Saturday had been among the most tired Violet had had in a while— and not in a good way. But, at the very least, it had been fenced on either side by a prosperous (lucky) Friday and a promising Sunday evening. As the sun went down over London, the vampire sat in her usual ‘morning’ perch, the vanity chair of her bedroom.

The drapes were heavy and enforced by charms to keep any light out, but the room was hardly stifling. Chandeliers, candles, and feminine lamps washed the white room in an almost natural light that nevertheless retained a warm, evening-appropriate glow and complimented the crackling fire. The furniture was equal parts delicate and modern, Victorian-accented and clean at the same time. Light walls and rugs and white duvet made it all the brighter.

The rest of the house was much the same, stark in places (the kitchen), but comfortable and charming enough overall.

Violet finished the uncomplicated routine with a spray of perfume: hints of English garden rose and sandalwood were mingled with sweeter notes.

The dressing gown came off as she rose, and Violet took her time pulling on a dress, knowing that she still had a few minutes before the sun was entirely asleep. She had few qualms keeping her date waiting, if he showed up early.

Which was not to say that she wasn’t interested and attracted. Felix Dagon had become in the span of two encounters someone she thought about quite a lot of late. The dragon tamer was definitely one of Violet’s most memorable dates, and she had been alive for over a hundred years. It was often easy to forget people who came into her life for a night; there was usually an anonymity to it that suited her. But this one… if their last intense desktop encounter was anything to go by, Violet craved more. Something about him still lingered on her skin.

And no one had ever managed to so thoroughly surprise her in her own office. Or make it so hard to remove her own makeup.

As she came downstairs, her elf gave her a slight nod, which Violet returned, with a thanks for the glass of blood that sat solo in the kitchen, vivid red against pristine white. The elf carried on, beginning the task of opening the downstairs drapes. If house-elves were supposedly cowering creatures, Violet had struck up quite the respectful partnership with hers; perhaps it had something to do with Ministry classifications. She took small, brief sips from the glass while she waited.

She did not have to wait long: a faint green glow came from the other room, and Violet set the glass down to head toward the fireplace just through the wide, open door frame. Her heels slowed as he came into her line of sight. She smiled calmly. “So how did you end up sleeping on Friday?”

She approached easily, hands settling lightly on his chest as she kissed his cheek. “My coat is in the front hall.”

Once they had stepped out into the night— the house now glowing warmly behind them through unmasked windows— Violet put her arm through his. “Are you taking me to dinner?” She asked, somewhat dryly. There was still amusement in her tone as she looked him over. Whatever her usual habits, she was happy for the repeat visit.

Sunday was a quick turn around from Friday. Even so, it gave him enough time to settle things at the ranch so that he wouldn’t be needed until Monday some time. Even then, his help at the ranch would have it under control. When he’d gotten back from her office, he’d helped with securing the barn before passing out early. Which meant he had woken up early, and refreshed, on Saturday.

That had been barn clean out day, since he was taking Sunday for himself. Or part of it, anyway. Exercises and feedings and baths had wiped him out for the evening. By Sunday, he had decided a nice laze around would be in order, and he caught up on bills and started reading a book before he enjoyed a small nap. It wasn’t often he had the chance to enjoy the simplicities in life.

Then it was up and at em; he showered and shaved and prepped for the evening. Felix was learning quickly; he ate in his kitchen while sipping a cup of tea, towel loose around his waist as he glanced over the Daily Prophet from that morning. He had ignored the sports section until then, looking over Quidditch standings before he finished. Then it was back to the bedroom to brush his teeth and finish dressing.

Felix had waited until it was just time before stepping into the floo.

He caught his balance on the other end, straightening himself and dusting what he could from his trousers and sweater. The clicking of the heels had him looking up, his smile more boyish than coy at this point. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” Where her hands rested on his chest, his found their way to her waist, having enjoyed the view as she sauntered over to him. A cheek kiss? This time he smirked, but returned it, letting his head dip forward as his lips found her neck (and the delicious smell of her perfume).

Felix pulled away easily before taking the cue and moving to grab her coat. It wasn’t a terrible night out, and his sleeves were already rolled up and over the sweater, pushed up to his elbows for comfort.

