Professor Duerr lowered her glasses to the point of her nose as Virgil stirred. She was sat on a chair on his right at his feet, one leg crossed over the other. In her hand was her little leather notebook, thumb holding open the pages as she scratched ink with her quill. At regular intervals she had let out a little hum of observation at what she was deciphering from her notes.

“Good morning.” She greeted, though it wasn’t as warmly as she had greeted Virgil on a previous occasion, when they had talked of dreams and the divination club. This morning she was rather more the disapproving mother in her smart navy jacket and white and navy striped dress. Her dark curls were set around her face carefully despite the early hour.

Ordinarily, she would not get involved, but with Ignan laid up in London for the foreseeable future, everyone was stepping up to keep a semblance of order. Her house elf, which had travelled with her and Wolfgang from Germany when they were evicted had been working in the Hogwarts kitchen since she had moved in. It had informed.

“You have an imbalance,” she told Virgil without much hesitation. There was no indication that this imbalance was in any way an excuse either. She noted something further in her notebook. Her eyes flicked back up to him. “A deficit of six numbers, leading to underestimation, illogical thinking under stress, dislike of routine, hard work, lack of goals, responsibility, inconsideration and carelessness.” The delivery was only slightly softened by her accent. Virgil was missing an eight, which was a significant flag from her days at the bank - an indication that he had difficulty handling his finances. That didn’t come into play the previous evening though.

“But on the positive,” the Arithmancy professor continued, “you’re a generally happy, content sort. Sensitive, perceptive, intuitive. Your first impressions of others are good measures, and you can be cooperative, diplomatic. A career in entertainment or communication beckons. Apparently you can be tactful and caring.” She arched an eyebrow sceptically, and closed the notebook neatly, slipping her glasses from her face to study him intently.

He had dreamt that he was skipping stones across the bloodied lake of Hogwarts. In spite of the visceral image, it had not been an unpleasant dream - only an indifferent one. When Virgil sensed a shadowy pall settling between him and his dreamscape he knew that the corporeal world was close.

       “Good morning.”

The Slytherin frowned, blinked tiredly as he began to make out the sight of Professor Duerr by the ward bed. His heart stopped. He sat up abruptly on elbows, then pushing back to lean against two fluffy pillows. It was very early in the morning; golden light of dawn fell across white sheets and hospital green separators. The smell of healing potions was noticeable but not strong.

"M-morning." Virgil stammered and felt much younger than he was in his linen nightshirt, one hand shoving his teddy bear aside while the other reached to touch his own face.

There was no sign whatsoever of last night's violence, not even a scar. He stared at the Arithmancy professor as she spoke and did not look away except for a moment, to rub the sand out of his eyes.

...an imbalance...  illogical thinking under stress... lack of goals... inconsideration and carelessness...

He glanced at her little book, his narrow shoulders drawing in defensively with each word. Oh, God. Someone had told her. Was it Maiko? The elves? Either way she had found out about last night and had come to deliver a reckoning that would hurt even more than Donovan's point-obliterating ways.

Virgil remained silent, sleepiness lost to mortification.
       "Apparently you can be tactful and caring."

"I... um, I suppose it goes to show you can't believe everything you read," he muttered - his voice came out as a sluggish croak. Tactful and caring were not words associated with him. Antonyms perhaps. "Or everything you write anyway." Virgil looked again at notebook she had just shut, wondering what else she had derived.

His mouth was dry, eyes tense. Dante was nowhere in sight. Not even his bloody cat wanted to be around him now. "You're not taking points off Cadance, are you?" he didn't know what else to say. "It was my fault."

Professor Duerr offered Virgil no warmth in her stare. Her calculations had been shallow, a small portion of a proper analysis, but it was to make a point.
“Mr Morgan will make that decision,” she informed Virgil, folding her arms, frowning, “But Miss Biladeau-Yukawa is also on the case.” Since it was a serious infraction involving more than one Slytherin, Landis would declare the reprimand as their head of house. Camille hoped he would be fair, but firm, considering Virgil was not only in his house but also a member of his extended family.

