Yavin Morgenthau sat on the floor of the Sistine Chapel, watching an image of himself eating a plate of luscious red grapes at the alter. The image was complete with papal robes and a magnificent hat. Pop! One grape into the mouth. Pop pop pop! Three lovely grapes. They looked quite red in the afternoon light coming through the windows above.

Three knocks sounded in the air, emanating from inside his chest. He made a gesture of agreement at nothing in particular.

            "Are you watching yourself dream about being the Pope?" Virgil Carstairs, his favourite Work-in-Progreess, approached from behind. Muted footsteps.

The young wizard joined him on the floor and they both watched the Other Yavin continue to eat grapes with ineffable pleasure. Organ music drifted from somewhere distant and the real Yavin turned his head to acknowledge his old Legilimens pupil. Periwinkle pyjamas, blonde hair, skeptical brow.

"Ah ah." Yavin held up a finger, "I am having a dream about watching myself as the Pope. And the angels, disciples, holy men -" the finger now pointed out the decadent frescoes surrounding them, "- they watch you, watching me, watching myself." He laughed and lowered his hand, still grinning.

Virgil's brow grew even more skeptical. "Are you really replacing Mortimer Gamp?"

His voice threw an echo in the chapel. Yavin nodded and, suddenly, the papal robes of Other Yavin was replaced by a set of formal wizarding attire instead. Black velvet against the pure white background. But he still continued to eat grapes.

"Effective first of September."
            "You're positively ancient," Virgil grumbled with a heatless glare. "Is this really a time to switch careers? Is this an end of life crisis?"

"Still a little shit, aren't you?" Yavin shifted his attention back to the altar, closing his eyes. "Change is good. You'll see. It will be an adventure," he promised. "Now. Tell me about your Ministry of Magic. Little things, moods and rumours. I have to catch up."