Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => Elsewhere in Britain => More British Locations => Topic started by: Virgil Carstairs on January 18, 2019, 07:30:58 PM
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Late morning. Cambridge University, private flat.
They had forgotten to draw the curtains last night and, as a result, the morning light fell blindingly across Virgil's fair face and drew him out of sleep. He was emerging from a strange interior world: surreal dreams of oceans being painted, of falling into painted oceans. Not his own, because he hadn't been that drunk last night. Also not his own because he distinctly remembered wandering other dreamscapes last night.
The golden haired boy blinked his eyes open, sighing from somewhere deep in his chest. Even the scents around him were unfamiliar: not the fabric conditioner he used, no cat fur, no herbs drying in the rafters. Sweat, instead, and stale liquor. Carpet cleaning fluid. Someone else's aftershave. And the gratifying warmth pressed against his bare side...
Oh. He wasn't the only golden haired boy in bed.
Anton Schäfer appeared as carefree in sleep as he did awake, and their legs were tangled together in the narrow university bed. The muggle's arm was casually slung over Virgil's waist. It felt nice. Grounding. Not pausing to think twice, he drew himself closer underneath the duvet, scooting a bit lower to hide his face in Anton's neck.
His clothes and things[1] from last night were strewn all over the bedroom but he was in no hurry to get dressed or to leave. Virgil loved to sleep and he had so little reason to do so with another person, lately. He'd forgotten how good it could be, even with a sore arse.
"Hey," he murmured in a pouting voice and slid a hand up Anton's chest, trying to rouse him. "Wake up. Wake up, I need to know what's in your kitchen. I'm hungry." And as if to emphasise the hunger, he mouthed at his bed companion's neck.
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The very same sunlight that had pulled Virgil out of sleep as soon as it had crept over the edge of neighboring terraced houses gently warmed Anton's back, soothing him quickly back into sleep even before his bedmate's fidgeting had fully roused him. Though he didn't quite reach full consciousness, the stirring had been just enough to sever his most recent dream and only vague suggestions of crystal blue water and black sand remained.
A few moments later, a warm hand against his chest and a soft, though slightly sleep-husky voice, coaxed him once more out of the depths of sleep, with just a touch of reluctance. "Hmmgh?" Anton hummed in response, not committing to opening his eyes quite yet. "Why?" He drew his own hand briefly over the flat stretch of smooth skin under his fingers, finding confirmation that the hand against his chest was not his own and was, indeed, not alone in his bed.
With a yawn and a compact cat stretch that would disrupt his companions positioning as little as possible, Anton's eyes finally fluttered open and regarded the other young man next to him. His mouth stretched lazily into a soft smile; there were very few better ways to wake up. Except, perhaps, when a warm mouth found its way to his neck.
"If your end goal is to get me out of this bed, you're taking entirely the wrong approach," Anton murmured quietly. His face scrunched with the effort of trying to direct his thoughts away from the beautiful warm body pressed against his chest and towards the much more mundane contents of his fridge and cupboards. Assuming the other was asking after the typical, easy-to-prepare morning fare, he yawned before listing off his usual breakfast assortment. "The usual. Bread. Salami. Cheese. Eggs. Nutella. Might be some frozen waffles or burritos left. Can't remember." At least, it was usual by the typical German standard. Except for the last two; these were the proud traditional foods of the university student.
His shoulders shook, slightly, with a silent chuckle as his hand left Virgil's abdomen and fished for the corner of the duvet. "Might not be a bad idea to refuel," he confessed with a smirk before tossing the cover back, extricating himself and finding his way to his feet. "Coffee or tea?"
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Frozen food? Virgil made a sound not unlike a disgruntled cat, dramatically offended by the idea. But of course muggles didn't have magic and couldn't just use cooking charms to make their meals posthaste. Frozen! Merlin forbid. He threw his head back when Anton pulled off the duvet, stretching to full length and relishing the cold air against him. His nipples were hard, his piercing catching the light.
"Coffee," the wizard drawled before rolling on to his side, eyeing Anton with sleepy blue eyes, "please," he added in the same sweet and pleading tone used last night, when he'd hissed the word more times in an hour than he'd done in the last few months.
Sunday.
It was Sunday and bright and he had nothing to do and he had slept with a man for the first time since last Christmas and it had been shamelessly fun. He wanted to roll around in bed, pretend this was all there was to life for a bit; no past, no future. That's what Anton was: no past and no future. What a beautiful concept.
"I'm going to make you breakfast." Virgil insisted softly and swung his legs around so that he could sit on the edge of the bed, bundling the duvet on to his lap. "Flour, eggs? Do you like it sweet or savoury? I can do both. Or I can guess your favourite."
Another 'speciality'.
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Anton met the other blonde's scoffing with unmistakable (albeit, not entirely earnest) incredulous indignation. "What? You one of those microwaves-give-you-brain tumor nuts?" he asked, his expression quickly morphing to an amused grin. "They're a halfway decent means to an end." Had he ever met a pre-20 year old that scoffed so blatantly at frozen foods?
Sure, they were hardly the manna of the gods, but they were also the key to the bliss of extra sleep. Sleep and food; two constantly warring priorities.
Unashamedly, Anton's gaze lingered on the other young man as he rolled to his side. Oh word. That please. A grin tugged at the corners of Anton's mouth as he leaned over the bed, pressing his fists into the mattress to half support his weight as he bent over Virgil. "You use that word well," he offered, quietly, pressing a warm kiss to the others mouth before straightening and crossing the room to the dresser. He retrieved a pair of soft sweatpants from the drawer and offered a second pair to Virgil. Sundays were made for elastic, not buttons. Much more comfortable and much easier to get rid of in a hurry.
"You're cooking me breakfast? I like the sound of that. Eggs and flour are both doable; I think I have both high protein and the normal kind. Maybe whole-wheat, though I'm not sure." He wrinkled his nose, slightly. "May not be labeled, either. Might have to live dangerously. Feel free to rummage for anything you might need," he offered, moving to the bedroom door to hunt down coffee beans.
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He relished the kiss, with only his hunger keeping him from tugging Anton back into bed and insisting on being made senseless again. An interior war between great needs: the stomach often won. Virgil took the trousers offered to him, examining them the way he examined everything around him. Like they might offend him at any moment.
"Feel free to rummage for anything you might need," his host disappeared down the passage, presumably to the kitchen.
It felt strange to be here. He'd been in muggle places before but not muggle bedrooms, and certainly not under intimate circumstance. Virgil tossed the sweatpants aside, going to the dresser to inspect its contents - thin fingers pulling at drawer knobs, quiet eyes taking in the sight of loosely folded clothes and jumbled socks.
Not fussily neat, nor disastrously messy.
