Late morning, Breakfast


Where was she? Virgil picked at the last of his honey almond porridge, pushing watery oats around the bottom of the bowl as he intermittently glanced up across the hall towards the house of Gryffindor - familiar faces dotted amongst the younger ones who were lingering behind after their morning sustenance. Their bland looks of weekend mindlessness irritated him, and he shoved down a final mouthful of porridge before getting up with an exasperated noise.

He had performed a literal miracle by forcing himself out of bed on a Saturday to catch Ariadne Gamp when there weren't many about to notice his interest.

And yet here he was, two hours into the Longest Breakfast Ever Experienced, and still the Gryffindor prefect had not dragged herself out into polite society. Almasy was an early riser. He'd surmised her habits were connected to other housemates: this was clearly a an unwise assumption.

Virgil had never thought to keep a track of Ariadne's habits before but he was learning quickly, having been patiently surveying his peer for an appropriate hour of approach.

Just as he was on the verge of leaving in frustration, however, a dark head of long hair appeared above a mass of second years who had also arrived for a tardy meal. Bloody finally! He tried to clear his expression of impatience as he headed over towards the crimson and gold banners; unable to lose the purpose in his step.

"Ariadne." Virgil's voice was serious, approaching her from behind and shooing a twelve year old who'd had the gall to try sitting next to Gamp. He slipped on to the bench languidly, drawing his legs in and only allowing for the margin of an inch between them. "Tell me everything you know about your uncle."

Mornings should be banned. Especially when she’d been trying to finish as much homework as she could to spend the weekend doing as little as she could. She’d put that Defences essay right off… what with Professor Storm being out of action… It had been a lazy time in bed, reading a long article in Wizarding Geographic about sea serpents and wizard pirates. Her dorm-fellows had all up and left, which suited Ariadne when she was in that sort of mood.

Eventually she followed a gaggle of second years into the Great Hall, ruffling her hair and finding she’d missed a bit when drying it with her wand. She pulled a face in annoyance, and flopped down on the long bench. Someone else dropped down beside her and Ariadne twisted to regard Virgil with sleepy curiosity.

“Why, is he in danger, or is he a clue in today’s Prophet crossword?” She answered, reaching for three slices of toast and spearing the butter with her knife. She scraped butter noisily over the surface of the toast, “Nice jumper by the way.”

"No, the crossword today is woefully dull..." he sighed with a tick of annoyance, as he had only completed half of it whilst waiting for Ari earlier - and even then with the help of those Slytherins who had come and gone at the table. "They aren't nearly artful enough at the Prophet to use someone like your uncle."

A pity, as well. Virgil forced himself down to a more sociable tone as he plucked a banana off the breakfast platters, realising that he couldn't very well expect a straight answer right away. And he had promised himself not to read her mind (for now). His lips pressed together and he glanced down at his jumper. Orange. Why had he chosen this?

It was comfortable but he suspected it made him look washed out. "Thanks," the Slytherin muttered distractedly and began to peel the banana down. "I'm only asking because I'm curious," he bit into the top with decisive softness. It was a very ripe fruit, melting creamily into his mouth.

"Interested, that is." Virgil swallowed as he glanced at Ariadne warily. For all his candid evaluation of what he supposed to be a crush on Cepheus, admitting as much out loud was proving to be... cumbersome. He worried the edge of the table with drumming and licked his bottom lip.

"Do you think he would like it?" an eyebrow went up, fettered by a concerned look. "My sweater, not the interest."

“… they aren’t nearly artful enough at the Prophet to use someone like your uncle.” Ariadne nearly spilled the jug of orange juice as she poured a glass. What on earth was up with Virgil this morning? He was pretty strange at the best of times, but now he was pushing the boat out.

Once buttered, she lifted her toast and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully, eyes not leaving him and his vivid jumper.
“You came over here to ask me if my uncle would like your jumper?” Ariadne repeated in a flat tone. She chewed another bite of toast and looked it up and down with a critical expression. “I dunno, he might think it a bit loud. I don’t think it’s a colour he wears. Wouldn’t miss you though.” She bit off the corner of the slice and reached for her orange juice. “Look, you match.” She held her glass out towards him and giggled before knocking back a mouthful.

“What did you ask him the other day, anyway? He said he couldn’t say. You been shagging Donovan’s beasts or somethin’?” Ariadne wasn’t serious, but it was hard to tell with her expression.

Virgil quietly and desperately resolved to never again wear this sweatshirt.

It would take firework lettering in a clear night sky for him to be obvious enough for Ariadne, so he sulked childishly and nibbled away on the banana as she continued with breakfast - a withering glance was offered in response to the lifted orange juice. Somehow he did not think that telling her it's fashionable would merit a rewarding response.

       "What did you ask him the other day, anyway? He said he couldn’t say. You been shagging Donovan’s beasts or somethin’?"