Camille sighed, shoulders rounding as she looked at Virgil. Lowering her voice, she uttered despairingly, “What were you thinking?”

He wished he could read her mind just then, to discover what she was thinking... but that had already gotten Virgil into more trouble than the effort was worth. His hands fiddled anxiously with the blanket as she informed him that their head of house would deal with their infraction at a later point; it soothed his worries only by a small measure.

       "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't!" he answered right away, gaze dropping to the infirmary floor for a moment. "That's not true. I was... I was just looking to get a rise out of her."

Virgil didn't know why it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time: like a challenge he had to surmount or a spell he had to perfect for a precise effect. He brought his knees up and hugged them over the blanket, looking at Professor Duerr uneasily.

There was nobody around to eavesdrop, so he could say it. "I heard Cadance's thoughts. I didn't mean to at first." Virgil admitted; it felt good to admit that. "And I panicked with the-" he gestured to indicate his mouth with a grimace. "- the hex. I didn't think it would cause that much trouble."

At best, he suspected she would have thrown a regular hex at him. Bruises were easy to heal. Fights even easier to walk away from.

Professor Duerr’s features formed their most disappointed expression. It was the exact face which would normally induce a proper guilt trip in her son, only Virgil didn’t have that telling lip twitch when he cracked. The confession came tumbling out. The need to tease, to provoke a reaction. Human curiosity. As he hugged his knees, she rested her elbow and forearm on the edge of the mattress, inclined towards him. Her gaze didn’t leave his face.

“I heard Cadance's thoughts."
“Oh Virgil…” She let him continue.

“Well, maybe you deserved a bit of a lesson from her.” She suggested lowering her face to give him a warning look. “You couldn’t resist. Virgil, darling, that’s as bad as rifling through someone’s diary or post. It’s just not done, and you know that, which is the sadder fact.” She pressed each of her elegant fingertips to the sheets in turn as she spoke. “It’s not your place to tread in minds and pick up stray thoughts. Just as it’s not a seer’s place to give unsolicited information on visions or divining details unless requested. What is it, do you get a power trip off listening?” She stared at him, displeased at his lack of control.

The infirmary floor, gleaming with early sunlight, was doing an absolutely rubbish job of swallowing Virgil up right now. He wanted to disappear from sigh until everyone simply forgot about last night. Himself included. Professor Duerr's attentive gaze was discomfiting and he looked down at his own hands to avoid recognising the disappointment in her expression.

          "It’s not your place to tread in minds--"
"I know, I know..." he hissed as he ran a hand through tufts of messy blonde hair.
         " --and pick up stray thoughts. Just as it’s not a seer’s place to give unsolicited information on visions or divining details unless requested."

Virgil still felt the sting of hearing that he might have deserved the hex; not because he disagreed but because it was harrowing to have it confirmed by somebody else. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid of him. Of course he deserved it.

          "What is it, do you get a power trip off listening?"

His eyes shook off their torpid glint and snapped straight to Duerr's face, a mixture of angry and panicked. The accusation made his blood run cold. It painted a picture of him incongruous to how he perceived himself.

"No." Virgil's voice was hard, fingers clasping so tightly to the sheets that he could feel the ache of muscles creeping into his hands. "It's not--" he halted before his voice could crack and then tried again. "It's not bloody fun being in someone else's head. I didn't read everything, just... just a bit, before I could help myself."

Reading all her thoughts would have been masochistic. "Doesn't matter what they think anyway," he muttered.

Cadance and Jordyn and maybe even his closer friends. They all thought he was a prick, at best. A sadist at worst. He released the blanket before looking down at Duerr's hands, which even now looked like kind and motherly hands. "I was curious. I wouldn't do it for a power trip."

I'm not that kind of person, Virgil wanted to say but he didn't know if she would believe him or if he believed it even.