"Mm, better," he pulled out a grey Cambridge University sweatshirt, and quickly tugged it on. The hem was just low enough for decency, and he stole a pair of knee length sports socks. "Much better."
Smiling to himself, Virgil made his way to the kitchen-living room. He leaned against the closest counter and watched Anton for a moment: the bare chest, the smooth shoulders, the strong arms. All still novel to him, still waiting to be touched a second time. And to be touched by.
"Pancakes?" he suggested listlessly, "or crepes, if we simply must be European? Please tell me you have jams, or I might faint. And Merl-- and God knows how you'll have to revive me."
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While Virgil had lingered in the bedroom - either taking Anton up on his offer to rummage for something he needed or simply poking around to satisfy some inner curiosity about his impromptu overnight bedmate - Anton had taken the opportunity to haphazardly straighten what could be straightened in the open area in 90 seconds or less. An exercise that basically amounted to shuffling the strewn books, papers and his laptop on the island counter into a neat pile and tossing the various CDs, DVDs and gaming disks on the coffee table into the usually-pointless, yet feng shui-y, bowl in the middle of the table.
After instructing his phone to resume playing whatever playlist he'd been listening (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hi4VOG2HTWs) to before he'd left the flat last night, he turned his attention formally to the hunt for coffee. He'd just poured the espresso beans into the grinder when Virgil, sorting what one could argue was the remaining half of his own outfit, wandered into the kitchen and leaned against counter.
"Ooh Lord," he chuckled approvingly, shaking his head as he scooped and tapped the puck of freshly ground espresso into the filter. "Is there anything sexier than a man in your sweatshirt? Except ... please tell me those are clean and you got them from the drawer," he added, his eyes finally traveling far enough down Virgil's attire and passed the bare thighs to take in the pair of sports socks. "I won't be held liable for the state of any used ones."
After sliding the filter in place and adding water to the espresso maker to heat, he turned his attention back to Virgil. "Are you guessing my favorite or making a recommendation?" he asked, retrieving the carton of eggs from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter. "I'm rarely accused of being picky, but I do prefer to roll my cakes with the filling inside. European would definitely be my preference and I didn't hear you objecting too much last night."
"Please tell me you have jams, or I might faint. And Merl-- and God knows how you'll have to revive me."
"I have marmalade. And applesauce. But, more importantly, who's this Merle that you think will be reviving you should you faint." He returned to the fridge to retrieve both condiments and set them, likewise, on the counter. "Should I be concerned about some jealous retaliation?"
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He laughed, surprising himself with how easy it was to take pleasure in Anton's quick quips about dirty laundry - and further pleasure in how the other boy's eyes swept his body.
Virgil wandered over to the counter to watch the coffee machine at work - fascinated by the process, which was much different to his preferred methods. An efficient machine. Muggles and their efficiency, underlying their magnificent inefficiency. What was it like to go about not-knowing? He so loved knowing.
"My mouth was a too busy to complain about anything last night," he looked away from the espresso maker to watch Anton, "so European it is. French. The French are good at tasty things."
Anything that could be draped in butter, anyway.
"But, more importantly, who's this Merle...Should I be concerned about some jealous retaliation?"
A hand closed firmly over his heart and his gaze faltered a second. He remembered what it was like the last time he had been in somebody else's flat, wearing their clothes and thinking bad thoughts. He could still feel the sting of that shame. Virgil approached Anton, hands going to his waist.
"Merle's nobody," he muttered, running a finger along the inside of Anton's waistband and meeting him in the eye sullenly, "and nobody would be jealous. I'm quite loathsome, you know. If you think Sasha's a snob, you should have a look inside my head. Positively awful."
Virgil leaned in for a quick kiss, stolen like an antidote to his melancholy. "But there are better parts of me to explore. Later. Now," he brushed their lips together again and grinned, "beat the eggs and show me how to work your stove. Please."
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Other than a subtly lifted eyebrow, Anton watched with quiet amusement as Virgil seemed to take considerable interest in the simple, run-of-the-mill espresso maker. Sure, the machine was a considerably more top-of-the-line than your average uni-flat coffee maker but even the most self-aware privileged kids were prone to the occasional vice of excess. A good morning mocha was his. And, he still wasn't spending a few quid every morning on one from the local coffee shop.
Perhaps Virgil came from a far less well-off family than he gave the impression of or their family was the exclusively tea and French press sorts. Or, he simply was endearingly strange and prone to being fascinated by the simple things.
"Oh - my worry!" Anton leaned his head back and bemoaned, looking up at the ceiling in a melodramatic fashion. "Please tell me preoccupation was not the only thing that kept your mouth from complaining for it was, I admit, a blissfully skillful mouth." He grinned back at Virgil, with just a touch of coyness before chuckling and shaking his head.
"Oddly, they never say the same about the Germans. I swear, we offer our best in sauerkraut and tongue sausage and people always talk about the French and their tasty food." Again, in melodramatic fashion, Anton let out a long suffering sigh and shook his head once more.
Anton's question about a Merle seemed to strike more of a chord in Virgil than Anton had either planned or anticipated and his brows arched in curiosity and, this time, concern, as he noticed the other's gaze deviate. The reasons behind the response were hardly the prerogative of an acquaintance of fewer than twenty-four hours, despite the intimate nature of last night's activities. So, apart from making a mental note to tread carefully with jokes of a similar nature in the future, Anton respected the diversion Virgil presented with a finger under his waistband.
Besides, it was an incredibly enticing diversion. "I find all of that hard to believe," Anton admitted, meeting Virgil's gaze and leaning towards him to further close some of the distance between them. "Loathsome is hardly the descriptor I would use. In fact, I'm fairly certain I got a good look inside your head last night and it was nothing but passion and fireworks."
He returned the kisses, humming contently into the first, before his eyes widening in feigned confusion and surprise at the instructions. "Beat the eggs? Now? I thought you wanted breakfast, first. That sounds rather counter- ooh." Again, completely feigned enlightenment. "Yes, chef. I'll get right on those eggs. And, there's nothing unique about the range - just your typical autolight gas stove."
Assuming that was sufficient information, Anton opened the cupboards and fetched a mixing bowl before cracking the eggs into it. "And, straight espresso or milk?" he asked, pausing in his beating to fetch a half-full carton of milk from the fridge.
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Best in sauerkraut and tongue sausage, oh yes. He couldn't deny that about the Germans. The longer her spent in this flat the surer he was that last night had been a good decision. It had been fun and a release and he felt like he deserved a bit of that after the last few months. Between training on level nine and a spectacularly varied social life, Anton's porridge was just right for the occasion.
"Passion and fireworks?" Virgil repeated in a softer voice, laughing at the other boy's quip as he drew back to have a fiddle with the stove. "Why not? I'll take that testimony." A blush coloured his cheeks but he pretended to be busy setting up their breakfast.
