1545 hours

The teapot rose into the air on its own accord, decanting two cups of fragrant jasmine. Virgil looked up from the little book of sonnets he'd brought along and quickly put it down as he spotted what the tea set had already noticed. The lovely Camille Duerr was at the entrance, recovering from the afternoon rain.

"Professor," he stood up from the table and went to greet the older witch with a diffident offer to shake hands. "I ordered afternoon tea. They'll be along with the cake trolley soon."

Virgil didn't keep in touch with all his teachers from Hogwarts and, considering she'd never taught him, it might have seemed strange to others that he was meeting with Duerr. Of course, it wasn't strange to him. She had been very kind when he told her about his legilimency, and full of warm advice. Even when she was disappointed, she was kind. That took a special kind of strength.

Which was to say, he didn't think it strange to want to befriend somebody you respect. "How are you?" Virgil asked, smiling wryly. "Is Hogwarts any calmer this year? Any boggarts manifested as Professor Storm yet?"

It was a simple little charm to shake off all the rain. Scotland had rather improved her knack. Ah, there was Virgil! Camille’s face broke into a welcoming smile.

“Professor,”
“Virgil,” he extended his hand to her to shake, rather formally, but politely. She took it gently and pulled them together to kiss his cheeks. Luckily he was not averse and reciprocated. He was not her student any more, not that he had ever truly been, but he was a young man now.

“I ordered afternoon tea. They’ll be along with the cake trolley soon.”
“Marvellous, darling, thank you,” she replied - trying yet another English adjective for size this week. She folded her cloak over the back of the chair beside him and took a seat.

“How are you? Is Hogwarts any calmer this year? Any boggarts manifested as Professor Storm yet?”
“Quite well, thank you, yes. If only there was a little less rain.” She gestured upwards with one hand, glad she was away to enjoy sunshine in the summer holidays. “No boggarts yet, but there is still plenty of time. I will let you know.” She winked at him and laughed. “Cousin Ignan has reportedly been awful and there have been many tears.” She lowered her voice and dipped her head, adding mischievously, “he does not enjoy growing older.”

She sat straight again and smiled brightly at him. “And you, what mysteries have you uncovered? Are you keeping busy? You look …” she gestured up and down with her hands, “well. As a young man should. Older without his school uniform.” She shrugged, as if that was an entirely non-suggestive thing to say.

Professor Duerr was quite possibly one of the prettiest witches he knew and would ever know. Virgil happily returned a pair of kisses to her cheeks and settled back into his seat with a fond smile. Boggart Storms were inevitable. He scared at least one or two firsties every year right out of their wits! Sometimes Virgil had wondered into Storm-related nightmares.

            "... does not enjoy growing older."
"To be fair -" he pointed out, "- it will only make him scarier."

Nobody was afraid of the young teachers! Besides Kesali, who had been unpredictable and probably an old soul at heart. Virgil lifted his cup to his lips, breathing in its jasmine brew before tasting. He blushed as he lowered it. Older? Older was good, wasn't it? Coming from her it sounded both harmless and boldly complimentary.

"Thank you." Virgil raised his gaze to her, noting her own appearance. "And you're lovely as ever, professor." He noticed that she wasn't wearing her wedding and bashfully recalled their chat in February[1], when he had asked her about it. Some day she had said. That day must have come and gone.

The cake trolley rolled up next to their table, laden with all manners of pastries and desserts and tiny sandwiches. They made their respective selections - Virgil chose light mousse concoctions and scones, with cucumber sandwiches to start.

"Level nine is keeping me busy now that I've finished my Stardust performances," he turned back to her as the trolley retreated, rolling up the sleeves of his oversized sweater. "I can't talk about it but... it's interesting work. And, um." Virgil leaned in slightly and spoke in a lowered voice. "We have a new head. It's one of my old Legilimens tutors."

1.	Tread Softly - 24th February

“And you’re lovely as ever, professor.”
“Sweetheart.”

