Absit Omen RPG

He waited for her to consider it, not wanting to remove the illusion so suddenly. "As I said, suspend expectation."

Satisfied by the time elapsed, Yavin make another gesture that caused Raizel's rippling image to suddenly dissolve - a sheet of water falling to the ground and dissipating into swirling mist. Behind it was revealed the face of a wizard with dark hair and eyes. It was not one he recognised, though of course he hardly expected that.

"Hm!" Yavin made an intrigued sound. "Now, who do we have here?" he glanced back at Savvina, eyebrows softly raised.

So this memory was salvageable. It had not been cut out the way he or another master Legilimens might be able to, simply displaced in the fashion of an Obliviation. Yavin could feel around him the underlying threads of Savvina's memory, knotted and twisted to other corners of her mind, all running back to this once-obscured figure.

The threads could be untangled and untwisted, the memory could be rebuilt and played like a merry-go-round. Slowly, carefully. "I take it you know this man."

He was pleased that Savvina had specific requests - it meant she was comfortable asking for what she needed in order to facilitate the process. When everything was at last in place, the thick rug and their respective drinks, Yavin procured a cushion off his armchair and sat on the floor a little across from the witch.

Some might call him pedantic but he didn't like to situate himself in a higher or lower point; better to be at the same level. Even if it did look peculiar in the large, white office with its chairs and stools.

            "I am ready."

He closed his eyes and then opened the inner eye into that of Savvina's memory. It was winter. Regents Park was familiar to him, but as with any mind it looked different through this person's experience. Yavin watched and listened.

"Yes," Yavin replied to the werewolf's statement. "I understand it."

Though he was no longer of the religious persuasion, he had grown up speaking Hebrew to his Austrian grandmother. There was a tinge of nostalgia there but he ignored it, focusing on the Raizel woman with interest. Her texture... hm. He listened to the Hebrew again, trying to detect that same Other texture in its words.

Yavin gently froze the image playing out, mid-conversation. "Hold on," he told Savvina as he manifested himself in the park.

In here he looked much as he did in the corporeal world, though he lacked his conversational ticks. The wizard approached the bench in a saunter, scratching his chin.

"This isn't your friend," he reached out to touch Raizel's forehead, which rippled like watter. "No. This doesn't belong, whatever this is..." Yavin frowned and the ripples extended all through the false image as if she were cut out of their three-dimensional reality.

Not wanting to alarm Savvina, he continued in a casual voice: "I can remove it. I don't know the face behind it, if there is one," he did not discount a worker of mind magic efficient enough to cut themselves out of memory entirely, "but someone has placed the memory of your friend over the truth."

             ".... as ancient and run down as the rest of us, eh?"

He laughed, anticipating the grin Virgil shot at Arahanga as she joined them on that note. "All the more reason to do as much as I can now," the blonde wizard quipped with the particular arrogance of youth. Jules approached a confusion of words then: Yavin welcomed the addition with one of his drunken, languid smiles.

Abbot handed out compliments generously and Virgil performed a curtsy, expression dry.

"You're looking, ah, wonderful yourself Jules," Yavin gestured at the man's outfit with his wine glass. "You might need to lose the, hm, lose the hat if these kids pull the night into muggle territory."

His idea of a good time was very different from when he'd been Virgil's - or even Kaia's - age. But maybe not so different. Something about being an Unspeakable tampered with normal expectations; you don't expect normal when you're privy to Secrets like they were.

             "Can't we just do something in here?" Virgil gestured with flourish at the doors leading through to their chambers and halls and labyrinths galore. "Muggles are so tiring."

"Just keep out of the Space Chamber," the old wizard muttered into his drink, wearing the countenance of a man who did not need to see someone throw up in zero gravity more than once in a lifetime.

2130 hours. Entrance Chamber, Department of Mysteries.


Anyone who braved the lifts to the Department of Mysteries this evening would be surprised to hear instrumental tunes[1] drifting down the passage, from the general direction of the plain door that led into their entrance chamber.

The circular space seemed larger, somehow, its obsidian-tiled walls further out from where they usually stood. Blue flamed candles burned brighter, reflected in the polished floor, and the music seemed to emanate from nowhere in particular.

Silver wood tables and chairs were arranged in a loose circle in the centre - perhaps they were more neatly used at the start of this party but by now everyone was tipsy on this or that, floating between groups of people in all manner of clothes. Wixes occasionally went in or out the doors; all Unspeakables were free to join or leave as they saw fit.