There was a lot about Virgil - and the wizarding world - that Anton probably didn't know. Still, the compliment felt genuine and was delivered so directly that he couldn't help feeling flattered. Passion and fireworks! Virgil lifted his head slightly at the question, gaze flicking to the coffee maker.
"Straight espresso, though I'm anything but," he winked before turning back to the dials that were confounding him. The numbers were self-explanatory and he'd certainly seen someone use of these before; his thin fingers twisted at dial that would light the closest fire.
At least Anton didn't have one of those electric stoves. He shuddered to think of it. The fire lit, and Virgil smiled in relief. He grabbed a pan and placed it over the stove. This felt like cooking with his mother when he hadn't learnt all the right charms for it - slightly clunky but diverting in its own way.
He started measuring a cup of flour for the mix. "So." Virgil glanced over at the muggle. "Was I cause for you to believe in magic last night?"
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"Passion and fireworks?"
"Mmhmm," Anton hummed softly in agreement, with a coy grin, as he turned his attention back to the eggs. His hum morphed into a passable interpretation of Katy Perry which he half-expected would earn him kitchen towel to the back of the head or, at the very least, some chiding comment. Regardless, he kept his focus on whipping the eggs into a homogeneous golden soup before turning his attention to the coffees.
Smirking and still humming, he nudged two espresso cups under the spouts to catch the fresh brew and poured some milk into a frothing pitcher. "One decidedly straight espresso for the charmingly flexible company," he announced, in his best barista voice. "Who defied many previously held expectations of my friend's friends. Given the myriad of warnings I received, I was expecting something far different."
Anton chuckled at Virgil's question and glanced over his shoulder at the other young man. "I would say you presented a very compelling argument," he quipped, pouring some milk into a frothing pitcher and pausing next to the stove on his way back to the fridge. "You sure seem enthusiastic about the concept. Are you some big Gandalf fan or something? Or, Earthsea? You do seem more the Le Guin type than the Tolkein type."
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Bit of milk, no seasoning just yet. Virgil gave the eggs another stir and poured them straight into the pan before he lowered the flame a little. This was the tricky bit - it had been over a year since he had tried cooking anything without a charm with which temperature was much easier to control. Muggles had a few things a wizard might envy but he preferred his wand any day of the week if he were being honest.
"Given the myriad of warnings I received, I was expecting something far different."
"Ah, but we have a tarried only a day," Virgil remarked as he picked up his espresso and knocked it back in two practiced swallows. "You never know what you'll learn about us," he shuddered at the sudden bitter rush of caffeine. "Good coffee."
Certainly woke him up, anyway. He gave himself a shake - wiggling his shoulders and head more coquettishly than intended - and turned back to watch the eggs. They weren't looking too bad. Virgil picked up a spatula, giving them a gentle stir while he chatted with Anton.
"I like The Hobbit but you have me pegged -" he smiled cheekily at the muggle, "- Tolkien has far too much walking and dull history, and everyone's a bloody hero. That's why Bilbo is so lovely. He just wants his food and the odd adventure. Ged, too, and his internal struggles."
They were all struggling with something inside of them, something they couldn't touch. Imagine if that dark thing was suddenly real and outside of you? Haunting you? He turned off the fire, letting the eggs cook over the remaining heat. "So is it your brother that's a wizard?" Virgil didn't look up from the stove.
He picked up a fork instead, tasting the scrambled eggs so that he could season to taste.
"Pinch of salt and pepper, I think. And chilli flakes if you have them."
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Slowly, a broad smile tugged up the corners of Anton's mouth as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the counter. His mother would have, of course, told him off but that was the beauty of university flats. One could sit on counters without decorum lectures. And, it was a position that gave one a love perspective of the company in the kitchen.
"Oh, but I am a student of the human sciences and I like to think I'm a good judge of character. There is more, I'm sure, to be learned but I like to think I've seen enough to approve," he offered, turning his attention away briefly to froth the milk before finishing his own coffee.
Anton let out a long, slow and highly-exaggerated sigh of relief that was far out of scale with the context. "I'm so glad you think that - but you can not repeat such things to Rudi." He picked up the cup of coffee and cradled the warm ceramic in his hands. "I mean - I get world building but there's such a thing as too much world. We don't need to know about every effing tree and rock. If I wanted extensive exposition, I'd reach for Tolstoy or Dostoevsky." Which was what made him more of a minor-ranked nerd-wannabee than he'd been as a younger kid.
"So is it your brother that's a wizard?"
"Is he-" Anton started to repeat before growing quiet and staring at the back of Virgil's neck, elongated slightly by his intense consideration of the eggs in the pan. Was that just some really strange segue? Or, did Virgil somehow know? His mum had warned him against divulging and the dire consequences that could arise from even a simple misspeak, so he knew to be cautious.
And, he had tempered his drinking last night so he knew he didn't inadvertently say anything.
Fishing for seasonings offered a brief moment for Anton to collect his thoughts and decide how to proceed. In the end, after far too long of a pause, he decided there was no way Virgil could have guessed. This just had to be a strange change of subject. "Here - try this," he offered, grabbing a small grinder with grains of paradise and handing them to Virgil.
"And, naw- he's not really into tabletop. He tried to play once but got bored; he's more of a rugby kind of kid. Besides, I really see him more as a Ranger or a Rogue."
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Virgil could feel those eyes on the back of his neck - he had enjoyed Anton's gaze last night, so full of mirth and lust and all those things that made it easier to breathe between moments of seriousness. Now, however, he knew he'd triggered a different kind of look and line of thought. One that had nothing to do with their crumpled mess of bedsheets.
That was going to be his doom one day, not letting sleeping dragons lie.
"Thank you," he accepted the grinder with a soft nod, his own gaze soft and shy while Anton continued speaking as if though an awkward silence hadn't ensued Virgil's question. The rugby thing.... did he know it was code? It was a smooth tilting of the subject, Virgil appreciated that. The muggle kind of wizard with their long beards and longer robes.
Some old men actually did dress like that anyway. He ground some of the seasoning on to the eggs before tilting the pan to carefully divide their breakfast on to two small plates. "Sorry." Virgil set down the pan heavily and handed one plate over to Anton, his cheeks pink.
"I'm trying to be too smart for my own good," he glanced down at his own plate, leaning against the counter in Anton's large sweatshirt and wiggling his toes in Anton's socks. "You're a muggle. Do you know that word? It's what we call people who don-- who can't practice magic."
Virgil looked up, trying to gauge his host's response. He didn't think Anton would get angry but he'd been wrong about these things before and he was definitely in vulnerable position now. "I don't mean to out Sasha as a wizard but he did invite you last night," he bit his lip, "and I don't see the sense in keeping it secret, now that I know you're aware of us. Legally aware, I mean."
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"I'm a what?" Anton asked, with a laugh.