He was rather sweet. She wouldn’t imagine taking tea with many young men who had not even been her student. Her son and her second son (which she was now affectionately calling Balfour) would be the most likely to share tea with her. There was a particular solidarity between them since she had chosen to bestow motherly concern and guidance on him in his final months of school. She found herself drawing parallels with her own son, through a curious mind, nosey predisposition and talent that could be entirely used for the wrong purposes. Only Virgil’s talents lay in an area she had both interest and insight into. Not that she was a seer, but she respected their sight and dealt in the calculation of fate and possibility.

“Now remind me,” Camille asked, “Nine is … Mysteries? Research and secrets, yes?” She wondered if Virgil’s mind tried to wander when he was at work, and if it could get him into trouble, or if he had learned his lesson. “A familiar face?” She asked, “Oh well - a familiar mind, yes?” She gave him a knowing look and lifted a plate up with a solitary finger sandwich on. “Is that a good thing, or would you prefer a certain anonymity? Tell me about him.”

"Research and secrets," he confirmed with a grin that was full of the mischief such words promised. "They call us Unspeakables. Or, um, I'm an Unspeakable-in-training at least." Virgil picked at one of his sandwiches before biting into a fluffy white triangle, happily relishing its fresh cucumber and buttery bread. The questions about Yavin were fair ones to ask - it was nice to be able to actually tell someone about it!

He swallowed, the food suddenly feeling a little cold in his stomach. His expression wilted.

"Familiar mind, yes. Yavin he... he took over from a less kind tutor." Virgil paused to examine his tea cup and run his finger around the rim for a second, blinking. "I wasn't expecting him to lead the department but I am glad now," he pushed on. "He's a a fantastic Legilimens, Order of Merlin and all. Everyone thinks he's eccentric but he's very kind too."

Kind, he thought,  like Professor Duerr. Like Abby. Like Cepheus. People who wore their kindness on their face and seemed not to realise how beautiful it made them. Virgil slid his finger down the tea cup and hooked the handle to lift it.

"Yavin also wears ridiculous sweaters," he added with a smart-arse smile. "Honest to God, professor, you can spot him all the way down Diagon sometimes. I think you'd like him very much."

“Order of Merlin?” Camille echoed rhetorically. She had never knowingly met anyone with one of those since coming to live in Britain. She had read of a few people receiving them, who were reported in the Daily Prophet.

“Yavin also wears ridiculous sweaters. Honest to God, Professor, you can spot him all the way down Diagon sometimes. I think you’d like him very much.”

“Do you really?” Professor Duerr asked, though her tone reflected how open she was to this possibility. “Because of Mr Yavin’s choice of clothing?” She was not known for having a loud sense of style. Camille often dressed as if she still worked in the bank, though her finances were tighter on her Hogwarts income. She appreciated smart, classic lines. She wasn’t sure how to imagine this Yavin fellow, though she hoped Virgil’s love for the wizard was well judged and not just comparative from the previous tutor.

“How are things living away from home? You are sharing with Hogwarts friends, yes?”

            "Because of Mr Yavin’s choice of clothing?"

Virgil laughed through a bite of his cucumber sandwich, at both the question and her calling the department head "Mr Yavin". Not everyone liked the older wizard but his fashion sense was neither here nor there - it conveyed an independence of mind. Perhaps. Virgil wasn't exactly sure, some of those sweaters defied sense.

"Because he's clever and nice," he reached for his tea, which had cooled a little by now, " - like you."

Why not tell her? He wasn't a student anymore. There wasn't a reason he couldn't compliment Professor Duerr with the thought that had been floating in his head. Nice people deserved nice words. Virgil smiled and sipped at the jasmine.

"I'm sharing with Bevans and Gamp," he answered after a second to think. "I like them. It's never boring, and I never feel guilty for spending late nights at The Closet. I cook rather a lot." With them as his guinea pigs, making dinner and dessert was a more delicious experiment than those on level nine.

Virgil plucked a raspberry red macaron from the cake plate. "My cousin Alex tells me you have a grandson at Hogwarts?" he lowered his voice. "That is, she tells me Balfour and Johann have a son."

“Because he’s clever and nice, like you.”

Professor Duerr gave Virgil a soft, touched look in return for his kind words. He was awfully sweet. She’d never taught him, so she wasn’t sure how he measured ‘clever’. She hadn’t felt all that clever for the time she showed the Hogwarts divination club how to divine with molten metal.

