Almost seven in the evening, Moonstone Mews.


No.13 was redolent of spices - of cloves and ginger and cardamom, of cinnamon and black pepper and the slightest hint of an earthen rainforest honey. Yavin Morgenthau heard a knock at the door. He was stood at the stove watching the spices simmer in the fresh milk, and looked over his shoulder - through the archway that led down the corridor and straight towards the front door. That would be his visitor!

The wizard threw aside the tea towel on his shoulder and went to greet her, passing by the living room entrance. It was a comfortably furnished home, with walls covered in photographs and the odd magical artefact displayed on shelves. His furniture was suede and his tables clear glass.

A skeleton stood by the door in place of a coatrack - its boney arms ready to take one's outerwear or hat.

"Tamzin," he smiled as he stepped aside to let her in. "Good evening! I hope you've, ah, you've had a good da -" Yavin glanced away at the sound of a gentle bark, "- oh, don't mind Ammu."

An old Poodle-Crup hybrid had slunk out from her bed beneath the stairwell, nudging past him to investigate Tamzin. Her brown-grey curls were soft, her nose gently probing.

"She'll, hm, she'll take you to the living room and I'll be right there." Yavin gestured before heading back to the kitchen. "There's a fire on!" he called back over his shoulder. "Good, haha, good weather for chai."

A fluffy white cat with a long tail and violet eyes was the only creature other than song birds stirring this time of the evening. It glided across the pea gravel and cobble stones, between topiary and under benches. Her keen ears and sensitive whiskers aiding her memory to navigate to number thirteen.  It was, of course, our Tamzin on her way to have morning chai and legelimancy with her new friend and old neighbor, Yavin Morgenthau.

She transformed back into her human form, drew her wand, and knocked upon the door.

When the door opened, the presence of Yavin was complete with his slightly crackling aura, familiar cologne, and that voice of his. She smiled, stepped through, and lowered her hand for the dog's snuffling wet nose.

She smiled - she liked dogs.

"Good morning, Yavin, my dear, it smells just entrancing in here. My mind feels supple already. Ooh, you're a good hound aren't you? Yes, you are. Sniff away." She pointed her wand at her, and she sniffed that also. She seemed like a clever old curmudgeon.

Ammu posted up against her leg and so the witch could easily follow her to a chair. Tamzin set down her purse.

"Your week, Yavin, how did it go? Create any mysteries? I know you lot don't solve any!"

            "Your week, Yavin, how did it go? Create any mysteries? I know you lot don't solve any!"

He laughed to himself, deep and warm, as he entered the kitchen to finish brewing their chai. The tea leaves were added in a healthy handful - bringing together the louder fragrances - and Yavin sauntered to the arch, where he could lean against the frame and call an answer back down the corridor.

"Only finding old mysteries!" his voice was amused. "Like inheriting, hah, like inheriting a tomb!" Which wasn't far from the truth, as he had in fact discovered some grim things left behind by Mortimer Gamp, in addition to other strange leftovers from eras long before either he and his predecessor had even drawn breath.

The colour of the tea appeared just right. It was like the inside of his late wife's wrist: a milky, sun-kissed tan. He decanted this into a copper pot and found two serving cups, as well as a plate of cranberry almond treats Virgil had owled over in one of his baking frenzies.

"Here we, hm, here we are." Yavin joined his guest at one of the armchairs by the fireplace, setting the tray down on a small table between them. "Down Ammu, you'll get a cookie," he gave the poodle an affectionate pat.

His living room was centred around the marble mantel, an array of armchairs and a velvet lover's seat in positions that indicated he often had guests. There was a small desk by the windows, which looked out on to the mews. Potted orchid plants bloomed in spite of the weather.

"And yourself?" the old wizard poured them their hot drinks. "A good week since, aah, since we last met?"