Earlier this week the last of last year's trainees finally qualified as fully-trained. It was traditional to hold a little celebration, or so Yavin Morgenthau was told.

Next month would be his first year anniversary as Head of nine. Presently, he was nursing a glass of red wine and explaining to Ophelia Hassan the intricacies of Incan botany engineering.

"You, ah, you see, there's simply no alternative to sunlight," he put down his drink on the table strewn with liquor bottles, half-empty plates and golden wrapping paper. "We need real light, real soil. I'm, hm, thinking of somewhere in Sc--"

            "You're not supposed to be talking about work! This is a party, isn't it?" cried  Virgil, sauntering over from a concentration of Seers and perching himself on the edge of the table. A salt shaker tipped over. "Sir," he added facetiously as he stole a maraschino cherry off Ophelia's cocktail.

"What kind, of, hah, what kind of dull party would that be?" Yavin stretched his arm along the back of his chair and crossed his legs. "You kids. We, hm, we knew how to party in my day..."

1.	Think Alexandre Desplat or similar.

Inwardly, he didn't rule out Savvina's friend as a potential cause - but of course Yavin had been around long enough to know that impersonation was a popular tool. There could be many explanations. Perhaps her mind wasn't the only one meddled with by their mystery instigators.

            "How do we do this?"

"Suspend expectation," he replied as he looked over his shoulder and made a flicking motion with his hand, causing the skeleton to rise. "Drink? Water, juice, a calming, ah, a calming tonic maybe? And make yourself comfortable, other, hm, other kinds of chairs can be made available if you desire it."

The skeleton clattered off to the far side of the large office, to fix a drink at the lab table against the wall. "Your state of mind should be, um, somewhat sedate. Don't try to force a memory. It will come. It might not be what you, hah, what you want or suspect but if you are surprised that's alright. Allow the surprise to come and go."

Pliable, believing subjects were the easiest to work with. They were also the easiest to take advantage of. The vulnerability of it made him disinclined to push for trust - he only requested, once.

"When you're ready, ah, it's best if you close your eyes and try to picture the last thing you remember..." Yavin paused; it had been some time since he did this with a person he had just met. "I'll be there the entire time. You will be able to communicate with, ah, with me."

Under different circumstances, he thought, Savvina might seem almost playful in her wording - a characteristic he often associated with intelligence. He saw it in Lawrence too, and wondered if it was part of how these two imprisoned wixes kept their spirits buoyed.

Yavin unfolded his legs and leaned back in the chair as he listened. His gaze flicked to the floor, then back to her gestures at intervals. What she explained, the clarity with which she explained it, did not indicate the loss of a memory through trauma. There was no haziness or confusion in Savvina's mind if what she said was true.

Simply something... missing. How clumsy, if someone did enter and steal. Clumsy of them not to replace it.

"Yes," he met her gaze through his gleaming spectacles. "Yes, ah, you may be on to something. You think somebody has taken a memory from you. And that this, hm, this long lost acquaintance, she is, as they say, in on it?" his eyebrows rose pointedly.

It was easy to see why Savvina needed someone in the Ministry to help her, rather than from St.Mungo's. Healers were sworn to confidentiality but this was sensitive information to an ongoing case. If someone was removing memories, they might do it again.

"If so," Yavin continued in a matter-of-fact voice, "Then we should get, uh, get down to it. I think for today we can aim to, aim to ascertain if the memory has indeed been, that is, been taken. Confirmation of a void, an absence."

He held his hands out in a questioning manner. "What do you think?"

He took a seat next to the skeleton, keeping an empty chair between himself and the werewolf. Yavin crossed his legs and leaned forward slightly, hands on knee. His eyes settled pensively on Savvina as he allowed himself a moment to appraise her appearance. Nobody took well to imprisonment but she seemed resilient.

Not quite the resilience he was used to seeing but something softer, maybe.

"I can recover memories, with work and, hm, and time." Yavin sighed slightly and the skeleton mimicked his mannerisms behind him, "However. All minds are different. It isn't, uh, it isn't ever easy and sometimes it is... inadvisable. Sometimes our minds, they, ah, they make us forget to protect us. And it is, daunting to, that is, to work against the nature of the mind.

He spoke in a low, casual voice the whole time. Then he smiled at Savvina. "Why don't you, ah, tell me what you want to remember. What you imagine you are, uh, are recovering?"

Yavin preferred this to reading her file. There were things you could only sense about a person when you see them before you, intangible notions that didn't require legilimency to detect. Simply imagination and sympathy.

1000 hours. Office of the Head of Department of Mysteries.


