Late Morning

            "Yavin!" a witch behind the cafe counter mispronounced his name as she set down several paper cups for collection.

Yavin Morgenthau hesitated and picked up one of the drinks, staring at it with a little more concentration than one normally paid to a caffeine supplement. Weekends. Weekends were a novelty for him. He had spent most of his professional life without actual weekends to govern his time - and now, as Head of level nine, he had two almost entirely free days of nothing to do. Almost. There were obligations, at St.Mungo's, or to his former Legilimens pupil. Current? It was hard to tell.

Such obligations were not allocated to this Saturday. Yavin sniffed his drink, narrowing his eyes.

He turned to the customer in front of him, who had taken one of the other cups and was also studying its contents. "Excuse me, ah, I, believe, hm. I believe you have my triple shot Lumo Cappucino?" Haltingly, he made a gesture that made it look like each of his fingers was independently trying to gesture at the other person's drink. "Whatever, haha, whatever that is?"

Every time Yavin came into Alohomocha, he tried to pick something he'd never had before. Their menu was hardly comprehensive but then again, they did requests, and his patronage was not frequent.

"I was just about to say..."

Tamzin had temporarily tucked her wand under her arm as she used both hands to hold both cup and lid. This coffee had a mighty vanilla scent, and if it was possible, it smelled even sweeter than that.  The voice of this concoction's alleged owner was a foot above her, sounded American, charmingly halting, and polite. Touch of cologne, too.

"Here." She held out the beverage for the tall wizard to claim.

"And do you have my skim chai latte? They the write the names on the cups. Does it say Tamzin?"

Tamzin Ollivander had just returned from a month in Prague and was happy to be back in Diagon Alley with all its familiar uneven cobblestone streets, cooing owls, drying herbs, brewing potions, and freshly made food. Her cats were certainly happy for her return. She was out and about on errands and couldn't do without her chai.

The little witch was one step ahead of him, offering him his intended drink. Yavin accepted and glanced at the one in his other hand to ensure that the name Tamzin was indeed scribbled on the side. He realised that she couldn't have read it herself - lucky for the overpowering scent of Alohomocha's Lumo Cappuccino, then.

"It does. Here you, hm, here you are." Yavin passed her the paper cup and smiled to himself. "How is their, that is, their chai latte? I haven't ventured into, aha, into their teas."

He was a coffee man, except for at tea time, when his late wife would have insisted on Ceylon or Assam or something else you should never take with sugar. But he had experienced divine masala chai in India, and learned to make it from scratch. It made him skeptical of recreations in other countries.

The queue behind them was building up, other patrons waiting for a drink. "Are you sitting?" Yavin asked Tamzin politely and tasted his drink. It was extremely sweet and the coffee barely present. Oh well.

Once she had a hand freed up, Tamzin took up her wand from her armpit and muttered an incantation, "Aura Perciperium". At once her wand thrummed with magical energy, resonating with the cacophony of all the presences around her. In tone, it matched the mellow attitude of the space. And now she perceived the tall wizard more fully.

Her sense of him, as detected by her aura-sensing spell, was of a humming constant passion, just a bit crackly at the edges. She smiled and again muttered, "ah, ah ha!"

"Could be spicier, but better than most and always just the right temperature."

"Are you sitting?" he asked next.

"That was my plan. May I?" She flipped her wand deftly in her hand so it was tucked  under her thumb and against her forearm, then offered her hand to him so he could perhaps lead the way to an open table. It was crowded.

As they maneuvered out of the line at the counter, she said, "You know that I'm called Tamzin - that's Tamzin Ollivander, but who are you, I wonder?"

Tamzin knew that dropping her family name into conversation had a certain effect. She was proud of it. She enjoyed being known, even if most didn't know her in particular. And this wizard seemed to be someone she'd like to know.

            "Could be spicier, but better than most and always just the right temperature."
"They, aha -" Yavin agreed, "- they never get the spices right!"

He couldn't understand. It was just the same in New York, unless you went down to where all the Indian restaurants were pooled together. In London that was Southall or east - even Diagon Alley couldn't compete. Yavin would probably try the chai here, however, to confirm his new acquaintance's remarks.

The weekend crowd was fascinating but troublesome. He led them to a corner that had just been vacated by a pair of young witches.

