"Though I got off lightly, Arc and co had slides.” Arc laughed a little tiredly to himself, remembering. It might have mentally scarred a few students - alright, more than a few, he was willing to admit - but it was for the sake of education. And perhaps getting a kick out of watching the speed of expressions changing on people's faces.

He listened to the conversation and then realised what they were talking about, one of the very few times this night that he actually did. Just as he mulled over the side he knew, Johann turned to him. “You don’t happen to know a Healer Misslethorpe, do you?”

"I do." Arc paused, thinking of how to arrange the rest of his answer in a... less blunt fashion, because he did have strong feelings about the subject but was beholden by his personal moral code to be polite about it. "I don't...particularly care for his acquaintance, though his work ethic is respectable. I don't, however, expect to think that Balfour was particularly happy about what he did." Of course he was downplaying the reaction he hadn't seen - the word had spread about it, but he wasn't about to assume what really happened based on the words of sparrows. "Respectable with regards to his hospital work," he added quickly, just in case Balfour questioned his word choice. "Whatever he does in his side job is none of my concern." But of course I have my opinions about it was the unsaid finisher.

There was a cosiness about this flat that their manor in Edinburgh, snug as they might make it, couldn't exactly replicate. Balfour supposed it must be the innate magic of having a small and homely place in the middle of a metropolis. He liked being around Cepheus even when they weren't exchanging memos about salad or sandwiches at the Ministry of Magic. Listening to everyone chat about cats and buttholes was equally as charming.

Quite charming, even, he thought as Virgil explained how he got to know their host. The boy was utterly drunk or utterly high. Or he was doing a fantastic imitation of one of the Fates getting into the catnip. Ah, to be young and shameless again. Well, young anyway.

Balfour threw his head back in a laugh, grandly toasting his whiskey in sympathy at the wizard next to him. "The things we do for our divisions, aye?" he winked at Cepheus and nudged their knees together.  "And for the good of future generations."

Speaking of which, his fiancé was having a rather darling time petting one of such a generation. Virgil looked like he was loving the attention. “Enjoying yourself down there?” Joh asked, only to receive a perfectly indecent hum in reply. Smug brat.

            “Did he try and match Balfour for drinks or something?” Bal snorted into his glass, shaking his head in mock censure.

The conversation turned to a subject he was less happy to ponder. A soft look entered his eye as he thought not just about the article but about his son. They simply had to go and visit the poor thing, it wasn't right not to. Johann posed the question of the hour to Arcturus - Balfour almost forget that they might know each other.

Caution laced the Healer's opinions but he couldn't be blamed. Sandy was deputy at St.Mungo's.

            "Whatever he does in his side job is none of my concern."

"Don't think it was much of his concern either." Bal replied bitterly and drained the rest of his whiskey. "Fellow barely knew why I'd bloody hexed him. Arsehole." Odin, he hoped the man was a better healer than a journalist.

Johann had stopped stroking his hair. Why had he stopped stroking his hair? Virgil, head still lolling lazily off the side of the armchair, reached backwards and fussily prompted the wizard's hand back where it rightfully belonged. It felt nice and soothing and it was just what he needed.

Especially if they were going to talk about boring grown-up things that didn't involve him. He kicked his legs lightly while Arcturus went on. Why were they even talking about hospitals? They should talk about cats. It was too late at night to talk about hospitals.

And then Balfour said something, which made Virgil suddenly understand why.

"Oh my God!" he sat up abruptly and stared at the couch, blonde hair stuck up in a mess from Johann's ministrations. "What a COMPLETE arsehole. Misslethorpe sucks balls!" Virgil exclaimed as if though Healer Misslethorpe had just purposely stepped on his toes.

In his muddled head, he was only thinking about how fond Professor Duerr was of her grandson and how awful she must have felt when she read the Witch Weekly article. "I hope he steps in something nasty every day of his awful life."

Where day-to-day Gamps were tolerable, forward-thinking sorts, with a sense of adventure or desire to assist, like any old wizarding family there were bad ones. Ceph and Andie’s father, Mortimer, had been confined to St Mungo’s and then Azkaban since going insane in February. Virgil had been one of the young witches and wizards portkeyed unexpectedly from Hogsmeade to the Department of Mysteries for experimentation.[1]

Then there was their cousin, Leo, had made the wrong decision over choosing sides in the second war. His wife, reluctant cousin Genevieve García-Gamp happened to be the Editor of Witch Weekly, landed in the wake of her exposé book on her marriage to Leo. Cepheus found her considerably more palatable than her estranged, imprisoned husband, but sometimes it was hard to swallow her professional decisions at that magazine.