Good gracious, this guy was like completely fixated on magic and wizards and such! Was this like some weird fascination of his? Some sort of ...
Except, he'd asked about Micha. Specifically. In so many words. Was Micha a wizard - just as their mum had described. Virgil, somehow, knew. Virgil had said 'we call people muggle.' Anton licked his lips and slowly lifted his hand to point, hesitantly at Virgil. "You're ... you're a wizard? You can play with magic?"
Anton pressed his hands flat against the counter on either side of him, pushing himself up to hop back down to the floor when the other offered further elaboration.
"I don't mean to out Sasha as a wizard but he did invite you last night and I don't see the sense in keeping it secret, now that I know you're aware of us. Legally aware, I mean."
"Uh ... no. That's-" Anton's words died in his mouth and he slowly shook his head. "You're saying-" Again, the words died in his mouth. Another moment of hesitation passed before Anton pressed his hands against the cold countertop and dropped back down to his feet. He quickly circled around the counter, grabbed his phone and quickly typed in his password. Only wavering between calling and texting delayed his actions long enough for Anton to think better of it and he closed the screen and looked back at Virgil. If all of this was true ... that would require tact. A text wouldn't cut it.
"All of his schoolmates last night - all of you were wizards? Like, honest to goodness ... not like LARPing or cosplay or a Pagan coven or something? Did you all go to that school in Switzerland?" Just as quickly as his mind was shuffling through and processing the information, the memories of his mother's warnings came flooding back.
Worry replaced the wonder and amazement in his expression and Anton set the phone back on the counter. "What happens now? To us? To my brother?"
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"You're ... you're a wizard? You can play with magic?"
Virgil nodded his head once, a little smile skewing his mouth at a lopsided angle. He liked how Anton had put it: to play with magic, which was similar to how he often felt towards magic. Something ultimately exploratory and handy and playful. Once you got the knack of it, once you've mastered the rules, it can take you anywhere at all.
The muggle was having some difficulty wrapping his head around all of this. It made Virgil feel guilty - he was dropping a lot on Anton but in his attempt to show off, he'd also meddled in Sasha's friendship. Two-sins-in-one.
"We were all wizards and witches, yes, truly," he confirmed as he put aside his plate of eggs and pulled himself up to sit on the counter in the same way Anton had done just a moment ago. What in Merlin's name was LARPING anyway? "I promise I'm being absolutely serious."
Fooling around with the statute wasn't a joke. You could get into a lot of trouble with the Ministry and he was trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Unspeakables weren't supposed to, not really. The change in the other boy's expression made him sit up a little straighter, registering the concern right away.
"Nothing, nothing happens." Virgil quickly answered, dangling his legs and trying to affect a casual, no-big-deal aura. "You're allowed to know because he's your brother. He's probably going to go to Hogwarts, which is where we all went for school. It's not in Switzerland. You just have to keep it all a secret from other muggles and you'll be fine."
At least that was how he understood it. Level three wasn't knocking at their door, ready to surprise them in compromising positions. "Is it... it your mum who's a witch?"
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One never quite knew what they'd wake when they took a near-stranger home for the night but, even in Anton's wildest dreams, he would have never guessed this. He still only understood what this was in very vague and theoretical terms. Sure, everyone in the family had seen something absolutely inexplicable happen around Micha on a few occasions and, yeah, his mum had explained it as magic, but that was limit of Anton's education.
He didn't think Virgil was lying. He was willing to believe Virgil absolutely meant what he was saying. It was just ... he didn't really understand what being a wizard meant. Their mum had pointedly avoided anything beyond the barest details.
And, the picture his mum had painted had left them all with a bit of trepidation.
"Will you show me?" Anton asked, tapping his phone against his palm before setting it back on the counter. Though it was obvious Virgil was doing everything he could to exude calm, Anton could still feel the after effects of confusion and surprise-induced adrenaline coursing through his veins. Despite the persistent urge to fidget, Anton forced himself to take a seat at the small kitchen table and interlaced his fingers.
The fidgeting immediately transferred from his hands to his feet and Anton couldn't resist tapping his toe absentmindedly against the hardwood floor. "Naw, my mum can't do magic," he offered. "None of us had any clue about any of it until stuff started happening around Micha but, she says it comes from her family. It sounded like her parents and siblings could all do magic."
Anton's brow creased with confusion and he shook his head, again. "It still doesn't make sense. If the rest of you didn't got to school in Switzerland, how did you cross paths with Rudi? Scotland's in the entirely wrong direction."
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"Will you show me?"
"Yes. In a moment," he answered promptly, fidgeting with the hem of the oversized sweatshirt and pulling it lower over his thighs. Virgil didn't want to hop off the counter and make a dash for his wand right away - didn't want to leave the kitchen at all, when there were still questions to be answered and clarifications to be made. He had to take responsibility and follow through on this.
It sounded like Anton's mum was a squib which... made this more awkward. They really were starting with a clean slate. He felt a bit bad for the brother, surrounded by family who didn't do magic. Basically a muggleborn. Maybe that's what squibs felt like; both ways, someone missing out on something.
"...how did you cross paths with Rudi? Scotland's in the entirely wrong direction."
"Rudi?" Virgil echoed at first, his brow suddenly clearing. "Oh, Sasha? I mean.... if you mean..." he trailed off uncertainly and stared hard at the other blonde. Regret dropped into his gut like a heavy weight. "Sasha's been in Scotland, at Hogwarts, the entire time. Switzerland was a... a story? A lie, I suppose. But a cleverly told one I'm sure."
He slipped off the counter, on to his feet, holding his wrist in one hand. "I don't know what his story was exactly but, knowing Sasha, he probably did his homework to ensure everything was legitimate on both sides."
Why couldn't he stop himself from sounding like a prattling know-it-all?? Virgil desperately wished for an off-button but decided, instead, to make a temporary escape.
"I'll fetch my wand. Hold on a second," he dipped his head in Anton's direction, nervously, turning around to head swiftly back into the bedroom where his wand was, hopefully, still tucked into the enchanted pocket of his trousers.
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Anton wasn't sure he ever remembered a time when a single bit of information had simultaneously answered so many questions and prompted so many more. For years, there had been bits of Rudi's story that just never seemed to make sense but now so many details seemed to just fit.
But, ultimately, Virgil was right. If all of that had been a lie, it was an incredibly convincing one. "I had an address in Switzerland I sent letters to," he verbalized, though likely more for his own benefit than Virgil's. It had been a massive, convincing lie. Which meant it made it nearly impossible to differentiate truth from fiction. Was everything Sasha had told him a lie? If it wasn't, how would Anton ever tell the difference.
All of which was, of course, Anton's dilemma and not Virgil's. Slowly, Anton took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Virgil.