“… It’s never boring, and I never feel guilty for spending late nights at The Closet…” Camille wasn’t entirely sure what The Closet was, but put two and two together and imagined it was a pub or other place to entertain oneself on an evening.

“My cousin Alex tells me you have a grandson at Hogwarts? That is, she tells me Balfour and Johann have a son.” The Arithmancy professor’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at this news coming via cousins.
“I do,” she agreed, “and they do,” she rearranged her legs, “Barely arrived before he was at Hogwarts, poor boy. I am very glad to have him close to see that he is alright and get to know him. What else did your cousin Alex tell you of him?”

A son. It felt weird to think of his cousin's godfather being an actual father. This was the same wizard who had to talk Alex out of demanding a pet dragon[1] from her parents, who were keener on cats. In some ways it did feel right, he imagined, because she was quite forgiving in her opinions about Balfour. And Alex was rarely forgiving.

              What else did your cousin Alex tell you of him?”

"That he looks like Johann and he's a metamorphmagus." Virgil replied before nibbling at his raspberry macaron. "She didn't say much else," and he hadn't thought to ask the obvious - the question of the mother, "except that he's been sorted into Slytherin."

Close to the kitchens and to Hufflepuffs. Not that Virgil would ever admit it, but Hufflepuffs made excellent friends and allies. "So... does this mean you're a grandmother now?" he raised his pale eyebrows and finished off the macaron in one impudent bite.

1.	Details with permission from Hazel!

“She is well informed,” Camille agreed at Alex’s information to Virgil. “Well, you did call him my grandson, didn’t you?” She smiled, reminiscent of a mischievous younger Camille. Sometimes she felt rather young for spending time with her students - or ex-students.

“Yes, a grandson overnight. The first of many, I hope,” Camille held up a hand in swift caution, “though I hope legitimate or adopted than unknown.” How Balfour and Johann managed to father legitimate children, she wasn’t yet sure. This continued to be new ground for the witch. “I have always wanted to be a grandmother, Johann was my only child. I’ve gained a son in Balfour of course.” She reached for her tea, rosy-cheeked and smiling. “I couldn’t have asked for a better surprise grandson, and just before their engagement!” She placed her hand over heart, smitten with her three boys. “Speaks three languages, and yes, looks so very like Johann. Quite convincing of him at the same age. I’ve very nearly called him the wrong name.” She shook her head at herself.

“Listen to me, I would go on all afternoon if I could. Have you met any new friends at the Ministry? It always seems such a big place whenever I go there. But I understand from Balfour and Johann that everyone gets to know everyone after a few months. Though,” she pondered, tapping her finger on the china cup, “if one cannot speak, perhaps not.”

            "Well, you did call him my grandson, didn’t you?"

Virgil grinned through his mouthful of pink cream and sugar, shaking his head like he didn't believe Professor Duerr looked like a grandmother. Not everyone with grandchildren were grandparents - he'd never really met the ones on his father's side of the family. The dreaded Morgans, whose brooding gaunt eyes he had inherited.

"He sounds marvellous." Virgil conceded to the description of Feliks Spectre, picturing the boy's parents in his mind's eye. He had met both of them before, although on separate occasions and not together.

They matched, like Haphaestion and Alexander. Only Johann Storm was probably Alexander. Professor Duerr's question cut into Virgil's meandering thoughts.

"I've made some new friends," he replied and ran a finger around the rim of his tea cup, pink in the cheeks. "I'm trying not to get to set into the old social circle from Hogwarts. Broaden my horizons. Learn new tricks. Fall victim to my first Ministry crush." Virgil admitted lightheartedly, glancing up from the cup.

He wasn't going to admit the crush had begun before he graduated or anything of the sort. It felt nice to simply say it like it was an expected thing rather than the dire circumstance his heart felt it to be.

"I think I've gotten to know most people by reputation if not in-person. Johann and Balfour are perfectly nauseating," he mock-rolled his eyes, smiling. "And I think it's universally accepted that Flash Lockhart is the worst person to be stuck in the lifts with."