Ceph had heard firsthand of Balfour’s direct approach[2] to walk into the magazine’s Diagon offices and raise his wand in reaction to the article about the parentage of Balfour’s newly established son. The news[3] that Balfour and murderous Ira Almasy had been in any closer relation than tenant and landlady had surprised Cepheus until he had reflected that Balfour had been one to flirt with any and everyone until the observant linguist opposite had crossed his path. He was heartened to see that his friends and colleagues were still as strong, if not stronger, for Ira Almasy’s legacy.

Not that Cepheus had poked or prodded. He hadn’t outrightly avoided the subject either, but asked open, supportive questions about how Balfour was, and told his gobby young secretary Kayla to pack it in with the gossip or face the wrath of Balfour’s. The ire of Mrs Lanningham was legendary and not to be sought.

When Johann asked if Arc knew of Sandy Misslethorpe, as a fellow healer, Cepheus listened carefully, turning to regard his friend sat beside him out of the corner of his eye. He never recalled Arcturus ever expressing strong opinions over people, choosing to be diplomatically moderate.
“Whatever he does in his side job is none of my concern.”
“Don’t think it was much of his concern either, fellow barely knew why I’d bloody hexed him. Arsehole.”

Cepheus was drawing breath to chip in, when the youngest of their group lurched upright in the armchair.
“Oh my God!” Cepheus thought for a horrible moment that his cat, Claude, had done something, but the feline had been nonchalantly cleaning his paws and washing his face on the floor between their feet. Now the cat and the rest of the wizards in the room were staring at Carstairs.

“What a COMPLETE arsehole. Misslethorpe sucks balls! I hope he steps in something nasty every day of his awful life.”

The mix of possible responses fought each other for purchase on Ceph’s tongue, only seen outwardly by the way his dark eyebrows danced. Virgil was all kinds of things, but hopefully his tea would sober him up. In the meantime, he would undoubtedly continue to entertain them.

“Speaking as one in a room full of wizards who, well, take pleasure in sucking balls on occasion,” the host began, in a tone which would make Penny Pickler proud with its sensitivity, “I didn’t get a particular impression of his persuasion in that direction when we met[4].”

He hadn’t mentioned it to Balfour or Johann. Sharing one’s own experience sometimes cheapened the trials of those you were reflecting on. It seemed more appropriate now, since Johann was asking of their opinions.

“He was my father’s healer, after he… lost it. He was kind, put my mind at rest. As Arc says, his hospital work ethic is respectable. I’m not defending him by any means, but he didn’t write the article, and it would have been my cousin Gen, who let it make the cut as Editor. I’m just glad you only got off with a ticking off from Solomon Carstairs.” He gave Balfour a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, and he patted Balfour’s leg again.

1.	Mischief Unmanaged
2.	24th September, 2011 We Are Who We Are
3.	24th September, 2011 Secret Lovechild of a Murderess
4.	27th July, 2011 Between Chaos and a Dream

Putting down his glass, Balfour laughed at the young wizard's suddenly vehement response to their conversation. The only thing it was missing was some very rude hand gestures. It did feel rather nice to hear somebody else be outwardly angry at Misslethorpe, he supposed.

Cepheus had a more reasonable approach. Their host's humorous references to balls made Virgil audibly giggle, falling back into his extravagant lounging position and reaching for his hot drink.

            "...I’m just glad you only got off with a ticking off from Solomon Carstairs.”

He reached out to clasp the hand on his leg, squeezing it fondly and in understanding of what his friend meant. It couldn't have been easy with Mortimer. Neither he nor Johann had the best relationships with their fathers either but to descend into madness seemed a horrible thing.

"No, you're right. It's Gen and Lil Snigger who I'm frankly angry at, isn't it?" Bal conceded ruefully - he knew that his irritation with Sandy had to do with the exchange they'd had at the offices, but the words in that article weren't his. "Lucky thing that Carstairs wasn't a fan of that article either or I might have earned a day in the cells at least."

Balfour released Ceph's hand and glanced across the room at the other two, who clearly shared his vexation over Witch Weekly. Next to his fiancé, a queer and serious look had come over Virgil. He was sipping his tea and looking at Cepheus pensively.