“Good.” Professor Duerr replied with some finality to her tone. “For the moment it becomes so, you take a good long look at yourself in the mirror.” She wagged her finger briefly before returning it to the sheets between them. “We are all curious, Virgil, but most of us cannot read the private thoughts of another. Like all magic, we must use it with honour and moral judgement. I am disappointed in you, but your consequences shall come from Mr Morgan.” She gave a little irritated sigh, not irritation for being able to punish him but at his conduct.

“How are your lips, your mouth?” The Professor asked in a more even tone, care slipping back into her expression. Her eyes ran over his pale face with concern. “Could have made such a dreadful mess. Such a horrible thing, whatever the prov…” Her gaze deviated a moment from Virgil, trying to remember the correct English word, “Provocation?” She spoke it with query to Virgil, seeking clarification if correct, thus taking the sting out of her remark.

I am disappointed in you...

He knew that - but he only wished that he did not have to hear it. Virgil nodded numbly and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it to shake off the heat that had risen to his cheeks. A movement in the corner of his eye made him glance to the floor; Dante, slipping out from underneath the infirmary bed, approached Professor Duerr. A low purring sound might be discerned.

The cat rubbed its heads against the witch's ankle affectionately as she asked after his self-afflicted injury. "Such a horrible thing, whatever the prov…Provocation?"

"Provocation," he confirmed in a quiet voice before touching his lips and glancing at Duerr - there was nothing harsh about the query, no real judgement of his recklessness. "I'm fine."

Virgil's other hand clutched at the bedsheets when he thought of how he had panicked, and the pull of the sharp knife against the corner of his mouth. "It was stupid of me. I should have waited for Gracie to undo the hex but I-" his brow tensed, "- I couldn't breathe. Do you understand what I mean? I thought I would choke."

It had all happened too quickly. The prefect sighed and watched his cat hop on to the bed, climbing on to his lap.  "I'm fine now," he repeated.

Professor Duerr leaned away from the cat leaping up onto the bed, having felt its presence but not met it before. As a girl the family had kept a dog but hadn’t been one to keep cats. Wolfgang hadn’t been interested in keeping an animal, which had been a shame. This must be Virgil’s cat, or one who was very fond of the Slytherin.

“I’m glad.” The Professor replied to Virgil’s repetition, watching the cat curl into Virgil’s lap. “Lesson learned… What a charming creature.” She reached out her fingertips for the cat to sniff.

“I shall put a good word in for you with Mr Morgan should I see him,” the Arithmancy professor offered, “and mention my invitation to the next Divination Club…” It hadn’t actually been confirmed, but woe betide Virgil if he denied now. Ignan wouldn’t have put a good word in, had he been well enough to return to work, but Virgil would know that. He only had to hope that his Head of House dealt with it and did not see to escalate it to the Headmistress.

“Do try to stay out of trouble, Virgil.” Camille reached out, and gently smoothed his hair back with one hand and touched the fingertips of her other hand beneath his chin affectionately, lifting his face. “Good luck.” She gave him a genuine smile, though it was a little sad for him. Why did boys always have to make the wrong decisions…?

Typically, the cat purred in response to Professor Duerr's praise. Dante was almost promiscuously affectionate with people Virgil liked - she was far more blatant about it than haughtier felines. He scratched the soft, velvety space behind her ears and listened with a heavy weight in his stomach. It was not so horrid as it had felt last night though. Not now, knowing that someone was on his side in a way.

Offering a good word for a boy as incendiary as himself was positively saintly.

          "Do try to stay out of trouble, Virgil."

The Slytherin cracked a dry smile at the request and couldn't help but blush when she smoothed down the golden nest on his head, taking his chin. She did it like it was effortless to be kind. Virgil swallowed as he met her in the eye. He nodded once and wondered if her thoughts ran in the same direction as her face right that instant.

Sympathetic, and sort of sad. Perhaps she had seen this many times before. People like him.

"Thank you, Professor." Virgil mumbled and drew away from her touch to wipe a hand over his face. The whole day lay before him - lessons and lunch and talking to people - but he wished he could simply go back to bed. "I'll try."

The best any of them could do.