Yavin turned away from the Victorian windows behind his desk as he heard the door open. Three people stepped into the room - firstly Ophelia, then Savvina. A guard brought up the rear as the door closed behind him.

When one of level two's attorneys turned in a request for the recovery of a prisoner's memories, he had been uncertain what to expect. Yavin had been ready to pass it one to somebody else in the Brain Room but reading Savvina's case file had interested him.

After all, he loved a good mystery. And here was one ready to be picked at, unravelled. Brought out of shadow. It was more workable than some other mysteries on this floor, such as the ever-confounding Sphere.

"Thank, ah, thank you," he nodded at the two escorts. "That will be, um, that will be all. We're quite alright by ourselves, aren't we Ms. Katopodis?" Yavin gestured her over to one of the four empty chairs in front of the desk. A fifth was occupied by a skeleton in a bright yellow dress, who swivelled its head about to grin at Savvina.

He walked around to the other side, ignoring his working chair. "You'll, hm, forgive me for arranging to do this here. I believe that, hah, that a different environment can help with the, that is, with the process."

Every time he left the Thought Chamber he remembered his age. Ah, to be a reckless Unspeakable allowing oneself to be thrown around by sociopathic brains! No, no. Once or twice in an hour would knock him out at this age. The young wixes can happily stand to be tossed and thrown a few dozen times.

He drew breathe through his pipe, following Virgil's attention.

"Hurts like you, ah, you wouldn't believe..." the older wizard snorted out a cloud of smoke. "I'll heal it later," he added before looking up at his companion with appraising eyes.

More than anywhere else, Virgil seemed most adult on level nine. It was a strange thing for Yavin to witness - that precocious young boy, this dauntless young man. Both with a penchant for getting into trouble.

"How are you, Virgil?" he tapped the mouthpiece against his chin. "Alright? Your friends, ah, Abby, hm, Nemo? All good?"

An expression of surprise crossed Virgil's face, but it quickly recovered. He probably hadn't been expecting a catch-up in the locker rooms at this hour of the morning. Why not? It was as good a place as any. And answers less contrived were more honest.

           "Oh. Yes. I mean, I'm fine, and fairly certain they're... good." Virgil paused, as if to think. "I suppose I've been busy."

Yavin studied the ashes of his pipe bowl and smiled to himself. Busy indeed. There didn't seem any end to the things his mentee could poke his nose into. Mysteries produced a great deal of reports every week - and without fail he would see Virgil's name pop up. Werewolf prophecies. Pentral exorcisms. Vampires[1], drugs[2], experiments.

"Not too busy though?" he took a puff, and there was a sympathetic look in his eye - unobscured by glasses. "And everything with Cepheus is fine?"

1.	Dec 4th 2011 - It's the Freakiest Show
2.	Jan 16th 2012 - It Scares Me Half to Death

He watched the young man turn from him. In one motion, Yavin could see a distance growing between himself and Virgil over the next few years.

If he entered Virgil’s life too often or stuck around for too long, he would only serve to remind him of this moment. Of the shame.

His mentee was already a deeply private wizard. To live with the constant mortification - the knowledge that Yavin kept their incestuous secret in the ocean of his mind -  might be enough to ruin their relationship. He needed to give Virgil time as well as distance.

The countryside grew populous whilst the train sped on, showing them scenes of smaller towns and muggle factories.

Yavin finished his water. He was still washing out the taste of vomit in his mouth, which had been an unfortunate side effect of digging into Laidie’s head.

He, too, needed time and distance.

“You’re going to stay away from Adelaide.” Yavin replied, having already had time to think about this. “And you’re going to carry on like you usually do.”

There was a pause for Virgil to gather himself. The young man turned around in his seat, sniffly but clear-eyed. “She’s going to be mad.”

He shook his head and a conspiritial look entered his eye, spectacles gleaming.

“Maybe. She’ll be very mad about you two falling out over, ah, over you using Emmylou Carter.” Yavin checked his watch, tracking how much longer before they arrived in Oxford. “But that’s the kind of thing sisters get over.”

Virgil sat straighter, alert. “What did you do?”

“What did you want me to do when you wrote?” he tilted his head to the side, eyeing the blonde searchingly. “Hm? You could have, ah, left on your own. I’m not a taxi service. Why did you get me involved?”

They fell silent and Virgil shifted, uncomfortable.

            “I don’t know. I just. I trust you,” he licked his lip nervously. “I thought you would… I thought you would know what to do.”