Tamzin slid her violet eyeglasses off her nose and into her platinum white hair. With her hair pulled back from her face, it was easier to see her large brown eyes, dark eyebrows, and crows feet. Then she sat back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. Each hand rested on an armrest, her wand held lazily in her right, the Aura Perciperium spell active. She was getting comfy, taking in the space.

As a witch of drama herself, she appreciated Yavin's way of the world. Inheriting tombs, were that they were all so lucky. She chuckled at that.

"I found myself picking through the brambles at the Wentworth ranch. Do you know it? They've got a grove of yew, but I won't tell you where. That new boy who owns it, he's carried on the arrangement we had with the Wentworths. I have a tangle of dragon heartstrings done curing and one of them is screaming for a yew."

Tamzin would happily regale any audience on and on with wand-making, but there was a matter that had come up in the intervening days.

"I did hear a rumor about you, that you must address." She wouldn't keep him in suspense. "I've been told by a reputable source that your taste in jumpers is singular. How do you plead?"

He didn't know if she could tell when he smiled - but Yavin, on seeing the witch's face in full, did smile at her. Tamzin was a person of great character. The kind he would have invited to one of his more bohemian weekends in Italy to discuss magical philosophy over good wine or weak tea.

"I have, aah, I have heard of the Wentworth ranch," he handed her a cup of tea, with two of the small cookies in the saucer. "Didn't know they supplied wand wood."

To amass such a fortune, one probably did need to have a finger in different pies. The allure of large families and enterprises escaped him: they held too much potential for complications, though some were lucky enough to have their cake and eat it.

            "How do you plead?"

Yavin snorted without elegance, leaning back in his own armchair with his chai. "Guilty, madame!" he replied, laughter in his deep voice. "My, aha, my sweaters are as loud as the opera. I think it's a very, hm, effective method of misdirection."

He sipped, pausing thoughtfully to taste the concoction. The cardamom was appropriately the high note, softened by the milk and given depth by the honey. He hummed, pleased.

"Or maybe I just like strange sweaters," Yavin amended lightly. "Might I, hah, might I enquire as to the identity of your reputable source?"

Tamzin laughed with him, delighted her accusation du couture had cut him so.

"Quill Som, of course! We're the oldest friends. You'll know her. She's described to me an entire belfry of bats swarming about your middle, and a kitten positively throbbing with color. I can only imagine. I alone have been spared your woolen deception, it seems," she laughed.

She sat forward now, and felt for the tray and carefully took what had been poured. She held the cup close to her face and breathed it in.

"Oh, I perish.  Astonishing. How have you done this?" It smelled layered, warm, seasoned, and savory. The steam washed over her cheeks, and she hoped the smell would linger on her clothes. She took a sip. There was a brightness that their much-loved Alohomocha had not achieved. 

"Mm mm!, yes, dear, you've plied me with sweetest chai and I'm as supple as your throbbing kitten."

Ah, Quill. Quite the gossip in spite of first impressions - but then again how else could she have come to be informed about the Musgrave situation? It was interesting to be reminded of work in an otherwise domestic environment. Tamzin was not a figure to be isolated from the others featured in his life.

"My, ah, my late wife was a stringent believer in authentic chai." Yavin explained before taking another sip and then setting aside his saucer to help himself to a cookie instead. "Like many things, as, hm, as in with wand making, good results take more time."

The steeping and simmering of different spices in milk. It was not a quick cuppa as the British might say, but a ritualistic process. Largely because tea retained its sacredness in parts of Asia. India, China, Japan. The objective was not the tea but the ritual in itself.

            "I'm as supple as your throbbing kitten."

"In mind as well as in, hah, in body?" Yavin queried and bit into the cranberry almond cookie - it was crispy, bittersweet and aromatic. Ammu settled at his feet so he reached down to feed her one as well. "Not that we should, hm, should rush into my proposal from last week."

Tamzin smirked, chuckled, and flipped her violet glasses down again to her nose, perhaps a symbolic play of closing the window.