"Your ... wand?" Anton laughed as he watched Virgil hurry back to the bedroom. "Your serious? Like a real magic wand?" he called after him, finally pushing himself back up from the table and picking up the phone again. "So, wizards and sorcerers don't use magic staves? Or just like wave their hands about like Mickey Mouse? He could just flick a finger and the broom would scoop up buckets of water." Man, when was the last time he'd seen Fantasia?
Anton quickly unlocked his phone and fired off a quick text message as he crossed the kitchen to fetch the two plates of eggs and a bottle of sriracha sauce from the fridge.
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His trusty ebony wand was where he expected it to be, and Virgil gave it a nimble twirl in his fingers as he padded back down the corridor. He loved his wand - he loved magic, so so much. It existed as an inextricable part of himself, especially because of his legilimency; he couldn't even escape it if he wanted to. Magic was like air: he knew how it worked but he also rarely thought about having to explain it to others. Why should he? Most of his friends were in wizarding society.
"Some cultures use staves," he replied, entering the kitchen to find Anton at the icebox. "And crystal orbs and other things. We use wands. Wandless magic is difficult." Virgil gave his wand a quick flick so that the Sriracha sauce plucked itself out of the muggle's hands to join him at the small table. "Believe me, I've tried."
Another one of the experiments on nine. He was better than some of the other trainees but that didn't mean he was good - just that one day, maybe, with enough practice, certain wandless spells could be within reach and outside the realm of total unpredictability. Perhaps he could fashion a pair of enchanted gloves to function as receptacles?
Virgil tried not to let his thoughts roll down that road. Anton didn't need to know about that. Anton didn't need any more on his plate besides scrambled eggs. He had just been given a startling revelation about one of his closest friends. "We use wands to cast spells, and different spells have different purposes," he explained instead, not sure what else to say.
"Your brother's going to learn how to do all that at Hogwarts." Virgil smiled, momentarily nostalgic for those early years at school. "But um, your mum. People like your mum can't. They're called Squibs. They just don't have it in them."
Whatever it was.
-
Anton didn't quite know what to focus his attention on. Virgil was explaining about magic wands, crystals and the difficulty with wandless magic. The bottle of crimson red egg-topping goodness had plucked its way out of Anton's hand to fly itself over to the kitchen table and plop itself primly in its spot. And as if that wasn't more than the average mind was capable of following, John Cleese's voice was informing him of an incoming call on his mobile[1]
"Wicked," Anton breathed, declining the call without looking away from the now motionless and perfectly normal bottle of hot sauce. "All that from that little stick?" he tagged on, finally following the bottle to the table and taking a seat. "Or, not really the stick. The stick helps. Or-"
It was like trying to explain the rules of Scrabble. Or making a souffle. The overarching concept felt like it made sense but when you actually tried to explain it in functional detail, you'd get lost in them.
Once again, he could hear John Cleese's voice bidding for his attention from his hand and, once more, Anton blindly silenced it the call. "My brother will be able to do that? Sasha can do that?" he repeated, pointing at the wand in Virgil's hand and trying to piece together what Virgil was saying and what his mum had explained.
"And, Sasha never told me because he couldn't? Because the worlds are separate - we don't belong in each other's worlds." Except, Sasha and he had stayed connected; even lived together periodically after he was on his own. "But, I can know now even though my mum can't because she's ... well, I can't do it either because we're ... squibs? Muggles?" He shook his head, feeling like he was getting shown up by the details, again.
"So, was this-" Anton waggled a finger between him and Virgil, a sly grin spreading across his face as his phone started ringing for the third time. "Some sort of Shakespearean forbidden tryst type thing? Delving into what shouldn't be?"
-
He stuck a spoonful of eggs into his mouth just as Anton's phone went off, and nearly chocked. That was not a normal ringtone! Not even for muggles! Although it was a refreshing change from the infernal noise of digital bells. Virgil shot the phone a curious look but quickly shifted his attention back to Anton, whose questions were brief but numerous.
"My brother will be able to do that? Sasha can do that? And, Sasha never told me because he couldn't? Because..."
The wizard nodded where appropriate, setting down his wand in one hand as he began to push the rest of the scrambled eggs around the plate. It sounded like Anton could more or less wrap his head around the secrecy aspect of wizarding society. It was just a lot of information to get down in one go, and Merlin knew what his mother had told him exactly.
Squibs like Abby would probably tell their children a lot of useful things... but squibs who lived in the muggle world? Did they even know anything? Did they even care?
"Forbidden trys--" Virgil's face did something complicated, caught off guard by Anton's final query, colour rising to his cheeks. "No!" he immediately thought of when Cepheus had assumed he wanted to know about vampires so that he could sleep with one[1] as a novelty. What was it about him? Did he subconsciously seek out strange sexual adventures??
He quelled this premature quarter-life crisis to focus on the breakfast table. "I thought you were handsome and fun, and I didn't see why we... why we shouldn't. Have fun. It's been a while," Virgil admitted shyly as he avoided Anton's gaze by glancing down at his plate. "Anyway, there's nothing forbidden about wizards sleeping around with muggles. Just forbidden to tell them about magic, unless, like with your mum, she's married or related to muggles."
Swallowing another bite of eggs, he looked at Anton and smiled. "You're a muggle because you don't have any..." A pause, Virgil remembering for a moment all that blood in Mortimer Gamp's dark dungeon. "Any wizard blood in you. Your mum is a squib because her parents are wizards. That's the difference. And you can answer your phone if you want, by the way. I'm not going anywhere."
-
Distracted by the magnitude of Virgil's revelation, Anton had briefly forgotten many of the minor details of their pre-magic conversation. Now, as he watched the other divert his gaze and blush, Anton could have kicked himself. Anton didn't know why - and it wasn't any of his business - but it was clear that topics involving past relationships made Virgil uncomfortable. His own fascination with all of this was a piss poor excuse for neglectfully picking at whatever uncomfortable thoughts those comments were encouraging.
"Hey - I'm sorry," he offered after Virgil's quick no, grinning sheepishly as he delivered a healthy squirt of sauce to his eggs. "I didn't mean it in any serious way. Still trying to find this so-called positively awful side you claim to have," he tagged on, with a coy grin.
And, really, Anton felt like he'd seen a number of different sides to Virgil, even in the few short hours he'd known him. Confident at times, veering towards cocky. Sweet and shy at other times, both now and occasionally during the overnight hours. Anton offered Virgil a warm smile as he offered a list of reasons before slowly shaking his head. "You really don't owe me an explanation, Virgil," he offered, genuinely. "I'm very glad you did and that was bloody fun. That's all that really matters. At least, on my end."
"Though-" he tagged on, drawing out the word as he speared a couple crumbs of egg with his fork. "I am really glad my dad managed to bag my step-mum. To think I might have taken you home and not known the true breadth of your talents would have been absolutely criminal." Really, to think of all of the women his father, a muggle if he was understanding Virgil's explanation correctly, could have chosen when he remarried, what were the chances he would have ended up with a ... a squib. And, therefore, allowing Anton to end up with a wizard for a little brother and best friend, not to mention romantic companion.