“Thank you for your trust.” Yavin smiled, voice dry. “I, hm. Well I had a conversation with Adelaide and we both agreed it would be… easier for you, if she didn’t remember. It will give you ah, ah, chance to process what's happened without interference."

Virgil didn’t need to know that he practically blackmailed Laidie into agreeing. The only sense she would listen to was the threat of Edgar and Angela finding out. Yavin held her original memories in his mind palace, intact and hidden. One day he would return them.

The timing of such a day depended less on Laidie’s ability to handle the memory and more on Virgil’s ability to handle his sister.

            “It’s not like that, it’s not her fault.”  Virgil’s eyes were hard, in spite of tears.. “Leave Adelaide alone. Why can’t you just… just tell me I’m awful, Yavin? Tell me and get it over with!” he kicked the seat across in frustration.

“Because you’re not." Yav turned so that they were facing each other better. “Listen. You were always, um. Always going to run the risk of being hypersexual.”

Virgil moved closer to the window, away. Wary. When they spoke of his trauma nowadays it seemed far away - the effects spread out over the years, helped along by Yavin’s counselling. But he never shied from the subject, never gave Virgil an excuse to avoid it.

“No judgement.” Yavin raised both his hands and then his eyebrows, frank. “It… it happens. To some people with history like, ah, like yours, it can develop.”

They needed to have this talk now instead of later. He wouldn’t stick around Oxford for too long. “Taking the initiative, pursuing the experience. It puts you in control of an intimate act that frightens you.”

Virgil looked out the window and crossed his arms over his stomach, hunched forward. Yavin lowered his hands.

“What you two did was human,” he spoke quietly. “ I won’t, I promise, I don’t think any, ah, any less of you for it. But Adelaide should know right from wrong.”

He leaned down, resting his head against Virgil’s for a second.  “You’re not. Hey. Hey.”

The blond glanced up reluctantly, eyes full of self-loathing. They could cut, his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. I know what I did, I’m not a child.”

Yavin gave him a squeeze and let go, with a sound that might have been a laugh. Adelaide made the same distinction about Virgil.

There was something cold about the way Virgil went about things. He wanted to lose his virginity, so he did. Maybe he meant to lose it to a friend or someone from school - that’s what he told his sister. But confronted by his sister's desire, her safety and comforts... yes, Yavin could see how it was.

It was logical. And to write to Yavin, out of his depth, expecting Merlin knew what - also, logical.

“You’re fifteen,” he said and Virgil cut in with a glare: “Sixteen in November.”
            “Not yet,” Yavin pointed out. “And I don’t think, uh, I don’t think Laidie cares either way, do you?”

He watched the boy fall quiet. “If she cared, she would have, uh, would have waited,” he tilted his head to the side. “Waited at least until you were out of Hogwarts. But if she did that, if she waited, could she have counted on you to give in?”

His wife used to tell him that if was a devil’s word - but Yavin functioned within if because it taught you to see outside your immediate circumstance.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Yavin snorted, not unkindly.

Virgil’s smile was brittle. The train broke free of London, cutting across the wasteland of the great British countryside. That’s what they called it, him and the boy. A wasteland created by the greed of English kings. Any other day, they would lament over ancient woodland and extinct creatures.

Today, he sipped his water and held himself together for the boy's sake. “Alright, Virgil. We have, um, have approximately -” Yavin checked his watch, “ - an hour.”

Everything about Virgil’s bearing was rigid, defensive. Laidie tried to explain to Yavin that her brother wasn’t made of glass - but look at him now. He was still a kid in many ways and it hurt him to know that his experience would compound past traumas.

No, it wouldn’t take a lot to shatter Virgil.  “I know Adelaide’s side of the, hm, of the story,” he tried to get the ball rolling. “Tell me yours.”

Adelaide’s bedroom was tidied, sheets cleaned with the aid of a quick charm. Some of Virgil’s clothes, left behind, had to be brought to the guest room.

There wasn’t much else otherwise to cover up in terms of evidence. He even checked Laidie’s personal diary - she’d been too busy to make an entry since last month. Lucky him. Yavin returned to the living room, where the witch in question was sitting by the fireplace.

She stared into space, half asleep.

He checked the clock on the mantel. Over an hour since Virgil left. It had taken a good deal of time for Yavin to alter Adelaide’s memories. Two weeks contained a lot of material, in addition to a completely fictitious scenario painting his own arrival. One had to improvise.

This didn’t mean Laidie's feelings weren’t still there but those would mellow or alter with time.

Before he returned to Italy he would drop by to double check his craftsmanship. And until then, Adelaide Carstairs simply wasn’t a priority.