“Maybe,” Cepheus agreed quietly to the artistic comment, lifting his hands out of his pockets to carefully take Virgil’s camera in both. It was a charming model, nothing too modern with all the lenses like those pointed at him sporadically by the Prophet and yet not archaic to the point it would take a good long while. Stood close, pointing out the buttons, Ceph became aware of the contrasting choice of tobacco on the younger man, notice the pale shadow of the morning’s stubble, the keen colour of Virgil’s heavy-lidded eyes.

“I’ll just… um, just stand… here?” Cepheus looked up and around them, camera cradled in his left hand palm, fingertips ready to grip the focus, right hand fingers curled around the body, tips just grazing buttons. He stepped aside, not dead ahead of Virgil, and glanced through the viewfinder, lowering the camera with a thoughtful hum.

“Just stand a little to the…” He stepped forward and reached out and gently pressed Virgil’s left shoulder to turn the younger man a little more into the light, out of the and away from a shadow. “Yes, there,” without thinking, as he might to his sister or his niece, Cepheus gently smoothed away a stray chunk blonde hair on Virgil’s head, and then retreated.

“Very dashing.” He uttered just as he adjusted the focus and let out half a breath before pressing the shutter. It wouldn’t be a masterpiece, but he hoped it did Virgil a slither of justice. He wasn’t a bad looking young man. Adolescence rarely gave someone an easy ride, but he had a wise head on his shoulders. “Well, you’ll see when you develop it. Apologies in advance if it’s inferior to your own.” Ceph’s thumb wound on the film before he delicately passed the camera back.

“Well, I suppose one should better go and do some work,” the Division Head sighed, coming back down to earth. “Thank you for the moment of sanity, Virgil.” He gave Carstairs a smile, which was more of a grin with teeth as they shared a moment’s stare, not that it registered as more than a fleeting glimpse to Cepheus despite time passing in greater length in reality. “Best of luck with the photos, gosh, and I suppose your exams, I doubt our paths will cross again until you’re working on nine.” Cepheus was surprised as he realised how quickly the year was turning. He ran another hand through his hair, hand lingering on the crown of his head as he considered the months ahead. “Well, I look forward to it,” he resolved, dropping his arm back, and offering a handshake.

M for slight use of mature language


Virgil was positive that his heart had stopped.

He meekly allowed himself to be positioned in the right light, skin tingling where Cepheus had touched his shoulder - and then his forehead when loose locks of gold were swept aside. There was nothing bossy or assuming about the manoeuvring. If anything, the careless benignity of it almost made him want to wistfully sigh. But the other wizard gave ground as quickly as he had encroached, and Virgil aimed for a more dignified look with hands in his pockets.

            "Very dashing."

Fuck.

Dignity tripped, stumbled, and fell out of the window in a flash. His cheeks felt the heat of embarrassment just as Cepheus aimed the camera. Virgil ducked his head instinctively before stopping himself in the middle, tilting his chin up with a diffident smile. The trigger released - the end of the moving photograph.

He was suddenly afraid of developing the film roll to see how his photo had turned out. Based on subject alone, it would be inferior to the one taken of Cepheus.

Images were so different from being stared at onstage. You could be anyone at all when you were acting but when someone wants to take an impromptu photo, who can you be besides yourself? Virgil glanced down at the camera with distrust as it was returned to him.

"Thanks," his expression grew sardonic at the mention of exams even as his heart sunk to be reminded that they wouldn't meet again until summer. "It was... nice, speaking to you. Really." The Slytherin added, not wanting Cepheus to think his earlier mention of the older Gamp had dampened the pleasure of his company. Eloquence failed him - that hair was such a distraction.

Virgil held his (now emphatically beating) heart in his throat, reaching to take the offered hand. "Yes, so do I. All the best with your booth and work," his palms were on fire when he let go. He thought briefly about what Ariadne had said earlier that month.

"He likes cats, books and cooking and treats house elves like dear friends." [1]

It made Virgil's stomach turn in the most pleasurable way.

"Oh, if you do decide to see us perform at Stardust-" he forced an offhand and casual shrug; not wanting to end their talk on a prosaic note. "- you'll have to come backstage and see how it's done, afterwards. But it might ruin the illusion."

1.	Start Slow, We'll Tell it All Softly - 2nd April

“It was… nice, speaking to you. Really.”

Yes it really had been. Cepheus and Virgil were mirroring smiles over handshakes. Cepheus let go, their fingertips trailing a fraction, unnoticeable. He turned away to leave, hands slipping to his trouser pockets when Virgil called after him.

“That’s very kind of you, Virgil,” Cepheus replied gently, looking back over his shoulder. “I’d be fascinated, ruined illusions or not, the pleasure of knowing over the uninformed guesses is more my thing.” Cepheus wasn’t one for surprises, despite his easy confidence here - an illusion of its own - he was ever the imposter, ever the quieter spoken shadow of the three Gamp siblings. He wouldn’t admit it, or draw attention to it. He admired and envied Virgil’s confidence, unknowing the tempest of butterflies flocking in the young man’s stomach.

“I’m sure Ari will put us in touch.” He nodded formally, “Afternoon Virgil.”

Now all he had to do was sneak back without Professor McGonagall scaring the whatsits out of him like he was a rebellious thirty-four year old seventh year. Hm, to be Virgil’s age now with the world ahead of him. Yet another reason to be enviable of Carstairs, pretty face and golden locks aside...

End