Continued from Do We Not Bleed?

Cepheus held the cigarette to his lips as he lit it with his wand tip. He offered it to his companion.

The red tent was within sight, erected beside Puddifoots. They were both a safe distance away across the cobbles, perched on a bench behind a raised flowerbed. There was enough floral distraction for the casual passerby, and they were not sat on the main thoroughfare. Teenagers milled by the other side in loose groups, chattering, some arm in arm. Adults bustled by with hurried strides, as if to suggest they had business and no time to wander Hogsmeade at leisure on a Hogwarts weekend. Cepheus could understand their haste, visiting Hogsmeade the weekend Hogwarts opened its gates could be a test of patience. The teenagers rather swamped the place, not always to fill the tills of the businesses either.

“This one’s not making the yearbook,” the older wizard uttered, glad of the absence of Virgil’s camera on this occasion. He had written back to thank Virgil for the copy of the photograph taken on the careers fair afternoon, as they had run into each other looking for a place to smoke. The universe seemed keen to make their paths cross, or maybe, Cepheus reasoned internally, he was only considering it significant because he was intrigued by Virgil. There was something of Virgil that reminded Cepheus of himself at the same age.

“How are you feeling now?” Gamp enquired, averting his eyes properly from the red tent and the fear of anyone trailing after them to examine Virgil. He folded one leg over the other, propped his elbow just above his knee and studied the Slytherin's face with concern.

It was colder outside, and Virgil had forced himself to quickly pull on his jacket while being led to a less busy path not far from Pudifoot's. The fresh air had slapped awareness into him - by the time he unceremoniously dropped himself on to the bench, he was plagued by both the shame and pride of having opportunistically stolen Cepheus Gamp away for a (relatively) private moment in the outdoors. The Slytherin had no idea what he was doing. That didn't seem important.

He reached without thinking for the cigarette being offered, and smiled weakly at the yearbook comment. Virgil took a drag, realised belatedly that his mouth was where Cepheus' had been, and promptly had to look down to hide his sheepish expression. He bit his lower lip.

Lucky for him it didn't seem like the other man had noticed. "How are you feeling now?"

Mortified. Gratified. Shakily, he breathed out a cloud of smoke and drew his legs up to sit cross-legged on the bench. His eyes remained on the cobbled path.

"Better. Thank you," he risked a glance up, remembering why they were here in the first place even though he didn't want to remember.  "Sorry. I thought... I really did think I could do it. Give blood." Virgil rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and hunched forward slightly. "I thought I was stronger than that."

His stomach turned. He hated this, his body betraying him. Like it didn't belong to him, not really. Virgil took another pull.

“Mmm,” Cepheus let out an unsure hum, “I think you expect too much of yourself.” He tucked another cigarette in between his lips and lit it. He hadn’t wanted to smoke while he was working but it was hard not to when someone else was sat beside you doing it. He’d cast a few charms before he went back. Once he knew Virgil was alright.

“There’s more the negative connotations - not like you’re holding a friend’s owl that tried to peck your eyes out last time.” He inhaled and then let out a sigh. He deeply disliked the fact his father was the most significant connection between them. He’d quite prefer Virgil to just be ‘Ariadne’s friend from school’ by way of introduction. It would be altogether simpler, and he imagined Virgil would feel much the same.

He raked a hand through his hair and then glanced across and gave Virgil a supportive smile.

“There’s other times. What else you up to today, meeting up with your father?” Ceph’s hands gestured to the pub where he’d seen Edgar Carstairs last, “Won’t say anything if you don’t, by the way,” he added in a quieter tone.

The older wizard's presence seemed to act as a tonic, for it seemed  the longer Virgil sat next to him the less nauseated he felt by the events of earlier this afternoon. Or perhaps that had to do with the cigarette? Either way, he smiled in response to Ceph's little sketch of an owl pecking one's eyes out. His stomach settled... and presence of mind returned to his quiet blue eyes.

Which, in turn, followed the movements of winsome hands.

"Thank you," Virgil heard the sombre gratitude in his voice - that Edgar didn't worry was important to him. Clearing his throat, he continued in a lighter tone, "I am meeting him later, for tea, before the evening event. Life isn't very exciting otherwise... not with NEWTs so close. I'm always in a book now."

He drew in another breath of smoke and then flicked off a bit of ash, "Another month before reality arrives." The Slytherin felt that he already had severals tasters of what 'reality' meant but he appreciated his time at Hogwarts, knowing it would never come again. "What was it like for you, leaving school?" A glance at Cepheus.