“Who said you weren't dinner.” He pulled her arm in close as he matched her steps, leading her down the road. “If you do get hungry, though, don’t hesitate. I brought along some meat for you to sate yourself with.” His voice had dropped so only she could hear, turning his lips to press lightly into her hair before he was back to the front again. “How has your weekend been?”

Felix stepped forward, trailing his hand to hold her away from traffic as he hailed a cab. One upside to dating and nearly marrying a muggleborn had been the learning of muggle habits. Once it was there, he opened it for her and followed in. “Saatchi Gallery.” Felix settled in next to Violet, his arm taking hers back under his as his fingers slid between hers.

Violet liked his smile, the one he offered when he wasn’t smirking (which she liked, too). There was something very candid about it. Sincere. The slow approach had allowed her to admire him standing there beside her mantle. He was well-tailored, but not stiff, perfect for a weekend night out. Violet’s own smile widened a bit as he elaborated on his recent sleeping habits. She was still smiling when he kissed her neck, and tilted her head back a little in invitation, but she pulled away as easily as he. They had a whole night; they could loiter later.

Once he had helped her into her coat and they were on the sidewalk, Violet gave only the tiniest smile at his… offer. “I’m picky,” she admitted. “About how I take my meat.”

She let him dwell on that for a moment as she answered his question. “I had a long night. One of our models decided to unleash her ego in the middle of a shoot.” Fond memories for ages. “There’s a reason I don’t usually hire fourteen-year-olds.” The scramble by assistants to find another girl last minute to turn it into a multi-girl editorial had resulted in a very long night. “And then there was the photographer’s bruised ego. They’re an entirely different level of sensitive,” she summarized, as he pulled her closer to the street and hailed a cab.

As they ducked in, she looked out the window at others who strolled the sidewalks, silently enjoying the feelings of his fingers sliding into hers. She looked back at him, her face relaxed. “You have good taste.” It was one of her favorite galleries, but she had not been in quite a while. Violet was a surprised, in good way. Not that she didn’t know that he had good taste— in art, architecture, and women. (Some women.)

"How about your weekend? No new burns?” She looked down, toward his neck. If her eyes lingered there a bit longer than usual, it was not anything too noticeable. She had, of course, assumed he was perfectly intact— he looked it.

A soft and calculated laugh escaped. “I suppose you’ll have to clue me in to your specifics.” For someone who drank blood, it would seem the rarer, the better. Then again, she didn’t really eat food, at her admission, so... joking aside, if he was making steak, it would be just for him. That wasn’t a bad thing, though; he could get a delicious cut of steak and cook it just right before devouring it. All while she sipped on a glass of blood. That would be a very unorthodox dinner date.

Which was probably why he decided against that idea. Besides, it was much more fun to not be hungry for food when he had dessert in a coat on his arm.

Even if Felix wasn’t interested in shop talk, he had perfected the eager listener facade long ago. There were things she said that caught his curiosity. “Fourteen? That seems young for a shoot.” Hell, Gabriella was seventeen and there was no way Felix would let her partake. Or there wasn’t much leeway he would give, anyway. As far as he knew, thankfully, she didn’t want to do that. While waiting for the cab to pull up, Felix pulled her close and kissed the side of her head gently. “You poor thing. All those egos competing...”

He didn’t feel like there was a need to point out all the egos that might have been represented. His attempt to show concern and empathy was enough. “I can’t even imagine. I have a hard enough time dealing with creatures that can’t give me detailed opinions. There’s a reason I work well with animals.” Felix might have charm when he needed it, but that didn’t mean he was perfect all the time. More often than not he was moody and too sensitive over little things.

They both shared surprise; he glanced at her, studying her for a moment as he considered. It was sometimes easy to forget how many years she had on him, even while looking like she was his junior. He smirked and stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. She could’ve looked the exact same (fashion of the decade aside) when the gallery first opened, whereas Felix would’ve been a young child running around. Or just entering Hogwarts.

“Generally I do...” He took in another slow breath of her before glancing out the window, watching as the pedestrians blurred.