"Well, let's not dwell on it." The Scotsman continued, not wanting to dampen the evening's joyous tone. "We'll get through it all, one step at a time, won't we my love?" he smiled softly at Johann.

Virgil was clamouring for his hand. Johann had been distracted by seeking the answers from the grown-ups on the sofa, and had dropped his attention from the inebriated blonde. The briefest of frowns crossed Johann’s face before Carstairs decided to demand attention from everything alive in Ceph’s flat, simultaneously.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the attempt at solidarity, because he did. Everyone at Witch Weekly was in some way party to the the drivel it produced. Not that Johann at all subscribed to said drivel and had it sent to his Diagon Alley postbox under a pseudonym to hide the fact. Not at all.

Their host had thoughtful words to soften the jarring exclamations, and imparted his own encounter with the proprietor of Witch Weekly. The conversation and interaction between Balfour and Cepheus softened Johann’s arrogant need to preoccupy himself with revenge on Witch Weekly, which had triggered the question Arcturus about Misslethorpe. Tuesday had been the first anniversary of his father’s death, or murder, and he’d sought revenge by letter[1] on Lil Snigger. Layton might have sneered at how petty it was, but Johann imagined Ira rotting corpse cackling at the forgeries. Balfour was the only one who knew of them, and Johann had been in two minds whether to even disclose it to his fiancé at the time.

“Well, let’s not dwell on it. We’ll get through it all, one step at a time, won’t we my love?”

“Huhm?” Balfour’s query brought Johann out of his inward contemplation. “Oh yes, quite. Sorry I brought it up,” he apologised to the figures on the sofa, flexing a subtle smile, “curiosity, as they say, kills the conversation.” He glanced down to Claude who was busy cleaning his own arsehole in front of them all.

“… Still…” Johann straightened up on Ceph’s desk chair. He stretched his long legs out before him, subtle smile growing into one of those mischievous, boyish smiles his friends easily recognised. “It was either go in to hex him over Feliks or the fact dear Ceph only got runner-up in the most eligible bachelor poll… Criminal, don’t you think?” He glanced to Arc and then round to Virgil pointedly.

1.	Mighty is the Quill

Contrary to what he'd said earlier, Arcturus was indeed tired, or rather it hadn't quite gotten to his head just yet. Unlike his fellow wizards imbibing alcohol, he hadn't drunk much either this night. But there was a certain point where weariness had a tendency to silently erode away one's regard for social formalities, and it had started to sink in.

He watched his companions gesture and listened to them opine on the subject. Arcturus had never mentioned it but speculating on other people's business was alien to him. There wasn't a day that he would not be mildly curious as to how a wizard could end up having inserted an alembic up the wrong end and its contents causing him to warble a specific bird call every forty-five seconds[1], but he usually chalked it up to human curiosity, lack of forethought or, very usually, stupidity.[2]

But to actively take a piece of someone else's life and repackage it to be sold, made him wonder in his tiredness to what extent humans had gotten bored enough of their own lives to find entertainment value in others'.

His eyes followed Claude as the cat jumped onto the sofa to nonchalantly stroll on and across Balfour's form, while he listened. The cat primly stepped onto his owner after careful deliberation, as most cats were wont to do.

“It was either go in to hex him over Feliks or the fact dear Ceph only got runner-up in the most eligible bachelor poll… Criminal, don’t you think?” "Utterly shocking," Arcturus said, in a tone so dry it could have evaporated water from bone. Of course he'd heard about the poll, but anything so arbitrary had failed to catch his interest for longer than the few seconds it took him to listen. He did catch Johann's aimed stare at Virgil. The young man had been quite feline in wanting attention himself, just like the cat that was now picking its way over Cepheus with an exaggerated air of caution, and promptly stepped on the healer's foot. Arcturus extended a hand to scratch him[3] between the ears.

"How does it feel, Ceph, to be chosen over the heads of many, supposedly more eligible if their own claims are right, bachelors?" he asked Cepheus in the same bone-dry tone. "If the hospital gossip and exclamations of dismay are to be taken seriously." Claude purred at finally getting some attention away from the blonde feline manifestation in human form.

1.	It had been one of his more interesting days; sadly he had not cared enough to find out what bird it was.
2.	Ever since he'd read about it, Hanlon's Razor had become Arc's go-to acceptance of the patients at his job. He just hated that he was usually right.
3.	The cat, not Virgil.