His sullen countenance suddenly broke, cheeks colouring, and his jaw drew taut. "No," the reply came through gritted teeth before Virgil's mouth loosened slightly - he acknowledged she wasn't being serious because.... well he hoped she wasn't being serious, it was difficult to tell.

"I asked about sleeping with vampires." A pause before he looked back at her, sighing in resignation of what he would have to say to get what he wanted. "Not for any..." Virgil cleared his throat awkwardly. This was the panel all over again! "Not for any reason, if I'm being honest. I just wanted to talk to him."

Doubtful about how else to approach the subject, he lifted his free hand and placed it on Ari's shoulder in his best imitation of a Healer delivering bad news. "You... you do realise your uncle is possibly the most beautiful wizard on earth, don't you?"

Not even a hyperbole, thought Virgil.

“You what?” At that moment, as Ariadne burst out an exclamation at Virgil as he explained what he had asked, one would see the spit of her father.

“… if I’m being honest. I just wanted to talk to him.” Eh? “… most beautiful wizard on earth, don’t you?”

Ariadne was wearing a big grin, thinking this was all a joke, her jaw slowly lowering the longer she stared at Virgil.
“Oh my gods,” She finally got the purpose of the conversation, now definitely awake, "you’re serious.” She put her orange juice down and turned on the bench to straddle it and face him, which was perfectly fine as she was wearing jeans.

“Well,” she began, trying to think where to start, since it was a bit weird for someone your own age to have a crush on your uncle at first pass, “he is related to me.” She pressed a hand to her chest in pride, though she was definitely taking the piss now. “Alright, yeah, I admit, he’s not bad looking. That’s why gran and gramps couldn’t understand why he wasn’t snapped up by a girl the moment he left Hogwarts.” She picked up her toast and took an enormous bite. “I should have got up earlier for this. You have my attention, and my amusement."

Oh good God he had her attention now. What was he going to do with it??

Virgil mirrored her motion to straddle the bench, though he leaned forward on both his hands with an air of such obvious conspiracy that a third year across the table was starting to give them an odd look. He didn't care. People were ridiculous, this was the least of their worries in a school populated by the likes of Connor Todd and Juni Zamperia.

A minute smile cracked the surface of his worry, he laughed lightly at Ariadne's obvious pride for her family. The good ones anyway.

"Why wasn't he?" Virgil asked right away, the first of obvious implications being... did Cepheus Gamp play on both teams or just the one? One Witch Weekly article[1] seemed to have ideas of its own. "He really is... prepossessing."

It felt magnificent to say that out loud, an emotion that seemed to spill over the meagre confines of Virgil's skinny frame. He didn't want to gush but Lord he wanted so much to gush, to talk about serene mannerisms and kind smiles and a wild, black mane that had no business on this earthly plane.

.... he had trailed off into his thoughts, and snapped back with a gentle start. "Sorry. I, um. What's he like? When he's not talking about - you know. Bedding beings or whatever." Virgil leaned back, dragging one leg up to rest on the bench while he brushed the tousled hair that had been hanging over his eyes.

1.	Ménage à trois and Mischief - March 8th

Ariadne giggled at Virgil’s swooning.
“Because he was too busy fawning over this quidditch player he shared a dorm with[1],” she told him. Her cheeks crowded her dark eyes as he daydreamed and she chewed hungrily on buttered toast. She didn't think she'd ever met a boyfriend or girlfriend of her uncle's.

“Uncle Ceph?” Ariadne asked, rhetorically, just because she wanted to tease Virgil. “Sorry, Cepheus,” she corrected, given Virgil probably didn’t want to hear her call him uncle if he was really so suddenly besotted, “Is lovely, but I am biased.” She admitted. “Uhm, he’s got the patience of a saint. I used to love him bayyyyy- nevermind,” babysitting probably not a good subject either, “he’s laid back. And he’s clever, I’ve borrowed his notes from his NEWTs, I’m going to memorise them. Uhmm.”

Why was it difficult to describe someone close to you when put on the spot? Her stomach grumbled, it could still smell hot buttered toast.
“He’s, gosh.” She admitted, trying hard not to paint a super professional picture of him. “I can talk to him about everything, he never makes out I’m silly, or stupid, and he always has a positive word about things. He’s always interested. Makes me feel appreciated. He juggles - really well, without magic and all.” She bit her toast and chewed thoughtfully, “and plays the piano - he tried to teach me when I was little, but me and dad live on a boat.” She laughed. “And,” she leaned forward, licking butter off her thumb, “he gives the best hugs, after me of course.”

1.

The North-South Divide, Transfiguration notes enclosed. Don’t think too poorly on my 17 year old self please. I was too busy suppressing my terrible crush on Roger Davies from the other side of the dormitory. For the record, saying to people you were in the same dorm as him tends to win you female friends, rather than the male ones you were hoping for.