And in a glance he tried to imprint this memory in a room inside his head because he didn't know when he'd next get a chance to speak with the other wizard. He remembered their last conversation, on the subject of careers. Remembered the greenhouse, the photo he kept pressed between the pages of his journal; alongside a Ministry card from their first meeting.

"Were you too excited about Gringotts to think about it?" Virgil furrowed his brow skeptically; how anyone could be excited about Gringotts was hard to imagine. "I have to admit, I can't wait to be out there."

Reality, Cepheus grinned at that and chuckled. Always less shiny and amazing than it appeared until one got the hang of adulting.

“Were you too excited about Gringotts to think about it?” Cepheus inhaled on his cigarette and shook his head.

“Gosh, no, I didn’t have a job lined up or anything. Was the Triwizard Tournament in my seventh year, so as well as all the exams, we had that to contend with.” Cepheus looked down at the ground, remembering the less than celebrated end to his time at Hogwarts. There had been tears, tragedy, calls to unify and words from Dumbledore warning them to do what was right. He’d been glad to get out, but fearful for his sister who had remained.

“This point of the year was much the same though, I think. Making plans with friends, not telling our parents because people were disappearing.” Cepheus dragged again, the memories of those months a mix of excitement and anxiety. His teenage hormones trapped in a body that everyone expected to fall in love with witches, when he actually thought Cedric Diggory was pretty damned handsome. He and his fellow Ravenclaws had rallied round Cho, who had to sit her OWLs bereaved, while his family had extended support to the Diggorys.

“No, Gringotts was on the horizon as a logical, respectable, yet boring outcome to placate expectations, but what I really had wanted to do was independence, to get away. After Diggory’s death nobody wanted us to go but we were young and suffocated and well, had half a dozen offers to go stay with the others from the tournament - who wouldn’t pass up offers from good looking Italians and Bulgarians?” He gestured in question with hands and shoulders, “feels selfish now I look back at it, but we only went for a few months, didn’t feel right when everything was happening at home.” He glanced to Virgil, realising this sounded very gloomy, “All different now, though. Good that you can’t wait - better than not feeling ready.”

He sat up and looked properly at Carstairs. “Still got your heart set on Nine then?”

Having so recently experienced the pleasure-torment of hosting the Tournament at Hogwarts, Virgil could partly understand what the other wizard meant - but of course it was different from all those years ago. It wasn't just champions and tasks and cheering that Cepheus' had to content with. There had been a death that year, and what is now known as the return of Lord Voldermort. An ominous chapter in their history.

Not that their current chapter was all sunshine and rainbows, of course.

            "...feels selfish now I look back at it, but we only went for a few months, didn’t feel right when everything was happening at home.

Virgil looked up from his cigarette and shook his head softly, frowning. "It would be another victory for evil forces if we let them take away our ability to enjoy life in dark times," he leaned back on the bench and brought his feet up so that he could sit cross-legged, "the pleasure of rebellion, rather then ignorance."

And he was a teenager, so of course he believed he knew all there was to know about rebellion. The question of level nine brought him out of this thoughtfulness abruptly. It seemed to haunt him in all sorts of ways. His cheeks warmed, lips took a serious bent. "It's my head, not my heart..."

Languidly, he touched his temple and then his chest to emphasise.

"I've been having second thoughts," Virgil met Cepheus in the eye and ignored the nervous lift in his stomach, "But I'll go through with it. Try on different shoes until I find the right one. I sort of wish I could do everything at once. If that makes sense."

“… the pleasure of rebellion…”

Cepheus responded with a muted smile, thinking to himself that it was more about responsibility to his family and friends to stick together in those times. Not everyone had the luxury of being able to slip the country.

“Nobody really finds their right place first time.” Cepheus agreed with Virgil’s wish to try everything once. “I’d never, ever have thought I’d be in Beings when I -,” was your age? Gods that makes me sound old “- was doing my NEWTs, but here I am. And yes, once you’re in the door - it’s much easier to get a move somewhere else in the Ministry. Bright, inquiring minds are welcome in all Departments, with perhaps the exception of Sports which prefer a bit of muscle and talent.” He looked Virgil up and down, not thinking at all how that might be perceived, and trying very hard to push aside the thought that the younger man always came across as older than his years. “You’ll be welcome anywhere, anytime,” he said warmly, eyes taking longer than normal to drag away from Virgil as he lifted his hand to smoke. 

Not for the first time, he saw in the older wizard's smile a response that wasn't being spoken. Virgil could always tell. Perhaps it was a side-effect of having read minds - understanding the subtleties of expressions mirroring specific urges. If this had been anyone else he would have tried to incite them, for that was another gift of his; knowing which buttons to press and with how much denigration. He had done it so well before, with Jordyn and Cadance and even the odd grown-up.

