair... I appreciate that you called me." Swallowing, Dreogan bent forward slightly in his seat to grab the handle of his briefcase. His last words sounded dangerously like the beginning of a confession, or a sentimental acknowledgement that Jonas would need a joke to dismiss. So he added, after a time, "It was things like that--" he was thoughtful a moment before continuing, having found his rhetorical footing, "that solidifed what I hoped MAO could do for Level Two. It seems a lot of cases are using Muggle locations, these days..."
 
Which brought him to another thought. "It's good that there are people like you--who are aware of this, and taking precautions... Though..." he smiled slightly, "what have you been using in lieu of a refrigerator?"

The stumbling words started out a bit circuitous, but he could guess at the ultimate intention.  Jonas nodded tiredly, prepared to concede the point.  He wasn't going to argue with Dreogan over the need for more Muggle awareness in Ministry investigations.  The recent WBA activity had made that very clear.  When the anti-Muggle purists were running circles around the men and woman who were supposed to be protecting the masses, then something obviously needed to change.

Dreogan, though, never seemed to take very much pleasure in being predictable.  He changed topics halfway through his speech, praising Jonas for being aware of the issue, and then suddenly switched subjects again, leaving Jonas racing to keep up with him.

"The refrigerator?" the Auror echoed, looking perplexed.  The question was so unexpected, had come so out of context, that it took him a moment to process it. 

"Uh, we've been getting takeout, mostly."  Jonas eyed the other man, suddenly not certain if this were the answer that Dreogan was looking for, or if the wastefulness of it all had disqualified him in the running for MAO's law enforcement liaison.  "Anna and I usually work late anyhow, so that's been easiest," he added, a tad defensively, glancing at the malfunctioning and now empty appliance.  "Plenty of things keep alright without being put on ice."

"Of course--Adon's said you've both been very busy at work. I haven't known him to be quite this dedicated to his job before..." Dreogan said, giving a sheepish smile. He had not been the most clear.  "I just wanted to make sure that things were taken care of; that we hadn't mucked things up by redoing the security measures on the place... If you need anything, though," he said, reaching into this pocket and giving a goofy smile as he produced his cell phone, "just a call away, of course. I'm glad," he said, stumbling a bit to re-track to the real meaning behind bringing up the book fair incident, "you've called in the past."


It was an awkward way to end.  He and Jonas had never been open about their differences in the past, which made an open reconciliation impossible. Compliments, reassurances, and requests all needed to be layered.  This had not been the most productive.  Placing both hands on the edge of the table, he prepared to push out--to bid them goodnight.


He threw his weight back in the chair and, with a light sigh, leaned back in.


"Jonas." He said, levelly. "I've professionally worked on resolving differences of opinion for three years--I'm a little embarrassed to say that I haven't been the best at doing my job in my own personal life." He wet his lips and sighed again. Forced sustained eye contact. "We have had our differences in the past. I'm not sure if our opinions on the matter have changed. I suspect not. But notwithstanding that, I would be remiss if I didn't thank you for what you've done for Adon. Especially on March 15th. And for sticking with him--despite the risk." This felt much harder when it was not about international foreign policy. When it was about your family. He  kept his fingers from fidgeting, from feeling the surface of the table, or from pushing away from it again.


"Appreciation can't really describe it sufficiently. But I want you and I to work together. And not just for Adon's sake. And not just to repay you for what you've done. And I want you to know that I will be happy to help your family in any way that I can. And that you can, if you wish, always give me a call."


He cleared his throat, now breaking eye contact to glance down at the floor for his briefcase. Jonas' thoughts were burdened and lay elsewhere. He didn't expect a response.


Dreogan was not sure if he wanted one.


With slow, deliberate movements, Dreogan lifted the handle of the briefcase from off the floor, laid both of his feet flat against the floorboards, and pushed out.  The sounds from upstairs had died down.  Anna would be returning any moment. It had been silent for at least ten seconds. Any more, and the stay could quickly be overstayed.

He had finally been focused on what the diplomat was saying.  The admission, so awkwardly given, would have normally been enough to make him wish he wasn't; dealing with emotional confessions had never been Jonas's forte, and with relations already tense with the mage, it wasn't as if he wanted to tread that ground again.

But Dreogan didn't leave it at that.  He kept talking.  Held his gaze, in a way that he hadn't really since the fight -- since the possession before that.  Jonas blinked at him, surprise showing in his expression, his attention fully and wholly Dreogan's for the first time that night.  This wasn't an apology; they were both too proud, too certain that they were right for that.

But it was something else.  An expression of gratitude.  An admission of regret.  They didn't have to feel wrong for what they had done to be sorry about how it had turned out. 

"Dreogan, wait."  He rose to his feet more quickly than he usually did, but his knee held his weight.  Dreogan was already picking up his briefcase, preparing to depart, but this wasn't how Jonas wanted to leave things tonight. 