Felix laughed and glanced to the cab driver, voice lowering as he turned his attention back to her. His eyes moved over her face, watching the way her lips came together before he leaned forward, his own lips lightly pressing near her hair. One had to be careful with all the muggles around. “My weekend was routine...” He moved their joined hands to between her thighs, hand pressing hers down, back of it against her skin, fingers skimming over her thigh before slowly, teasingly withdrawing away.

He had received at least fifty percent of his scars and burns in the first few years of his career. After that, one became more... conscious of what they were doing. Felix didn’t like the idea of being a charred over bachelor. He kept his voice low and moved her hair aside, lips finding their mark just below her ear. “Knock on my wood... but I haven’t had a burn in a few months.”

“I suppose you’ll have to clue me in to your specifics.”

“I’m sure you’ll learn them. You seem like a quick student,” she observed. "Maybe a little trouble-making, but quick.” Or slow when he wanted to be. Or when she wanted him to be. He had certainly proved he could hold out.

Violet tried to keep the work discussion brief, but she did enjoy talking about what she did— even if some of the details were less pleasant than others. The final product was always worth a headache. “It is. I prefer to hire them older. My stylist booked her because she’s worked for us before and she’s a talented model.” And she was not a young fourteen, not physically. Girls could look much older than they were. “But talent doesn’t always make up for experience.” She looked him over. “A balance of both is best...” If there was a jab at his recent dating history… it was subtle. He, at least, had both, which Violet appreciated.

She wondered, for a moment, how much of his words were shaped by a fatherly instinct. It was somewhat strange to think of him as a parent.

Her eyes sought him, a quick side glance as he kissed her, and there was something quietly affectionate in her expression. “Sometimes I would prefer animals. They might have more patience.” Her eyes gave him a look that suggested she might let him try to convince her.

“Generally I do…”

“Generally,” she echoed. Her fingers curled softly into his. She, too, glanced out his window, leaning close but keeping a decent posture. It had been ingrained in her as a child, to sit smartly. Some things lasted decades.

Her lips spreading into another smile, she acknowledged his answer. Dragons were admittedly more alarming to muggle ears than fashion shoots. Burns were universally attention-grabbing. The cab driver seemed to glance back in his mirror only momentarily before deciding it was another weird conversation in London.

Which was just as well for Violet and her thighs.

She enjoyed the touch, the soundless thrill of him controlling their hands and… modesty. Her eyes swept smoothly from Felix, to the traffic ahead, and then down, watching her hand in his trail and tease her own skin. As he pulled away and whispered, she looked up again, straight ahead, her mouth holding another small, subdued smile. Below, her hand freed itself softly, making its way to his lap, brushing over material at much the same pace he had used, but more fleeting still. “Knocking isn’t very subtle,” she murmured back, but she turned to look at him again, to catch him the corner of her eye from his place behind her ear, her fingers slid back into his. “I did notice.” Her eyes moved down the front of his shirt. At least she had noticed Friday. And the week before that. But whether there were very new ones or not, Violet was still very interested in seeing his many layers. “Congratulation, on being very good at dodging fire."

As the cab approached the curb, she straightened up further.

It wasn’t often someone could make a joke about him being a student. It wasn’t often he dated someone near his age, anymore. The fact that she could technically have been his professor’s professor... He felt that odd tightening in his chest again, eyes taking her in, assessing her a little longer. “Hm...” His head tilted just slightly as he watched her, finally smirking and looking away. If he liked trouble, it was because it went so well with his personality.

Felix wondered briefly how talented someone had to be to be called a talented model, but he merely smiled and kept his question to himself. It was her world, and so it meant something to her. “So I’m learning.” He cocked an eyebrow at her and stretched his fingers between hers before holding her hand loosely. Felix could tell when there was a barb thrown his way, even if he wasn’t completely sure of the context.

It probably had something to do with his dating habits.

“If you feed them first, they can be very subdued.” The difference between humans and creatures that couldn’t talk was that one was fueled by many different things, from intellect to sexuality to feeling accomplished. The other, at least in the dragon sense, started with food and ended with food. Some were definitely more fickle than others, and he had refused to take any fireballs on at the ranch until Gabby was either an adult or out of the house for that reason.

But there was a simplicity to them that couldn’t compare to the layers of women.