Quidditch player. Dorm.

Virgil fought the smile that threatened his typically sulky mouth, swallowing an infinitesimal sip of hope - he held no delusions about this exchange. His infatuation of Cepheus Gamp was bizarre and unlikely to come to fruition but he would hungrily latch on to whatever Ariadne told him, a Holy man whose fast has come to an end he did not expect.

      "I’ve borrowed his notes from his NEWTs, I’m going to memorise them. Uhmm."

As his classmate paused, a conscientious frown pushed down on his pale eyebrows and he shook his head once. "You can't memorise notes, that's not how you learn anything," he muttered - it was in the tone of a complaint. How did Ari expect to weather the NEWTs on regurgitation?

But the mental image of Cepheus juggling pushed the reprimand out of his head. It scrambled his usually listless and ordered thoughts, if anything, and he made a sound that might have been a wistful sigh. Definitely was.

"He sounds incredible." Virgil said and paused to appreciate how uncharacteristic it was to hear himself say it, incredible being a word he used for Charm techniques and particularly exquisite croissants. "So you've... always been friendly with him?" he considered Ariadne, remembering how friendly Cepheus had been with her.

The Carstairs did not always get along with each other's extended family. Even less so with the Morgans. Clearly the Gamps were different. "I'm jealous," he finished quite plainly.

Ariadne chuckled at Virgil, polishing off more of her toast, tongue and lips making short work of crumbs and melted better on her fingers.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t get to see him all the time, cos me and Dad were abroad most of the time when I was little, or I was with Mum.” Ariadne made a face. She knew Virgil had encountered her mother on duty but didn’t want to dwell on the circumstances.

“He learned how to change a nappy cos of me, but he wasn’t even our age then.” Ariadne reassured Virgil with a grin. She didn’t want to change nappies, she couldn’t imagine anything worse than to have a kid right at this age, or even a kid relative. She barely knew what she wanted to do with her life, what with the notion of growing up and leaving here. “He and Dad are close, so I remember us all hanging out together when I was little. I’d steal his ice cream at Fortescues, but he’d claim it was an invisible person.” The Gryffindor bit her bottom lip, grinning, enjoying an indulgence in nostalgia, “apparently I’m not invisible these days, but I still nick it.”

Ariadne gripped the bench between them with both hands and peered at Virgil with keen interest.
“So come on, what’s up with you? Were we listening to the same talk?"

He was learning more about Ariadne than he had been bargaining for - not least that she had led an interesting life with her father, and that she enjoyed her morning toast in the extreme. Virgil almost wanted a second breakfast. His stomach was a well-known bottomless pit and he lived in fear of the day his metabolism fails him.

The Slytherin blushed, ducking his head slightly at the reminder that while Cepheus was not unreasonably older than them there was still a gap of over a decade. It was easy to forget if he concentrated on her story about the ice-cream instead.

How strange to bask in someone else's wistfulness.

       "So come on, what’s up with you? Were we listening to the same talk?"

"Of course we were," he half-snapped back defensively as thin arms came down across his chest. "I could have cared less about the sex - there's loads of books about that. I imagine Cadance being knocked up was of some interest, but your uncle rather took the cake."

The cake? He took the whole damned patisserie.

Virgil was aware he sounded almost pathetic but he was beyond that care. "It's just that he's so.... so..." words had failed him at the panel, and still they eluded his tongue like wisps of smoke. "Apart," he concluded uncertainly before placing a hand against one of Ariadne's on the bench.

"Either he isn't quite human, or he's the most human person I've ever seen." Virgil's smile was involuntary, weak. "Please don't tell him I said so."

“Ooh, what a way to find out.” Ariadne giggled at Cadance’s situation. “She definitely needed to read a book earlier.” It wasn’t quite such a laughing matter, she was sure, but it was funny to know that Slytherins weren’t such a prissy bunch of perfectionists when she was over in Gryffindor with no idea what she was going to do with her life. “Cake?” Ari added, making a face at Virgil.

Her Slytherin classmate was at a loss for words, but after a moment made wild claims that her uncle wasn’t human. He did hang around with a lot of beings as it was, but Ariadne was pretty sure he was still human.

“If I told him, he’d think you’d given me some of your dodgy brownies.” Ariadne replied abruptly. “I’ve never met any of his boyfriends, I don’t think he’s seeing anyone right now… Fudge I’m actually giving this some thought like I’m going to set you up.” This was possibly one of the strangest breakfast conversations she’d had in six and a half years at Hogwarts, and at the Gryffindor table, that was saying something.