And for once, it wasn't for Adon's sake.  He'd acquiesced to Dreogan's request for an invitation because of his partner; done his best to keep the tension out of the workplace because he could see the effect on Adon.  But this was, again, something else.  It was for Dreogan -- for Jonas -- as much as it was for his best friend.

"Reckon we can disagree and not let it be personal, yeah?" he asked, giving the mage a quizzical look as he stepped forward.  "The last time -- I'm sorry it got so out of hand, mate," he added, flashing Dreogan a tight smile as he extended a hand to him.  "I shouldn't have let it; we could have used you in it so that things didn't turn out so badly.  I'd like for everything to be alright with us again."

Jonas was walking towards him. Jonas was--it sounded truly as though he was apologizing. And then--Jonas was offering his hand.

Dreogan had come to ask for Jonas' assistance with M.A.O.  That had been the plan, and Dreogan had not, strictly speaking, deviated from this.  But the sweeping sense of relief that bordered on euphoria revealed to Dreogan that this had not been the root purpose of the visit. This--this resolution, this sense of relief--had been what he was seeking when he had visited tonight.

It was not with a spirit of dismissal that Dreogan accepted the offer.  Dreogan remembered quite clearly the cutting betrayal, the accusation, and the unexpected attack.  Jonas had said that he was a liability--Jonas had said because Dreogan had been victimized, because he had been wronged, because things seemed to be turned against him, he couldn't have a part in it. He couldn't help keep his brother safe...

But Jonas didn't think that way now. Dreogan had seen it himself, with the way they'd dealt with Dugan's capture. But hearing the words from Jonas himself: I shouldn't have let it; we could have used you in it so that things didn't turn out so badly. That helped more than he wanted to admit.

It was a soothing balm to a wound that had been smarting and festering for some time, and Dreogan smiled warmly and openly as he mirrored Jonas' actions, taking a step forward as well, extending his hand.

Dreogan's eyes crinkled as he smiled, meeting Jonas in the eye.  "I'd like that very much, too, Jonas." He clasped the man's hand firmly. "I think it can be." He was beginning to nod, but there was an odd, prickling feeling that made his stomach tighten...

Dreogan's grip grew vice-like, eyes vacant.

Jonas was there--not in the front room, but another there--wand raised. Face anxious as he looked down at--Dreogan couldn't see. Silver blossomed from his wand, took form, and took flight--charging off into the distance. "Right, mate. You ready?"

Dreogan's vision flashed--and seemed to take a moment to readjust to his surroundings, as though coming indoors out of bright sunlight.  As after most Visions, he felt shaky and was covered in a cold sweat. Without feeling like he had ever left it, Dreogan had the distinct feeling he was reentering the world.  He felt his feet on the ground. He looked about sharply at his surroundings.  He tried to steady his breathing. With a grimace, he pulled his hand back, curling his fingers in. He cleared his throat gruffly.

"I'm sorry," he said--his voice sharp in an attempt to make it steady.  A nervous hand went up to rub the back of his neck. "That's. . . never happened to me before."

It wasn't relief that he felt -- or rather, it wasn't any relief that Jonas was about to admit to.  The mage accepted the apology as readily as he'd extended it, and suddenly the gulf between them didn't seem nearly as wide as it had been only a few minutes before.  There was plenty that Jonas hadn't apologized for, but the words said enough.  Friendship went beyond agreeing or disagreeing, even over so critical an issue that had split them back in February and March.  They didn't have to be in lockstep to fight on the same team.

Jonas returned the other man's firm grip, but almost as soon as he'd done so, Dreogan froze.  The mage's hand tightened around his own, his gaze going vacant, as if he were staring past Jonas to something beyond.  The Auror started, but he barely had time to try and yank his hand back, to realize that something was wrong, before Dreogan slumped and it was over.

The footsteps had been pacing overhead as they had been talking -- Anna making the final rounds to check on the children.  Jonas hadn't realized that she'd been in the process of making her way back downstairs until he registered her on the stairwell, her eyes wide as she stared at Dreogan, and then hurried down the last few steps.

"Dreogan!  Are you all right?"  The look she shot her husband made it clear that whatever had just happened had better not be his fault.

The red-haired man blanched.  "I didn't do anything!" he protested, looking as if he were waffling between sprinting away to prove his innocence or hurrying closer to make sure the mage wasn't about to die.  "Dreogan, you alright, mate?" he asked the diplomat, concern clear in his voice as he regarded Dreogan anxiously.  "What the hell was that?"

This was worse--much worse, and far more embarrassing--than waking up all his dorm mates in the middle of the night screaming, the result of unpleasant, prophetic dreams during his school years.  Kiva was generally understanding of these things; and he was in a habit of using nightly potions to see him through the night.  But to be a grown adult, in the house of friends--one of which was not even familiar with prophecy...
 