"And you can answer your phone if you want, by the way. I'm not going anywhere."
Anton sighed and nodded, taking his turn to blush. "That's good, because I don't think it's likely to stop. I didn't think the timing of that text through," he confessed as he pushed himself back from the table and quick-dialed the previous missed call. After a brief and curt conversation in German, Anton ended the call and turned his attention back to his company.
"Sorry about that. We're all still trying to figure out what this all really means and there's a lot of confusion. And, worries," he admitted. "But, you've told me a lot about magic in general. I want to know more about this mysterious sorcerer I brought home last night."
-
"Hey - I'm sorry....trying to find this so-called positively awful side you claim to have."
"It's alright," he shook his head, gratified nonetheless by the apology. Anton would figure out one day that he wasn't all quick wit by day and pleasurable sighs by night - sooner or later everyone figured it out, and Virgil was always prepared for the eventuality.
In the same way that he was ready for Sasha to go cold, or Cepheus to stop humouring him. They'd become like Nick or Moira: he'll reach their limits and things would change. And it would be his doing for meddling or for pushing, so he couldn't honestly blame anyone.
But Virgil hoped Anton was perhaps like Abby, who looked for the best even in that parasitic spirit of hers. He grinned at the reference to his talents, gaze dropping politely as the muggle made the telephone call in German. When Anton hung up, breakfast resumed without the interruption of the digital butler.
"I wouldn't call myself mysterious..." Virgil lied with a laugh, ignoring the fact that he did after all work in the department of Mysteries. "And I'd like to know more about all this," he gestured at the flat - meaning the fact that they were in Cambridge. "My experience of the muggle world is rather London-based, you understand. Some of Oxford too," he added in a rich theatrical drawl, "but I'm essentially a city boy."
Like a very well-groomed Underground rat. Virgil dipped his fork into Anton eggs, catching a bit of the Sriracha to taste it. "Anyway, ask and ye shall receive. What do you want to know about me?"
This was...surprisingly fun. He had to be more guarded in the wizarding world but he didn't have to worry about Anton.
-
"I wouldn't call myself mysterious..."
"Of course you wouldn't!" Anton laughed, leaning back comfortably in his chair with a smug grin on his face.
This had to be the daily life equivalent of the so-called "new normal." As Anton set down his phone and turned his attention back to his eggs, things seemed to have circled back around to where they were about ten minutes before. They were normal, but they weren't the same. Anton had a feeling they wouldn't ever really be the same, again, and he was absolutely alright with that.
The world had just gotten a whole lot more vibrant and interesting than it had been yesterday. What was even better was that it had done so with the help of charmingly cute young man.
"Who but poets and narcissists find themselves exceptionally mysterious?" Somehow, he just managed to save himself from looking like a complete hypocrite by not dismissing Virgil's own curiosity. It was both mystifying and intriguing to think that Anton could be just as much a novelty to Virgil as the other way around. "I suppose that's only fair," he agreed with another grin, raising an eyebrow but making no effort to stop the blatant egg thievery. "Now that you mention it, I can see the city boy in you."
"Well, I want to know everything, of course," Anton offered, buying himself time to decide what he wanted to know first. It was proving to be a more challenging endeavor than usual; he knew so very little about the world Virgil came from that he wasn't sure how to frame such a simple question as 'what do you do?' Did magical people go to universities or were they ... serving tea in the neighborhood shop. Was it like the elves in those Eragon books who could satisfy all their basic needs through magic so they could just sit around and play music or write books or otherwise hone some personal art skill?
If that was the case, was Sasha's personal art skill just school?
Which, Anton knew the answer to that. Yes. It was.
But, at the same time, he wanted to know Virgil on a more personal level than 'hey! how does your society work, anyway.' After a few moments of consideration, he reached across the table for a retaliatory case of egg theft as he asked: "if it weren't for the good fortune of having you wake up in my bed this morning, how would you normally spend your Sunday?"
-
He could hear the sheer volume of Anton's thoughts, though Virgil shut out the sound in a novel attempt at politeness. In spite of the shock - and the complication of revealing Sasha's duplicity - Anton had been kind and good humoured. It would be rude to continue to eavesdrop; not to mention he hadn't even asked how he knew about his brother.
"If it weren't for... how would you normally spend your Sunday?"
Virgil swallowed a mouthful of eggs, grateful for the single straightforward question. Rather different from Sasha Three-Questions-in-One Schlagenweit. He closed his eyes momentarily and thought about his room in Diagon - about waking up to sunlight through the curtains, tinged green by potted herbs hanging from the ceiling. Dante curled up at his feet.
"I make brunch for Nick and Ari on Sundays," Virgil opened his clear eyes, saying his flatmates' names with more fondness than he allowed himself to around them. "My friends. If they're home, anyway. I like to spend the day reading in bed but sometimes I browse the farmer's market in Diagon... that's a hidden alley in London, for wizards."
This was better than a scattering of questions about the wizarding world, he supposed. Peppering in facts with a normal narrative.
Virgil pushed around the last few spoonfuls of scrambled eggs. "Then I have dinner with my family. My father runs a magical theatre, so we take in a show if all of us have time. I'm seeing them tonight."
He smiled, scooping up the rest of his breakfast quickly. Life was good. It was easy to forget when he focused on all the bad or disappointing bits but he had it really good. Last night included.
"And I end the evening by preparing for Monday. I work at the Ministry of Magic, the wizarding government. I do spooky, confidential things." Virgil jabbed a fork in the other boy's direction, raising his pale eyebrows archly. "Your turn. What are your Sundays like, Anton the muggle?"
-
"Nick from last night?" Anton glanced across the table at Virgil, eyebrows raised in amused curiosity. Nick. "He had been an interesting one." Except, Nick was a wizard, too. They had all been wizards. He alone-
Now, finally, that made sense. Anton hadn't just been the stranger friend-of-a-friend tag-a-long. He had been the squib - no - muggle. His mum was a squib. He was a muggle. He had been the lone muggle in a group of magic-people. No wonder they had been acting so weird. He chuckled, slightly, and shook his head. "So, is Rock People like some weird slang term sorcerers use around us?"
Okay, so maybe Anton's hopes that this approach would be more casual and normal were a bit inflated, especially since almost everything Virgil described sounded like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. "There's a hidden alley in London with wizards and farmer's markets? But, ours aren't hidden from you? That is so not fair!" Unless - Anton's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Magical theater and Ministry? What. You're pulling my leg, right? You don't just have magical versions of all of our normal stuff?"