When she returned the tease, his knees instinctively pressed wider. His eyes also darted up front, but only long enough to assure himself that the cabby wasn’t looking back. Then they glided over to the top of her dress, staring as she spoke, finally looking up to her face. She was more intoxicating than a half-veela.

“It’s more than luck. If you don’t learn, you’ll just end up in the fire with no way out.” Felix winked before leaning over and paying the cab driver, stepping out of the cab. He held the door with one hand and offered her his free one. Once they were out, he held his arm out for her to take, pulling her with him towards the entrance. After they went in, he steered her towards an area not so populated, his lips brushing her hair.

“What does this piece say to you?”

“If you feed them first, they can be very subdued.”

“But for how long?” She challenged. She appeared to ignore his shifting legs, but she was well aware of the encouraging movement. As they neared the gallery, Violet knew there would be time for that later. If she would have been happy to let her hand linger where it had teased, she knew that delaying would make it all the more fun later.

Violet didn’t doubt that it took much more than luck to dodge the hellfire of dragons. But it didn’t mean that Felix didn’t look lucky. She slid out of the cab after him, taking his hand again and smoothing her free one over her coat. “That’s a big risk to take every day of your life,” she noted. “So you are a quick learner.”

Soon they were in the gallery proper, and Violet was taking in the layers of everything passed— including the other visitors. But it the gallery-goer who had brought her in whom she was most interested. That, and his chosen exhibition. Blue eyes pinned the painting, roaming slow over fiery hues that swirled into more subdued colors, hints of pastel. There was something to the roundness of it that was broken. And yet…

“It’s someone trapped,” she said slowly, after a moment. Her eyes swept again from one side of the painting to the other. Despite its bright and modern palette, it was the blue that stuck with her. “But rising, perhaps.”

She turned to him finally, peeling her eyes away from the canvas. They were rather soft but intent as they found his face. “What do you see?” Her arm in his pulled minutely, and as she waited for him answer, her eyes dropped a fraction and she began to study his face, his appealing structure, the small details that were only a breath away.

“I guess that would depend on how much you fed them.” There wasn’t that much research out there about how much you could poke a dragon with a stick before it ate you for a meal. Or how long after a meal your poking would elicit an angry reaction. Some species were more docile than others. “You’d want to do more than just stoke its appetite...”

Felix wondered briefly if she was backhanding his chosen profession. He chuckled regardless. “Sometimes it’s not about how hard you push or how long it takes, but the heart and soul put into something that makes it worth it.” Dangerous or not, he loved what he did. It was cutthroat in a more physical way than any other job he could think of. One wrong move and you would regret it; some had regretted it permanently. Still, it was the thrill that drew him to it. It bred his ego. “And I’ve always been curious enough to study.”

He watched her face as she took in the painting, spewing out what she thought she saw. After a moment, he blinked his way to the canvas, trying to see it from her point of view. He turned his head again to meet her gaze, repeating her question under his breath before he shifted, foot stepping behind her as his hands rested on her hips. One arm snaked around her and pulled her in against him as he rested his head against the side of hers.

His voice was quiet but commanding. “I see a wizard casting spell after spell, swirling madness around him as he fights. Obscuro! Aguamenti! Imperio, Incendio... Eeerecto.” His voice grew softer near the end as he drew out the last spell for effect. “Do you see the face? The mouth open... the eyebrows tilted back, the sorrow... He’s either won against an opponent he didn’t want to beat, or his doom is near.” Felix smirked before pressing lightly against her ear, pulling away. “Or he’s trapped.” He shrugged and let his hand find hers, gently pulling her to the next.

After a good half an hour of wandering from painting to painting, they wandered towards a grouped sculpture. “What do you think the blue pillar of light represents?” Felix had his arm wrapped comfortably around Violet, relaxed and carefree as he enjoyed the simplicities of the gallery.

Violet turned toward him with a curious expression, and maybe something that questioned whose appetite he really wanted stoking.

As their conversation continued outside of the cab, Violet smiled. She might not have a desire to become a dragon tamer herself, but she could respect his career path— danger and all. There was a danger to everything in the wizarding world (and the other world) to some extent. He might as well pick the most dangerous and master it. She liked the way he talked about it, too. It was obvious that he hadn’t just thrown himself into something to make money (which often to one’s detriment). “That’s a rarer attitude toward work than you might think.” It was meant as a compliment.