“Virgil, you’re like, more than a decade younger than him, and my classmate.” She was giggling now, rosy cheeked, and squeezed his hand. She really didn’t want to be mean to him, but it was odd. She’d never seen Virgil like this. “You’re lovely, when you’re not being an arsehole, really, but this is slightly weirding me out, as much as it’s cute.” Ariadne blinked a lot at Virgil and shook her head. “He’s a bloke who gets colds and farts. My grandparents wanted him to marry Hattie Woolfolk's older sister. He likes cats, books and cooking and treats house elves like dear friends.”

She stared at Virgil and her expression shifted, "Hold on, maybe you’re not too dissimilar. What do you want, me to ask him out for you?”

            "If I told him, he’d think you’d given me some of your dodgy brownies--"

"My brownies aren't dodgy," he interjected with what little dignity remained. "They are divine." Virgil's inclination to bake and 'bake' was one he took at least a little seriously, if only because it combined two of his favourite things in the world: chocolate and gillyweed. But he couldn't hold on for very long to indignation because...

She had said boyfriends.

His heart lifted, a vinous and beautiful feeling, better even than brownies or tokes stolen in secret on the grounds. Virgil leaned against the table, letting his arm rest on the surface as he propped up the side of his head to listen to Ariadne.

Just as hope burgeoned, however, it was eclipsed rather cruelly by a reality.

Not the part about weirding her out; he was used to doing that to everyone, it happened a lot when you could read minds.  Or the farts or house elves, which were just endearing. But the age gap, said aloud, dampened his wool-gathering smile. "No!" he blurted out, growing paler and retracting his hand from the Gryffindor. "Don't! Don't say anythi... I don't need you to ask him out for me."

Colour returned to his cheeks and Virgil looked down at the bench between them, almost pouting. Around them, the breakfast hour was slowly dwindling to give some loose sense of privacy.

He didn't want to be called lovely and cute. Not unless Cepheus liked that.

"I know what it sounds like, I'm not stupid. It's a schoolboy crush, isn't it?" his gaze, hurt and penetrative all at once, flicked up to meet Ari in the eye. "But it feels a lot worse than it sounds. Um." Virgil paused to think a moment, licking his lips. "How... how old is your uncle exactly?"

“… It’s a schoolboy crush, isn’t it?”
“Uhm,” Ariadne replied quietly, twisting her shoulders in a self-conscious moment. “I wo…uldn’t kn…ooow…”

“… how old is your uncle exactly?"
“Er…” Ariadne’s eyes looked to the ceiling, accessing her memories. “Thirty… thr… four?” She lifted her fingers to count, “Yeah, thirty-four at the start of January.” She tried to give Virgil a reassuring smile. “It’s not all weird. It’s sweet. I’ve never, I guess I’ve never seen you like this and, well, I’ve never heard of anyone liking him.” This was a real mix of emotions. It was nice to see Virgil all excited about someone, but it was strange that was her uncle. But it was lovely to hear someone liked Cepheus, he’d been alone for a long time, as far as she knew. He’d not mentioned anyone. He had set a resolution on Christmas day in the garden though, (when Ariadne had finished puking after trying gillyweed, but that was besides the point), to find a partner in 2011. Aunt Andie had been uninterested in being ‘tied down’ and Ariadne just thought having a significant other was strange for her still.

“It’s cute, I’m sorry Virgil, I can’t think of any other word to describe it right now.” She giggled. “I’m not sure how to help you. Like… I have some photos of him… maybe… in my dorm.” She shrugged, “only if I get them back sticky, Virgil, you’re a dead man.”

Thirty-four!!

Virgil did the mental mathematics quickly, which left him with a fifteen to sixteen year gap. An entire sixth year student was born and did their OWLs in that span of time. He didn't know what to do with such information - the entire predicament was already hopelessly impossible without taking that into account.

        "I’ve never heard of anyone liking him."

The Slytherin looked up from his hands on the bench, a movement so rapid he felt a creak in the back of his neck. What. His eyebrows rose incredulously. Ridiculous! What sort of ridiculous world did they live in, that Cepheus Gamp wasn't followed around by a train of infatuated men or women to serenade him? Or throw petals where he walked?

... but this did help prove the Witch Weekly article to be erroneous.

He forced away the surprise, choosing to glare sullenly at Ariadne's offer and sticky pictures. "I don't... I wouldn't..." Virgil's cheeks grew increasingly red the more he tried to clarify. "I took photos at the panel. And I would never - it's not a base attraction."

Which was mostly a lie he told himself, of course, though he preferred his mindscape to photographs. In terms of pleasure.

"It was nice to simply talk about him. Because you know him." Virgil swallowed, and then drew his lanky legs up to slip off the bench. "Thanks for listening. Are you revising today?" he asked as an afterthought. "I'm in the library all day. No crush talk, Slytherin's honour."

Most everyone else he normally studied with had been in the Kitchens[1] last week. Virgil liked his friends but he didn't fancy being crowded over by everyone who'd seen firsthand what an utter bell-end he had been that night.

1.	Forbidden Fruit - 29th March