       

“Goodness! You have been busy!” Professor Duerr marvelled, blinking quickly as she listened. “Aren’t they just,” she agreed a low tone, as if they might be overheard, “I’d say early days, but…” She shrugged and shook her head.

Perhaps those two would never grow out of being all over each other. She could understand Johann making up for lost time. She loved them both dearly though, and wouldn’t speak genuinely ill of them, just that the rest of them did have to palette their displays of affection. Camille did hope they weren’t being unprofessional about it. For some queer reason, her mind recalled the careers event and Balfour’s introduction to a colleague. Something subconsciously connecting.

“Have you had the terrible misfortune of being stuck in a lift with … Mister? … Lockhart?” she wasn’t at all sure who this person was who Virgil referred to, but if she ever was to visit the Ministry and use one of the lifts she wanted to be sure to recognise this unfortunate soul. With a name like Flash - didn’t that mean bright light? The other meaning in English not yet in her vocabulary.

“… or your, first Ministry crush?”

             "Have you had the terrible misfortune of being stuck in a lift with … Mister? … Lockhart?"

"I've become an expert at avoiding it." Virgil replied between sips of tea and helping himself to another two finger sandwiches from the tray "I mean, avoiding hi--"

            "… or your, first Ministry crush?"

The image that immediately came to his mind, of Cepheus and himself alone in a Ministry lift, made the young wizard feel warmer on the inside than their hot drinks could merit. He lifted the tea pot and refilled their cups, unusual diffidence entering his expression. Virgil wasn't an outwardly shy person but even talking about Ceph sometimes made him feel shy.

"Not that either. I'm certain I wouldn't make the best of it really," he set down the pot and glanced guiltily at Professor Duerr. "He's... much older than me. But really rather sweet and relatable." And impossible.

Virgil picked at his cucumber sandwich, smiling slightly to himself. "Did you have many crushes, Professor?" he liked to picture a younger version of her - he would have asked her out, he thought, or at least wanted to be close friends. She had that something about her.

"Or... or just the one?"

“Sund,” Camille replied, quietly as she saw Virgil draw breath to pose a question.

“Did you have many crushes, Professor?”

“Of course!” She exclaimed, with a mischievous chuckle. “Me and my sister were quite the pair. We would moon after all our brother’s friends. We were terrible. Florine, I would say, as eldest I would get first choice of who to marry, only we never agreed from one week to the next who was best.” She winked at Virgil and then shuffled herself in her seat like a mother hen on her eggs. “We always looked for a husband. I do not think that is how you do it now.” She lifted her eyebrows at Virgil.

“How much older?” She asked, “It was five years between me and Wolfgang, which was nothing. Ten, not so bad.” Camille tilted her head from side to side. “I can always calculate him for you, if you are curious.” She smiled, “look at you,” she gestured towards the young wizard opposite her, all caught up in his interests, “tell me about him.”

He grinned, immediately picturing her and a lovely lookalike-sister, giggling as they gossiped about boys. Virgil was a little in love with the idea of a young Professor Duerr; he and Eli had both been sweet on the Arithmancer, in their own funny way. But she had grown up in very different times and in a whole other country.

            "I do not think that is how you do it now."

Virgil lowered his gaze shyly, shaking his head. It wasn't and yet it was. Sometimes he wondered if everyone was just drifting around and trying to bump into someone who made them feel more alive.

"He has awfully nice eyes," he cleared his throat and pretended to busy himself with cup and saucer. "I feel like I don't have to be so... prickly around him. It's odd, because his brow is so harsh, such a contradiction to how he acts." Picturing Cepheus had become easier over the months.

But they weren't just five or ten years apart. Those gaps felt manageable, especially the way Professor Duerr described them. He looked up at her, swallowing.

"Sixteen years." Virgil confessed, before rushing into the rest of his sentence in a soft and defensive tone. "But he's wonderful, Professor. He loves cats and he's thoughtful and dresses well and he sent me flowers on opening night for Peter Pan."

He ran out of breath and paused, blushing. "When you say calculate, do you mean like when you read to me[1] from your book, in the Infirmary?"

1.	Your Number's Up - 30th March