His vision for the painting caught her off guard. Violet stood still, comfortable, as he held her. Her lips parted in thought at his explanation, at each spell— words she had heard hundreds of times, but which she had not often felt for a hundred years. Somehow, he made the difference. That he should describe it so vividly, see it so clearly… It almost made her heart beat.

A small laugh left her and she looked at him again, from the side. “No, I see it. You’ve put some serious thought into this. I see it perfectly,” she said in a low voice. Her eyes trailed back to the painting again just before he began to pull her away. “I’m afraid my conclusion was woefully under detailed.” As they began to walk, she glanced back pointedly. “Though that last spell, I’m unsure of.”

But at the realization that Felix really enjoyed art, her opinions gradually became more verbose, and more of the imagination behind why she thought what she did came out. Violet has studied art for years, knew the history behind many of the classics and the movements that accompanied them, but, while it was in her nature to be opinionated, and she did not flinch away from it, it was not always her style to put so much emotion into it.

“I think,” she lied, “That he spent too much time thinking with things that weren’t his head.” While the other had done the opposite. They were tarred, cancerous things, but they at least still donned their work accessories. “Really, though, I think they were both dispassionately swept up,” she told him. “By the regimen of life. By the time there was any hope for enlightenment, it was too late. It was too much for that one. The other one is still standing, of course, but you don’t really need your mind to function if you’re going through the motions, do you?”

Felix took the compliment with a small smile, glancing away with a shrug. There were some things in his life that he put his all into. One of those happened to be his career. Especially after Kayleigh passed... and his daughter started Hogwarts. Once she started to find her own way and needed her daddy less and less, it allowed him to devote more time to the ranch. When she was home and getting under his skin, he had work just down the hill from the house that he could throw himself into.

Or lock her out of his office while he mulled over plans and grants and proposals.

The arm that held her close, his hand pressed against her abdomen, fingers moving in slow movements against the material of her dress. It was what had spoken to him quickest, a faint memory of spells cast for protection, for dueling. Felix preferred to keep those memories somewhere else, though, having more use for household, construction, and defense spells. He smirked and raised an eyebrow at her as they started to walk away. “Oh no, you can see it in the stance he has.”

If they couldn’t have a bit of fun with the seriousness of art conversation, it would be a very dull evening. It was fun, however, to hear her voice a more thorough consideration of each piece, arguing over what one color might really mean, or whether something was more masculine or feminine in the strokes of the brush. He had small jokes here and there, but he was actually enjoying himself.

It was a little uncanny, when he realized how much he liked her company.

He laughed and rolled his eyes, glancing from her face to the sculpture. “That’s every mans cross to bear.” He quieted as she went into her opinion, listening and nodding slowly along in agreement. “Exactly. They became slaves to their work. What they dealt with in life became their soul, and it rot them to the core. What else to symbolize greed and a willingness to do what you need to to reach the top than a mouse. Or a rat.” From the briefcases to the too-big shoes on their feet. “He’s dead already, even if he’s still standing.”

Nose pressed against her hair, taking a slow breath as he kissed her head behind her ear. “Do you need a drink?” And then he remembered, and he laughed, loudly, suddenly, before it died out. “Sorry.” Felix winked at her before he stepped away, pulling her with him. “Tell me more about this hope for enlightenment, Violet. How do you escape the mundane and the heartache that is life to stay hopeful?”

His quip about the spell (erecto) was followed up by more fun, which hand in hand with more layered conversations on art. As they studied the sculptures, Violet smiled at his exposition, even showing teeth. Felix was not shy with his thoughts.

When drinks came up, her attention was torn from the exhibit. “Are you offering?” She asked, eyes moving from his eyes, very, very briefly to his neck. Then she smiled again, but this time with less teeth. “I had my breakfast… I’ll be fine. But if you want a drink, I’d love to accompany you.” She turned toward where he’d kissed and pressed into him, a hand coming up to his cheek. "I have drinks you might appreciate back at my house, too.”

But she was also very much enjoying the museum. It was refreshing, to be around someone so candid— with his ideas, his suggestions, his hands.