Anton sighed, slightly, and shrugged. "Honestly, they're probably going to sound a bit dull in comparison." How could his, normal Sunday even compare to magical theater and farmer's markets. He ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, trying to think of the most interesting sounding Sunday he could remember.
"I spend most weekends back home in London. Usually I'm up early to eat cereal and watch cartoons with my little brother. If I have revising or papers to write, that might take up most of my day. Or, I head over to the field to play some football - I do some big sib, little sib volunteering and its a universal revising procrastinator, you know."
Anton spooned up the last few crumbs of eggs before sliding his plate to the side and wrapping his fingers around his coffee cup. All in all, it sounded like a fairly typical university bloke Sunday. "We like to do the family Sunday supper, as well and Sasha often joins if he can and stays the night. Then, mostly, hanging out - movies, D&D, video games or just mindless web surfing." Probably all sounding rather boring. A smirk spread across Anton's face and he lifted a finger off the mug to point across the table at Virgil. "Your turn for a question."
-
Watching Anton was like watching the penny drop.... multiple times. It was interesting. He wished he could just place everything he knew into his head and watch it all unfurl. Well maybe not everything. Approximately 10% of his mind was confidential or not of particular use to anybody else. Fluff.
"So, is Rock People like some weird slang term sorcerers use around us?"
Virgil laughed, shaking his head as he picked up his wand again and tapped his empty plate. The dishes danced into the air and drifted towards the kitchen, where the sink started running as part of the dishwashing charm. It provided a homely background noise to their conversation.
"Perhaps we don't have magical versions," he pointed out and leaned back in his seat, crossing his long legs, "so much so as you have muggle versions of our society. Chicken and egg situation, rather."
There were some wizards, like John Dee, who were known to muggle society at the time. But the extent to which the two societies borrowed from each other was never clear to him; and he'd never really given much thought to how he had access to muggles even though they scarcely knew about magic.
"Our Sundays aren't so dissimilar," Virgil commented and paused to deliberate over the next question. The dishes had washed themselves, so he flicked his wand to cast a quick accio towards the bedroom - his cigarette case came speeding towards them while he talked.
One question did suggest itself over others. "What are you training to become?" he gestured towards the closest window, meaning the entirety of Cambridge. "We don't exactly have popular higher education, more of an apprenticeship situation."
-
"But, wait-" Rock People had to mean something! He'd seen it used by multiple people in that one place that contained the most reliable source of information.
Anton grabbed his phone, got up to circle around to Virgil's side of the table and opened up Facebook, scrolling through his notifications until he found Sasha's cry for academic rescue. It had been that pivotal moment that led to Anton weaseling his way into last night's party[1].
"Abby used it - and she must be one of you, right?" At least, that's what Anton had gathered from the context clues. "No clue who that Fauna is but she said it, too," he explained, handing his phone over to Virgil as proof, only then connecting the opera-loving Virgil Abby had referenced was now sitting at his kitchen table in his sweatshirt. That had all the trappings of a social trend.
Anton's eyes widened with awe and curiosity as Virgil reached for his wand. He didn't even bother trying to guess what the other was going to do; he had no basis for anticipating what was likely or even possible. Which was for the best because Anton was certain he never would have guessed something so basic and yet so very, bloody useful as washing dishes. "That's no fair," he breathed, quietly, his attention fully captured by the gently swishing water. How Virgil could really go from self-cleaning dishes to 'their Sundays were not so different,' Anton would never guess.
With some effort, Anton was able to draw his attention away from the self-cleaning dishes and back towards Virgil. "Oh man - you sound like my dad," he groaned, slightly, but the grin and wink he offered showed the retort wasn't serious. Anton pushed himself up from the table to stow the sriracha sauce back in the fridge and walked over to the old, warn couch and plopped down. "I'm not entirely sure. I keep hoping for that holy message from the nether region that tells me what I'm supposed to do."
It sounded lame, he knew - and he sometimes felt behind his peers. "I'm studying International politics and social anthropology - I like exploring how people work and what makes them tick. When I started A-Levels, I thought I wanted to go into civil service and foreign ambassador type shit. But, with all this Arab Spring stuff cropping up - you know that's an absolute powder keg. Like, it's fascinating and terrifying at the same time. That has me thinking I might want do so something more like working with an NGO. Who knows." He shrugged. "Maybe, in the end, I'll just become a baker."
Glancing towards Virgil, Anton grinned. "So, this top secret gig you have. Are you like a magical spy?"
-
Virgil accepted the proffered phone, hesitating a moment before he scrolled down the screen. He had seen muggle smartphones before and knew how to use one based purely on watching them on the tube or in Camden Town, before he was old enough to apparate all around London. It felt odd to just be handed one. Muggle magic in a tiny box: they just typed stuff in it and information appeared. No having to pop down to the library and deal with Sphinxes or (worse) cousin Landis.
"Rock people..." he murmured, sulky lips twitching into a smile as he scanned the conversation and caught a glimpse of his own name. So this is what Abby and Schlawkward were doing on the internet - instant owling, talking smack. "Perhaps she meant we live under a rock? Muggle wise?"
Virgil passed the phone back over the table before he opened his cigarette case and slid out a stick. "Abby's a squib, definitely one of us," he added and got up to join the other boy on the sofa. It was a comfortable old thing, not unlike the one they had in Diagon. He sat on the arm, stretching his long bare legs out on the empty space next to Anton. It didn't sound like his new companion had any more direction than his magical compatriots.
Virgil didn't know anyone his age who 'had it together'. Besides Abby's roommate - Almasy always looked like she knew exactly what she wanted and would hex anyone who got in the way.
"Politics and anthropology sound fascinating." Virgil pulled a thoughtful look, tossing his case at Anton. "I suppose that's the equivalent of training on level fi-- in the department of international magical cooperation."
He remembered meeting Johann Storm at the Ministry, and then on a night out drinking. The older wizard did seem rather worldly and learned; bit slippery too, in a social situation, which reminded Virgil of how Anton had essentially invited himself to their party.
"So, this top secret gig you have. Are you like a magical spy?"
"If I were, would I be able to tell you?" Virgil raised his eyebrows facetiously, giving his wand a flick so that a flame leapt to life at its tip. "I'm training in the department of mysteries. We study things that everyone else takes for granted," he shrugged and took a quick drag. "Time, space, thought. Not really allowed to discuss details."
-
Eyebrows raised, Anton gave Virgil's hypothesis some consideration as he reached for the stereo remote on the coffee table. In hindsight, knowing what he'd learned in the last half hour, that was a reasonable explanation. Though, in all fairness, it seemed one could say the same about both sides.
"But, it's by choice, no?" Anton asked, settling comfortably into the corner of couch. "I feel I'm just as guilty of living under a rock but, until recently, I've been oblivious to my cognitive spelunking." Even with what very little information his step-mum had offered, the division between the two worlds had been obvious. Everything about this conversation was reinforcing that image she'd weaved.