"Ollivander! Of, hm, of Ollivander wands?" Yavin pulled back a chair for Tamzin to sit before taking his own place across the small round table. "I'm Yavin. Yavin Morgenthau," he said his own name with the same relish he used for all words. "I work at the, well, that is, at the Ministry of Magic."

He sipped his latte.

Tamzin took her seat and pocketed her wand, and the enchantment dissipated.

"The same," she said with a wide smile. "I've taken up craft after my dear uncle."

Tamzin, you must never apologize for what you have accomplished. It might make some uncomfortable and think you a braggart, but that's their problem, is what her mother had taught her when, on a summer home, she'd been humble about the chess set she'd carved and enchanted on her own. From that day on, Tamzin had been deemed arrogant by more than a few who apparently had the problem her mother spoke of.

"Morgenthou! I've heard of you then, in the Daily Prophet. It said that you were with the MACUSA before. I don't go in for gossip, so you'll have to confirm if that's true."

The Daily Prophet? Gossip? She winked.

An Ollivander! Didn't they have one of them living in the Mews? He never spent much time actually at home that he rarely saw his neighbours, although Yavin did once catch sight of a vampire pair on their way out when he was returning in the late evening. There was a supposedly famous actress there too, if the odd reporter was any indication.

"I was with MACUSA, you, aha, you have me right ma'am!" he laughed at her wink as he unstuck the lid of his cup to let the drink cool. "A Healer before that. I, hm, never got into our, hah, our family trade. Politicians."

His father had been a diplomat for the American Congress, a man of many tongues and much too serious temperament. Yavin blew on his latte before taking another sip.

"You know, I've lived here, um, for years, but kept -" he gestured around him, fingers wiggling, "- going around. Travelling, hum, for my personal work. Are you, that is, are you on Moonstone Mews?"

This fellow was rather enthralled as well as enthralling, he seemed to Tamzin. His way of speaking was so animated and seasoned, well, there was a lot to notice, wasn't there. He could make reading the Floo directory sound like an answer to a personal question.

The bell on the door jangled as another patron came in. She turned her head, but turned back to Yavin when he asked about her address.

"Yes, Moonstone. Number 9. The one with the brass olivebranch knocker." She'd had it installed. "I quite like the address. Conveniently located, spacious kitchen, mostly quiet. You're there as well? Which one? Not that unit that had the fête last night and didn't invite me? Mr. Business knocked my aloe from the sill trying to have a look."

She sounded a bit like the cranky old neighbor, but mostly she was snooping. She travelled a fair bit as well, and there was a fair bit of resident turn-over in the Mews.

           "...You're there as well? Which one? Not that unit that had the fête last night and didn't invite me?"

He grinned into his sweet latte, sipping. A neighbour. How novel! Yavin was not yet used to the prospect of spending the months ahead in one place, give or take the odd trip on behalf of level nine. But as in his travels he would take the same approach to living in London for the long term: befriend the natives.

"You, ah, you mistake me greatly if you think I host fêtes." Yavin leaned back slightly with a low laugh, his free hand drumming a steady rhythm on the cafe table between them while people in Alohomocha came and went. "I am lucky number thirteen. The one with, hm, the painted navy door and the mother-in-law's tongue by it."

It was a fantastic plant, quite mundane by wizarding standards, but easily kept if you charmed it for animals to keep away. "You must, that is, I think it's customary, for neighbours to call on one another?" he raised his eyebrows, gesturing from her to him. "I can maybe, hah, make you a masala chai as my, I mean, as my wife does. As it is meant to be drunk!"

Number 13? The color didn't help her any, but the plant was a good hint. Tamzin imagined the mews, counting the units along until - "yes! Yes I know the one." 

It would get good sun, she thought. Nice and warm in an evening. She felt just the slightest bit badly that she'd never taken note of him before, but was comforted that he didn't know her either. Wasn't often that she was pleased not to be notable, but this was the exception.

Yavin lilted his way to asking her over for tea sometime. Tamzin laced her fingers together on the table in front of her and smiled.

"I accept!" she declared.

"Now that we're dearest friends," she boldly hyperbolized, "you must show me your wand. I know it's rude to ask, but I don't care. I'm a bit of a wand geek."

She wrinkled her nose as almost whispered the last sentence.

              "I accept!"

Ah, good, a chance for him to brandish his well-stocked spice rack. Tamzin would be a welcome break from his usual visitors: colleagues, scholars, Legilimency enthusiasts. Yavin drew out his vine wand with flourish and extended it to the witch across the table.