“I try to keep evolving.” Even if she was physically exactly the same, she had come a long way. “It helps if you find a way to shape trends, rather than ride them.” While Violet was a woman of many habits, someone with structure in her life, and specific tastes, she often found it hard to simply settle, to follow a long path without investigating things for herself, to get comfortable and turn blind. Which was not to say that she did not indulge regularly in many comforts. Life was both too long and too short not to… even if being a vampire did funny things to time.

She laced her fingers through his, deciding that some more recent habits were proving to be ones she wouldn’t mind sticking to for a while. She pulled him on, at a pleasant pace, toward another room. The gray room had filtered white light poking through webs of black mesh. It was everywhere, like vines, like a storm of flies, like smoke.

Felix blinked at her question; he assumed she was kidding. Wasn’t she? His lips parted briefly before he licked them, glancing down to her lips while she looked at his neck. What was it like? Was asking the same as giving permission? He had considered it briefly since meeting her, sure, but she had never... it hadn’t been posed like that yet. Whatever breath he had been holding was let go when she mentioned breakfast.

He chuckled, brushing aside questions for another time. “You have a flavor I like all the time. Do you replenish your liquor cabinet often, Violet?” Felix supposed if she had to entertain real people who needed water and food to survive, then it would make sure to be ready for any situation. And what made better investments than someone who was a little trashed?

Keep evolving. He wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say, but that... actually made sense. Felix assessed her as he listened; the more he was around her, the less he pretended to listen. He found her opinions interesting, if not always in line with his. It was kind of refreshing, to have a grown up conversation with someone other than his family. Someone who he could relax with and let his opinions slip without fear of a lecture.

His mum could be overbearing, and his daughter could be just as bad.

Felix accepted the lead, following easily behind her, swinging their hands briefly. He stepped into the room after her, eyebrows rising as he glanced around the decor. “It looks like the Cold War is still ongoing.” It had an end of the world feel. “Decay on the walls, so thick you could taste it.” Felix blinked as he looked over the material in the way, stepping around it. “What did you do during the Second War?” For now, they were alone in the room.

They moved past her joke— rather quickly. Violet decided it was for the best. Only time would tell whether there would be an appropriate moment to bring it up more earnestly. But that Felix did not flee the scene was promising… some people did not take it well, dwelling, really envisioning a vampire drinking their blood. Even in jest.

But then she had gotten to know him well enough over the past couple of weeks, during their few encounters, to realize he wasn’t the type to shy away from joking about it. Or run away, at least.

“You have a flavor I like all the time. Do you replenish your liquor cabinet often, Violet?”

“Of course. What kind of terrible host wouldn’t?” She asked, her smile having more to do with the first comment than his question. She leaned up a bit, adding in the same soft voice, lips barely touching his skin, “I like your flavor, too.”

As they entered the next room, Violet’s mind seemed to go soaring back— not to the Cold War, as Felix remembered— but to other dark times in wizarding history. Like his next mention. She came to her senses quickly, seeming the same as always: composed. And, of course, she could see what he saw when he painted it in her mind’s eyes.

She walked slowly toward some of the black mesh; it had a unassuming, moth-like quality up close. But when one saw the overall effect, how it ate away at the light in the room… It only took one bad seed to kill the crop. “It has that drabness,” she agreed, almost touching it, still taking her time on his question. “Gray, unhappy up close, and dead when you back away.”

There were a lot of things like that in the world.

She turned to him, lips parted. “I saw the signs and I went to France. There was still unrest there, but… I didn’t want to be recruited by one side or imprisoned by the other. Paris was marginally safer for that. Long-term, it helped my career,” she said, with a hint of optimism. Her eyes moved to his. “What about you?”

Felix responded to her quiet admission with a half smirk, glancing at her sideways as he stood up a little straighter. Not that she had tasted the flavor she would prefer. Which was where their conversation had turned earlier. It was a nice way of her saying she liked him too, though, and it was affirming. Not that he had doubted she was interested; this was their third meeting in a very short time, after all.

Action could speak louder than words; in this case, words just added to action.

Dead. Felix clenched his jaw briefly before he nodded, eyes narrowing as he took it all in. He wondered how she took in things from her job. Did she like fashion that was more drab? Was she into bright, obnoxious colors? In a way, the room was also comforting. In its negativeness, it welcomed you and your melancholy in with open arms. It would be suffocating but difficult to drag yourself out from.