At least until the comment about Sasha's mysterious girlfriend. "Wait - she's like my mum but she's one of you? She can't do magic but they let her stay?" And, she was on facebook and dating his friend and seemed normal ... at least as normal as one might except of his best friend's girlfriend.
This whole brand new world with things like Departments of Magical Cooperation. It sounded fascinating but, at the same time, was out of bounds. "I think it's fascinating. Even if some dismiss it as 'soft sciences'," he added, complete with air quotes. "I love looking at how people work. What makes them tick or ... say something hurtful when they mean something entirely different. We're fascinating creatures and ... apparently ... even more fascinating than I even suspected. And to think - international magical cooperation! Secret research." He nodded towards the magical investigator at the other end of his couch. "What I wouldn't give to -"
His voice trailed off with a sigh of resignation. It was hard not to get caught up in this different picture of a magical world than his stepmum had painted. From what he'd gathered from her, there was no way she or Anton or ... well ... any of the rest of the family would really be a part of it all. They'd always be outsiders. Their existence acknowledged, because one of their own made it impossible to ignore them, but they'd never have a seat at the table.
Except for Micha, alone. Who, in a few months time, would venture out alone into that world and there would be no way for them to follow. She'd been trying to hide it, but Anton knew that inevitability had been keeping their mum up at nights.
And, that was why she'd called him in a panic after he'd sent that ill-thought-out text.
Sobering, he glanced down the couch at Virgil. "They aren't going to take him away early, are they? Now that we know, they're not going to take Micha early?"
-
"Wait - she's like my mum but she's one of you? She can't do magic but they let her stay?"
He sunk down onto the seat next to Anton, bare legs folded up with his knees to his chest. Virgil took a long drag of his cigarette as he narrowed his gaze at the muggle. "Squibs come from magical families, they're already a part of the world. Not all of them want to stay though."
The young wizard shrugged and leaned sideways against the back of the sofa. "Lots of squibs just take on muggle identities and lifestyles. I guess it's easier."
Virgil had never really thought about it. There were no squibs in his immediate family and he didn't know much about any Carstairs squibs; they seemed to exist as distant figures with vaguely tragic lives. Abby was different though. Abby seemed to embrace both sides, wholeheartedly.
Anton continued, enthused by the little details of the wizarding world. Virgil smiled sadly when he trailed off in the realisation that there was some things muggles just couldn't be a part of. The Ministry of Magic was a dangerous place for the magic-less. He passed his cigarette over.
"They don't take him," he laughed lightly and shook his head at the other boy. "It's a boarding school, you see him off at Kings Cross when term starts. He comes home for holidays. All rather civil. What makes you think he's going to be snatched away? Didn't your mother explain?"
-
"My mum's the one who's worried about it," Anton offered, with a slightly shrug as he reached for the offered cigarette.
Anton definitely felt a bit like he was at the edge of his element; all he knew about this whole wizarding world was what his mum had explained. That had felt like the bare minimum, even a year ago when they'd had no other notes to use as comparison.
He knew he'd have to be certain enough in his own information to calm her nerves when he got home that evening. Seeing Micha off every year to some magical boarding school and then hearing the stories he returned with at the end of term sounded a far cry better than the uncertain warnings they'd been offered over the past year.
Virgil's casual and nonchalant demeanor was just as reassuring as the content of his answers but Anton wasn't the one that needed the reassurance. It would be up to Anton to fill that nonverbal void with Hanna.
"All she really explained was her birth parents could do magic, which is probably where Micha got the ability." Anton took several draws off the cigarette before handing it back. "Beyond that, I'm not sure she knows anymore than the rest of us. Her folks gave up when they realized she'd never be able to do magic. Told her she'd never have a place and left her at some hospital or church. I think she's worried her family would try to take Micha if they ever found out."
-
He listened patiently, reaching for the cigarette as Anton passed it back. A frown appeared between Virgil's eyes as the other boy explained how it was his squib mother didn't know much about wizarding society. They'd left her? Just like that? Their own daughter? It seemed... unthinkable in his position. But then again he'd never had to see his relatives contend with a squib in their lives.
"I think she's worried her family would try to take Micha if they ever found out."
"They can't do that!" he interjected and sat up straight on the couch, smoke escaping his mouth. "I mean, we have... we have custody laws too and and..." Virgil trailed off. The initial indignation ebbed slightly as the reality of the situation fell into place.
No, maybe they wouldn't technically win custody in a court or whatever. But if Anton's mum was really cut off from magical society then she wouldn't really have any idea about how it all worked - the grown up stuff, paperwork. Lawyers. And what if they apparated in and just took Micha? Even if they won him back, he'd have to live with that trauma.
A dollop of ash crumbled off the tip of the cigarette and he took another puff before handing it over distractedly. "Wizarding society isn't some manner of cult. We have rules and laws and about the same moral breadth as you lot." Virgil paused to think, trying to shake off how irritated he was at the people who left Anton's mum.
"If I were your mum," he spoke slowly, "I'd wait until Micha is at Hogwarts before telling her family. If she wants to sort that out. Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world. They can't touch him there."
-
Anton watch Virgil's indignation with a mixture of curiosity and wordless questioning. As Micha's older brother, Anton absolutely wanted to believe the merit of Virgil's words. It was reassuring to know the magical world had protections put into place for them and the Aigner's weren't free to come and whisk Micha away at their whim.
But, he was also a student of history, sociology and international politics. If the magic-less, like himself and his father, didn't even know the magical world existed, Anton had to assume they didn't have proper, adequate self-representation in the magical government. Sure, they probably had some designated witch or wizard that acted in their name but that was about as effective as an all white judge and jury insisting they could speak fairly and without prejudice on behalf of all the other races.
Things would only get more complicated if, one day, Micha decided he preferred to stay with the magical relatives that could better understand his life and world.
However, the depths and details of such a conversation weren't best suited for the morning after euphoria with casual acquaintances. Solving Schäfer Family Dilemmas wasn't what Virgil had followed him home for last night. Anton felt like he at least had enough to placate his mum's worries and, for now, that was sufficient.
"I don't think she has any intention of telling them," Anton offered, honestly. "She hasn't spoken to them since they left her when she was ten and I know there's no desire to start now. She just assumes they'll find out anyway; none of us really know what's possible so it's hard to counter that theory?" He offered an awkward half-grin and shrugged. "For all we know, some magical singing teapot and cup lamented the birth of a magical family member in their living room they day he was born."
That, Anton figured, was unlikely. Not because he could even guess whether the singing birth-announcement teacup was magically feasible but because he was confident they would have heard from the Aigners by now, if that were the case.
"I think, at least, I can convince her that they won't come and whisk Micha away. They didn't do that with Sasha, after all."