Self-awareness, having been flung out of the window with reckless abandon, perched itself back on the edge of Virgil's drunken thoughts  in a timely manner. His cousin's godfather had found the outburst rather entertaining but the other gentlewizards were briefly startled.

A nervous glimpse of Cepheus' thoughts told him the other man had found it funny too, however. And wasn't it nice to be an object of amusement to somebody you like?

Virgil sat up properly to nurse his hot tea, giggling drunkenly at the reference to their sexual inclinations. Were all of them queer then? Not that he'd ever actually sucked anyone's.... it didn't matter, nope, now was not a good time to picture himself kneeling between someone's legs and-- stop stop stop! The young wizard  curled up in the chair and listened to the conversation.

             "He was my father’s healer, after he… lost it."

Mortimer Gamp. The thought of him was a bucket of ice-water. He watched Cepheus carefully over the rim of his cat mug, in the middle of a complex emotion. Somewhere between fear and sympathy: he'd been afraid of Mortimer yet he wanted, inexplicably, to comfort Ceph.

An image of St.Mungo's leaflets flickered through his mind before he withdrew from their host's head.  He couldn't reach out right now the way Balfour did, to take Cepheus' hand. But he wished so much to do that.

Johann changed the subject, to much relief. Marginally. "… Criminal, don’t you think?" the linguist suddenly looked at Virgil. His eyes widened in a panic, his heart skipped a beat. How did Johann know?? Did he know that Virgil had voted for Ceph?

Luckily, Arcturus rescued him from having to actually reply. The Healer seemed interested in the subject and his proximity to Cepheus made Virgil a little jealous.

"You can't possibly complain, Cepheus!" he interjected playfully before the older man could reply to Arc. "You beat me!" Virgil had also been a nominee for the vote, his first year on their bachelor's list. "You even beat Auror Warrington."

Balfour clasped his hand, and Cepheus appreciated the gesture. Solidarity amongst them all. The conversation had taken a little tumble due to the small hours of the morning, hadn’t it?

“… I might have earned a day in the cells at least.” Balfour mused, and Cepheus pressed his lips together, wishing to make a comment about Balfour in a cell, but instead just let his eyes flicker to Johann’s to convey the thought, but the other wizard was lost in contemplation.

“Well, let’s not dwell on it, we’ll get through it all, one step at a time, won’t we my love?”
“… Oh yes, quite. Sorry I brought it up… curiosity… kills the conversation.”

Claude’s noisy tongue punctuated the glum interlude of conversation, but Johann seized the chance to move it on again, poking fun at Ceph’s appearance in the most eligible bachelor poll in Witch Weekly. Cepheus groaned and tilted his head back on the sofa between Balfour and Arcturus at the comments. Virgil seemed to be about to launch into another exclamation by the way his eyes widened, but Arc got there first:

“Utterly shocking.”
“Really?” Cepheus asked, partly playing along, and more intrigued that Arcturus was even chipping in on this. Claude’s progression over the limbs of those on the sofa distracted his further curiosity, and he instinctively reached out to stroke the cat’s back as he trod all over his owner. He was on his way to sniff out Arcturus and try to leave his scent all over him for Rustle, Cepheus knew.

“How does it feel, Ceph, to be chosen over the heads of many, supposedly more eligible if their own claims are right, bachelors?” His old Ravenclaw housemate queried, maintaining his dry wit, “If the hospital gossip and exclamations of dismay are to be taken seriously.”

“You can’t possibly complain, Cepheus!” Virgil added, “You beat me! You even beat Auror Warrington.”

Cepheus shook his head and lifted his hand in query,
“What can I say, gents, the bribery must have worked… No, in all seriousness, I was as surprised as you are. I’m pretty sure the list is meant to be heterosexual bachelors, so to have both me, Virgil and Warrington on it, well, Witch Weekly is at least addressing its straight bias.” His gaze lingered on Virgil and he delivered a genuine, amused smile. “Few more years, Virgil, and you’ll be topping it.”

Johann choked on the last of his tea, shoulders shaking. Realising what he’d said, Cepheus laughed, “or the opposite, if you prefer, Virgil.” Cepheus gestured animatedly with his hands to the youngest guest and then to Balfour and Johann, “I suppose you two were neither eligible and are definitely not bachelor material since the engagement.” He thumbed to his left, “I think we should all nominate Arc next year. What do you all reckon?” 