She went to France. Felix chewed at his lower lip thoughtfully. How did one sum up their involvement? He took a slow breath and let it out. Felix turned over his arm, the dragon stretching out lazily. As the smoke cleared, he gave a half smirk. “It was a very difficult time. I was twenty four by the time the Battle happened. I had been...” He paused as he considered the easiest way to explain it all in one go.

He glanced to her and pursed his lips. “I was with a muggleborn Auror and we had a small child together. She refused to leave the country, and I had joined the DE’s to try and protect them. She died during the Battle.” His gaze turned and took in the room. He let out a mirthless laugh. “I was awarded the Order of Merlin Third Class for killing another DE after finding her dead.” Finally he shrugged and focused on her face.

“How about that drink?”

Her eyes pursued the same path, moving down to look over the dragon on his arm— which was just as intriguing as it had been the first time she’d really looked at it, touched it, inquired. Perhaps more so now that she was getting to know him a little better.

Though 12 years, on the surface, was nothing in a lifespan like Violet’s, the devil really was in the details. There were some stretches of time that seemed last forever and were much more memorable or noteworthy than others. There could be a year that felt like twenty, or two decades that felt like a rushed year. Thinking of Felix as only twenty-four, around the same age as that woman who had been let down when he’d chosen street art over the club… it was strange somehow. His history wasn’t as easily discarded as most people’s, not to Violet.

Thinking of him with the mother of his child was stranger. Her eyes had moved up from the tattoo to meet his, and seemed to be roaming back and forth, searching as she listened. Having been a pureblood— albeit in a different time— she knew that the differences could be night and day, especially when it came to relationships. She had had a whole new experience as a vampire. There were dangers, usually from outside forces. It was making people see the similarities, the bigger picture, the shared humanity, that was harder.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said softly, and it was true, even if her face remained mostly calm. Her eyes were a little less placid than they usually were. Loss sometimes had a different meaning for her— there were people she had refused to mourn, but then there were people she missed, and those who she had never expected to watch fade and die, siblings and young cousins, even older relatives. The person she’d cared for most in the world was a constant in her life, even if he was not. Her fellow vampire, the one who had taught her how to live like this. But Violet had never had the sort of closeness with someone that entailed children and joining sides in wars to protect each other. Not in one hundred and twenty two years.

She stepped closer still, seeming to ignore the room they were in, and focus solely on Felix. Her hand came up to his forearm, brushing over it gently. Now she knew what he had covered.

His laugh was the painful kind. Their dear government did many stupid things. From an outsider’s perspective, awarding him an honor did not sound like one of them. She knew, of course, words were small things sometimes, and Felix would probably not be comforted by such an opinion. Violet would not have been, would not have believed it, if they had been in opposite places. “You did what you had to do. That’s not an empty or vain thing, whatever the outcome. It’s human, and the better side of it.” Unlike the walking dead of the last exhibit. “We can’t stop the world, but… she chose well.”

It was more than she would have said to almost anyone else on the subject of losing someone. Even if he had not blamed himself, she could tell in the bitterness that there was a dark feeling there. He had done everything he could have done, which was not meaningless.

Violet smiled, calm and close-lipped as she often did. “Yes. I love monochrome, but my house is a bit less drab than this, I think.” She glanced once more, fleetingly, at the room.

As they headed out of the museum, she took his arm again, leading him down the sidewalk rather than pulling him forward to hail another cab. After a bit of a walk, milder discussion on the art they had seen, and a healthy dose of fresh air, she asked him to apparate them. She ushered him easily through her front door, back into the hallway where he’d helped her into her coat. This time, it was the reverse, and soon their outerwear was hanging by her door while Violet went about pouring that drink from a bottle in her kitchen. As she came around the broad counter-top to the stool where he sat, she leaned in, her legs brushing his, the glass cupped easily in one hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I think that was the best date I’ve had in ten years.” She pressed the cup into his hand. "You wouldn’t believe the number of men who take me out for four-course meals.” Not that it was that big a number, all things considered. Violet's dates tended to be... briefer and mutually beneficial, unattached.