The scrutiny Dreogan was receiving made him feel impish and awkward like a child. He contined to rub nervously at his neck until he realized what he was doing, and felt the heat from his skin.  It was probably red.  With a sheepish expression, he let his hand drop to his side and took a deep, steadying breath. "Well, it was a Waking Dream, I think. To be honest--I'm not sure. I haven't really had one before, but it felt distinctly prophetic."  His eyes shifted to take in Anna, still timidly--anxiously--approaching, and then Jonas.  Both looked far too concerned for Dreogan not to feel guilty. He held his hand out definitively, if only to prove his steadiness on his feet. "I'm fine--truly."  His expression grew distantly thoughtful, before adding, "I wonder, though--did I close my eyes?"
 
That wasn't the point.  He could satisfy his curiosity on process later.  Deciding to wave the impulsive question away, for Dreogan knew what the next question would be ("What did you 'See'?") he instead pressed, "It was brief; nothing significant from what I can tell, but it was of you, Jonas." A slight glance to Anna, with an attempt at a smile.  Usually, being featured in one of Dreogan's dreams was not a harbinger of prosperous days ahead; he wasn't sure how much Anna was aware of the pending dream--the death of his own brother.  But this was nothing like that. Reverting back to Jonas, he regarded the man pensively. "What's your patronus?"

Whatever had happened -- whatever the strange look that had passed over Dreogan's face, the reason that his grip had gone tight and his gaze so vacant -- the mage's explanation didn't do anything to ease the Auror's nerves.  Jonas really had never had much patience for divination; waking dreams sounded like something that might be found in his wife's New Age hobbies more than something that was logically magical.

Either way, he found himself regarding Dreogan much more warily than he had mere minutes before.  Anna, too, looked unsure of herself -- Jonas held an arm out to her, and she came to him almost instantly, slipping her own arm around his back.

"Did you close your eyes?" Jonas repeated disbelievingly, his forehead creasing.  That seemed like quite an inconsequential point when Dreogan was -- when he had been... -- well, when something creepy and Seer-esque had occurred.  For the first time, he could almost understand what it was that set Adon so on edge about the vision.  A shiver ran down his spine.  Maybe this was something that he ought to be ringing his partner about; the only assurance he had that this was a vision and not related to the mage's prior possession was Dreogan's word.

Hearing that the vision had something to do with him did nothing to reassure him.  The line of the Auror's jaw tightened as he regarded the man before him.  "Me Patronus?"  He swallowed, trying to get past the lump that had formed in his throat as he attempted to decide how -- or even whether -- to answer the question. 

"It was a chough[1]," he said at last, wrapping his arm more tightly around Anna's shoulders.  "A bird, looks a bit like a crow.  I haven't cast it in years, though," he added, shifting uncomfortably as he eyed the mage.  "Why, Dreogan?  Is that what you reckon you saw?"

1.	Cornish chough

For a moment, Dreogan wished he hadn't said anything. For however childlike it had made him feel, Dreoganw have much preferred Jonas and Anna's anxious concern and confusion to the suddenly shut-off, shut-out demeanor Jonas had slipped into.

The very moment after they had gotten past that.

Feeling sick, Dreogan shook his head, though the word was rang out in to jarringly attest to Jonas' sustained inability to perform that sort of magic.  "A chough. That's not what I saw," he said quietly, trying to make sense of it.  "I saw you look down.  Cast a patronus. A bird, but not a chough--bigger, I think. You asked someone if they were ready. That was all." Nothing bad. In fact, it may foreshadow regaining magic... Or it may be inaccurate for the very same reason.  "It doesn't seem to be anything I've had before--it's not an omen, it wasn't an event, and I was awake. And it contradicts. So--" he said, taking a breath to fill his lungs, "it may be nothing."

But whatever it was, it was something. Dreogan didn't remember closing his eyes. And if he did--that would mean he was not fully in control of himself. "I'm sorry--I'm going to need to ask again--did I close my eyes? Say or--do anything besides... steady myself?"  These were symptoms of prophetic possession; it had been said that the Seer Trelawney had had two such instances, in which she had not been aware of herself, and it was only in these instances that she was capable of actual prophecy.  Dreogan's prophecies came in dream--when he was less himself, or perahps a different self, than he was under waking circumstances.  He added in a stronger voice, "I would like to know if I was as in control of myself as I think I was." As he hoped he was.

But if he Saw during the day--at a time he could not take Dreamless Sleep--there would be no running from this.  There would be countless other scenes like this. Explaining; driving people away.

Dreogan's jaw was set and aching.  He looked away.  "I shouldn't have alarmed you. I'm sorry."  It wasn't his fault, but there was a strong feeling of guilt, of responsibility, there.