"I can't, ahah, deny you a professional interest -" he replied cheerfully, "- but perhaps you might, hm, might afford me my own? As an a Legilimens? In a more private venue."

It wouldn't do to pick anyone's mind in so public a place. Yavin was a deliberate wizard when it came to these things: he practiced his art carefully, more of a conscious adventurer as opposed to his sole pupil's antennae.

Tamzin heard Yavin slip into his robes for his wand, the subtle rustle of fabric, so she walked her fingers playfully across the table until she felt his wand-offering hands.

The moment she touched it, she felt quite proud that she'd guessed a thing or two. He really had seemed like a 'vine' sort of wizard. All magic folk had the capacity to make a connection with any wand - wands were made for wix afterall - but it took years of practice to be able to detect the magical interaction of sacred woods with imbued cores by touch. She'd played the game with her uncle many times. Tamzin was particularly deft with identifying wood by their heft, scent, texture, and magical tone. Tamzin turned the wand over in her hands for a second or two more.

"Ha," she said as she smiled to herself. But didn't have a chance to say more, or begin guessing at unfamiliar core, because her companion had proffered a counter-offer: a request from a Legilimens. She drew back a little and suddenly became conscious of every thought, taking a sort of instinctual frantic inventory of everything she'd thought since she bumped into him. It was the same gut reaction most had to Legilimancers.

"I am disarmed," she said with a slightly offended huff. "But it's better than I deserve, having a go at your wand. I'll have to take you on your word you haven't already started."

So she hadn't immediately agreed, but she hadn't declined either.  Her suspicion was wound up with curiosity.

She was a true Ollivander - nobody else could touch or hold a wand with such objective reverence. Yavin smiled to himself as the implication of his offer made itself clear in their conversation: he had essentially requested permission to examine one of the most private inner realms.

             "...I'll have to take you on your word you haven't already started."

"Madam," his voice carried a throaty laugh in it. "You may, aha, you may bank on it. I've only, that is, a professional interest in the inner machinations. You use your senses differently to observe the, hm, the world."

This was stating the obvious. The witch was blind. He had met Legilimens or wixes who lacked one sense or another, during his travels, and each one navigated the universe in their own special way. Through customised charms or enchanted accessories or non-human companions, be it beast or being.

"If you permit, I would, shall we say, consider it a privilege to understand what it is like to -" Yavin hummed thoughtfully, pausing. "- to step into your, ah, shoes. To put on your hat, so to speak."

She was still holding his wand. The longer she held it, the more the core revealed itself; wix reaching for wand and wand reaching for wix. Tamzin still hadn't identified it, but the feel was distinct. Foreign. Sly.

"Hm," she scoffed, keeping her words to herself for the moment. It was a compelling reason to poke around behind her eyes and if she was proud - and she was - Tamzin was tempted to let someone in. Her impression of his unusual interest and the peculiar feel of his wand (and the smell of their hot beverages) was intertwining. She only now wrapped her hand around the handle. The wand reacted and a secretive smile crept onto her lips.

She licked her lips as she set the wand down again.

"Vine," she hummed and tilted her head. "Core of rougarou. I've only ever seen that core in swamp mayhaw..."[1]

She paused again, keen to build suspense, and sipped her hot chai. "Yavin Morganthau, American Legilimens with a vine wand, you're just too mysterious of a chance encounter to ignore. I accept."

1.	http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Violetta_Beauvais

            "Core of rougarou. I've only ever seen that core in swamp mayhaw..."

"We can't all, aha, have a Beauvais wand." Yavin remarked in a dry but good-humoured tone as he reached across the table to retrieve his wand. "You are a credit to your, hm, your craft madam." Not that he had expected any less from the Ollivander family.

Her decision to accept his offer brought a genuine smile to his countenance - he laughed at her phrasing, both flattered and amused to be deemed as too mysterious to ignore. Maybe it went without saying, that the head of the Department of Mysteries should be a mysterious man. In his own mindscape however, Yavin was pleasantly normal. Another bee buzzing in the hive who had its own particular role to play.

A mischievous or exploratory role, usually.

"Thank you," he replied and sipped at his sweet drink. "Shall we, that is, shall we set a date? The weekend after this?" Yavin had no desire to rush into another person's mind just yet: especially after being allowed an invitation. "My masala chai, your mind. Could, hah, could be interesting."