He was doing it again - getting lost in that gorgeous dark head. Balfour eyed his fiancé, countenance gentle, wondering down which alley his thoughts had traversed. There was something formidable about Johann: gorgeous wizard full of playfulness and wit on one hand, and alarming skill on the other. The kind of skill somebody like Ira Almasy could recognise. Time would tell if the letters he sent would work their magic.

            "… Still…" And just as smoothly, the conversation was happily manoeuvred down a lighter avenue. "It was either go in..."

Balfour laughed as the other wizards quipped about the bachelor vote, noting the emphatic look Johann had given Virgil but allowing himself to be distracted by Arc's dry remarks. Were they gossiping about Ceph in the hospital? Didn't seem like a Hollinbury pursuit, gossip.

            "No, in all seriousness, I was as surprised as you are."

"Didn't say we were surprised!" he shifted in his seat, nudging his thigh against Ceph's boney hip and  grinning fondly at the division head. "We voted for you, anyway." Bal confessed before exchanging a glance with Johann - but the linguist was having his tea, and the topping comment wasn't exactly helping it go down.

It became clear to Balfour, just then as his gaze shifted to the armchair next to Joh, exactly why the blonde thespian had lingered in their group. The flush in Virgil's cheeks was an unmistakeable shade of Pink Lady apples and the poor boy didn't seem like he knew where to look.

Dorm room jokes were much cruder than that so Bal could guess at the source of embarrassment. No... probably not the topping sort at all.

Cepheus was obliviously going ahead with chatter and the Scotsman glanced away from Virgil to spare him further scrutiny, attending to the subject at hand with a cocky and knowing smile. "... should all nominate Arc next year. What do you all reckon?"

"Why not?" Balfour extended an arm across the back of the sofa, partly resting against Ceph's shoulders and almost grazing Arc on the other side. "Could be fun. I have to warn you of Witch Weekly's influence though," he stretched his legs out.

They had reached that point of the night, sleepy in the most pleasant of ways. "You'll be getting patients insisting on being treated by that dashing Healer Hollingbury."

            "Few more years, Virgil, and you’ll be topping it." Next to him, Johann's chocking laughter complimented the accidental implication. "...or the opposite, if you prefer, Virgil."

Was it possible to be both utterly flattered and mortified, at the same time? That was precisely how he felt. In spite of his burning blushes and the strange swooping sensation in his gut, Virgil managed a diffident grin at Cepheus while the older wizard's eyes were on him. As soon as the attention moved on to the other guests, he breathed out shakily and brought his legs up on to his seat.

Merlin, wasn't that was a mental image. Bottoming the list? "Not all at once," he muttered in so low a voice that only the linguist was likely to hear.

For all its grievous errors, Witch Weekly seemed to be the easiest subject for their conversation to settle on: words and jokes settling into the fine lines of hungry gossip. Virgil pushed out his bottom lip to hear Ceph recommend Arc. It was stupid, of course, because the list didn't mean anything, but perhaps the Healer meant something.

Balfour's comment caused Virgil to snort into his tea.

"Do patients really do that? Fall for their Healers?" he raised a sardonic eyebrow at Arcturus, genuinely curious about these hypothetical, ailing wixes and oblivious to the strange look Balfour had suddenly shot him.  "I can just see the column header now: confessions of a hypochondriac in love!" Virgil declared in a theatrical tone, pleased by his own drunken wit. "It would be the best publicity St.Mungo's has had in months."

“I think we should all nominate Arc next year. What do you all reckon?”

“Hear, hear.” Johann toasted the suggestion with his empty tea mug, managing to straighten his face despite Virgil’s muttering.

“Could be fun. I have to warn you of Witch Weekly’s influence though… patients insisting on being treated by that dashing Healer Hollingbury.”
“Do patients really do that? Fall for their Healers?” The young wizard in the armchair beside Johann asked with not a dash of subtlety. “… It would be the best publicity St Mungo’s has had in months.”

Johann exchanged glances with Balfour and then Arc, swallowing down an exceedingly awkward moment.
“Think you’ve been reading too many Dolly St James novels, Carstairs.” He announced, getting up to deal with his empty crockery. “Don’t need the details of your kinks.” He patted Virgil’s head again, but this time it was less affectionate and more patronising due to the nerve the thespian had blundered over.

“Anyone for another drink?” He asked, navigating sprawled legs in the direction of the kitchen side of the room.