But he couldn't bring himself to try those tricks with Cepheus. He was afraid. What if Cepheus found out, then, what Virgil was really like? What if he hated him?

The Slytherin took a long drag to banish the thought--
   
             "...with perhaps the exception of Sports which prefer a bit of muscle and talent."

He choked on a bit of smoke, crossing an arm across his narrow chest self-consciously. There was nothing malicious or hungry in Ceph's look and yet it sent a prickle of pleasure right down Virgil's spine; he could feel the hairs lift on the back of his neck. Quiet eyes. Cepheus had sacred and quiet eyes.

"Wouldn't last long in sports, yes," he conceded with an obvious blush, "I'm sure they'd have me for breakfast if I even tried." The many wizards of level seven were physically intimidating, though none so intimidating as the very notion of sitting next to this one wizard from four.

Virgil let himself observe his rescuer a little longer than necessary, partly because he couldn't look away. "Anything could happen, I suppose..." his gaze flickered dreamily to where Ceph's mouth met with a blessed cigarette, "I might like nine. Mysteries are attractive, one likes to be surprised every day. Is it like that on four?"

His curiosity was genuine but he also asked solely to keep Cepheus talking, to prolong this moment he had surely stolen from life's regular course of events. Blood and dungeons seemed the furthest things from mind.

“Mysteries are attractive, one likes to be surprised every day.” The corners of Ceph’s mouth curled upwards, a response about to break free of his lips when Virgil followed it up with reference to Four.

“Hah, can be,” the dark haired wizard replied, “but I thought you were trying to outline your ideal date for the Prophet’s lonely hearts. Dark, handsome, or pretty stranger, enigmatic pauses and quirks. If so I can recommend some Rosier novels.” He smiled more openly at Virgil and shuffled his feet on the cobbles beneath the bench.

“I like to think we live in reality on Four, and Nine dabbles in possibility and tangents.” His parents had always been intrigued by mystery and possibility of research, and often berated the drawbacks of moral research against progress. “Moral reality. Nine you can make up your own world and experiment, whereas on Four we are dealing with society’s diverse response to the real world and its troubles. I’m not solving the mysteries of elemental magic, but I am making a direct impact on those who need us.” Gosh, he could sound like a bleeding heart sometimes.

“It’s not flash bang and fancy, I admit. But takes a certain skill to negotiate with such a diverse number of beings and beasts.” Cepheus shrugged and let his fingers comb through his black mane of hair again. His eyes ran over Virgil’s appearance, studying differences, and he gestured to the other wizard with his hand as it left the crown of his head, “Colour’s coming back to your face, you feeling better?”

            "...I thought you were trying to outline your ideal date for the Prophet’s lonely hearts."

To his own surprise, Virgil laughed and ducked his head slightly. He held the cigarette away in one hand while the other raked through his hair self-consciously. Oh. It was very easy to like Cepheus. His smile lingered, subtle curls at the corners of his red mouth, and he listened to the older man without looking away. No... not flash bang and fancy in the least bit. And yet entirely sublime.

The Slytherin nearly startled when his appraising gaze was returned, distracted as he was by Ceph's gorgeous mane of hair. God. God, what did it feel like to touch it? Virgil thought - rather fancifully - that it must feel like how the starless sky looked. But he snapped right out of that daydream, aware that he was being asked a question.

"Better?" he glanced down at himself, "Oh, right. I... yes, I am. Thank you. For asking." Virgil blushed again; he was certain the colour had come back to his face only on account of how flustered he was. "And for the smoke. I should probably find my father, I promised to meet him after the tent."

The last thing he needed right now was Edgar stumbling on to this scene; he'd know in a heartbeat that Virgil was miserably infatuated and there was only so much pity a boy can tolerate in one day.

“Sure, yes, you should probably go do that before anyone wonders where you’ve got to.” Cepheus agreed, stumbling over his words a little as he said it, mind considering other angles of the fact he was sat away from duties having a smoke with a Hogwarts student. This was how rumours began!

“Another time,” Cepheus agreed, more meaning the blood donation rather than their chat, but it was perfectly and unintentionally ambiguous. He gestured a sort of farewell with smoke pinched between thumb and forefinger. Shaking hands seemed too formal. “Send me a flyer for the show.”

He of course meant the production, but inwardly kicked himself that it might be interpreted as the whole fainting episode earlier. Hopefully Virgil took it at face value, with his pale and interesting face with flushed cheeks… a very valuable face indeed, Cepheus considered as he hurried to finish the rest of the cigarette without company.


End