1100 hours. The Carstairs Residence, Maida Vale.



            "I can't hear you."

The seven year old boy stared up at him with clear blue eyes, though he had not moved from where he was sat on the living room floor - still in periwinkle pyjamas, a hardcover book in his lap. Sunlight came in through the windows and lit up his golden halo of hair. Virgil Carstairs was not what Yavin had expected when he first met Edgar, who he assumed had been nothing more than the paranoid father of a slightly gifted son. He had expected a shy and nervous child.

What he had here was an animal ready to bolt, in spite of the bold gaze.

It was the height of summer and Yavin Morgenthau made his mind up to finally acquire a pupil of sorts. It didn't take long to come to the decision: as soon as he entered the room, he had felt that strange sensation. A mental mist permeating the air and drifting, aimlessly, towards his mindscape.

"Of course you can't, hm, can't hear me," he told Virgil and lowered himself to the floor, settling down on the silk Indian rug. "Nobody does if I don't want them to."

Edgar was behind them in the corridor - pretending to hold a conversation with his wife while they oversaw the meeting between wizard and boy. They were cautious. The couple had told him about the first tutor, who'd not been kind to their son. Exact opposite of kind, actually. He couldn't fault their caution.

"Your old teacher. You heard him?" Yavin asked, perfectly cool under Virgil's unblinking stare.
            "Sometimes," he answered quietly. "If he wasn't careful."
"Then, aha, we may surmise that he wasn't very competent, was he?"

Something that was almost a smile softened the boy's sullen mouth. "Yes. He was awful." Yavin laughed, adjusting his spectacles. "Awful, hah, awful indeed," he agreed.

            "He was a monster." Virgil added, abrupt, shutting his book and handing it over. "Like Victor."
"You're reading Shelly?"

It was, of course, Frankenstein. The Modern Prometheus who'd stolen fire from the gods and paid the heavy price for it. He flicked through the pages - as you would do with any child, to prove you were interested in their interests - and didn't look up as he continued to speak with this precocious new protégé. Virgil asked questions like he had a sovereign right to their answers: Yavin's age, if he liked adventure stories, whether Shakespeare's Tragedies were better than the Comedies, what kind of cakes did he enjoy, what was his supposed ratio of grey to white hair, and many other similar shameless queries.[1]

They didn't discuss Legilimency at all. He could feel the probing mind, clumsy and curious but not especially persistent. Playful, that was it. Virgil was only looking for someone to play with.


            "Are you leaving?"

Yavin, rising to his feet, glanced at the grandfather clock by the fireplace. "I'm afraid so. It's been, um, been two hours Virgil!" he extended his hand and the boy took it to shake. "Time for your lunch, I believe."  Their eyes met for only a second.

Same time tomorrow? he let the thought slip through.
            Only f you bring me some tres leches cake, Virgil's mind replied with such clarity it almost felt like he had said it out loud.

The old wizard smiled and returned Frankenstein back to its earnest reader. "Tomorrow, then." He allowed Edgar to walk him out of the house, the two of them making small talk. A look of relief had come over Edgar's face. Yavin could imagine the difficulty of having a child who might accidentally walk into one's thoughts.

In spite of his sympathy, however, he was excited about the entire situation. A pupil! Oh, yes, it would take months for them to become acquainted and for the young Legilimens to even trust him, but this here was a purpose. He had come back to London without any at all. A pathetic state of affairs.

In the heat of a dry urban summer, he walked down to the footpath before looking over his shoulder at the narrow house. Virgil had appeared at the living room window and was waving goodbye. Yavin lifted his hand, waving back.

1.	58 years old, of course he liked adventure stories, the Comedies were superior, he never said no to a slice of Tres Leches, and probably 5:1.