"You don't frighten me, Mr. Morgenthau," she teased, knowing full well he was a powerful wizard who lacked any intent to harm her. They were becoming friends, and Tamzin had stopped being afraid of things, even dangerous things, some years ago. She would also freely admit she had no skill in Occlumency, in fact, being open - magically speaking - was an asset in the wand-making business.

She took another sip of the chai.  It was the perfect temperature and didn't want to allow it to become tepid. She closed her eyes and took another moment to breathe it in. Made with love, clearly. One could tell these things.

"You learned your chai from your wife; where did you learn to be a mind-reader?"

            "You don't frighten me, Mr. Morgenthau."

He smiled, an amused sound in his throat. That was the standard response to Legilimens and it was understandable in many ways. Yavin had long grown accustomed to it but he liked his guest's approach, peppered by her defiant sense of humour. The hidden language of competent women.

"We don't like to say reading," his eyelids lowered slightly as he answered Tamzin. "I learned from my mother. One of many things I owe to her."

He had loved his mother a great deal, having worked with her in the hospital for quite some time. They had been close. It was strange to think of her as no longer being amongst the living; his memories of her felt fresh. He swallowed the last bite of the almond cookie.

"Do you, ah, do you know much about it?" Yavin asked, focusing his gaze and bringing himself out of the past. "It might be, hm, better if you did before we attempt anything."

Tamzin allowed the connection. To her knowledge, she hadn't been closely acquainted to any Legilimancers, but she knew she'd met a fee high profile individuals in her illustrious circle. The Ollivanders had associations with the Gamps, for example, and the Grimms.

"I have not known intimately any other Legilimancers, and to my knowledge I've never been," she paused for a word more appropriate than 'read', "perceived. But I have picked up a thing or two."

Expositing like a quiz felt a little funny, but she accepted it as a game not unlike 'Yes and No'.  She rolled her active wand in her hand as she thought.

"Wands are helpful, but not required." Naturally wands were the first thing on her mind. "An incantation, the same. In school they taught us to beware of eye contact, but I'm not sure if it's only a bog-tale. The process can be done with both care or harm intended, and could also be done without the subject's awareness..."

Other than the inherent suspicion that came with little-understood magic, Tamzin had decided she had little to fear from her neighbor. She sipped the tea.

"Do, please, fill me in on the rest."

Most wixes knew a thing or two about Legilimency - for some it was a morbid fascination or for others a distant but visceral fear. Tamzin had a healthy, complacent understanding of the art. He nodded to himself at each of her statements as he reclaimed his tea to sip at it. "....and could also be done without the subject's awareness..." the witch concluded.

Yavin laughed lightly. "Oh, yes. Only a, ah, a deft practitioner may do so," he added helpfully. Young and inexperienced students were far from acquiring enough subtlety.

             "Do, please, fill me in on the rest."

"The, hm, the eye contact is helpful but unnecessary for masters or talented dreamers," he explained and glanced into his cup thoughtfully, "although the latter veers into dream magic. Our minds are more, aha, more susceptible in sleep." The subconscious could even invite interference.

He paused to think, to gather his thoughts so that Tamzin would be prepared for their interaction. Yavin reached down to absently scratch Ammu's head.

"We are all born with natural barriers and natural entries. Some of us are, that is, are more naturally aware of these than others. Gifted Legilimens have, um, a natural instinct for sensing these things. They simply know or feel. The rest of us must," he made an amused sound, "must make do. You could imagine a... a structure or house, for example."

What, he wondered, would her imaginings look like? Many people picked houses or homes out of their visual memories but Tamzin did not tehnically have those.

"What is inside the structure is called a, hm, a mindscape." Yavin himself had popularised the term in his book but she didn't need to know that, "and to, hah, to enter your mindscape I must negotiate with the walls and doors of your structure."

Another sip of tea. He poured the rest of it into the saucer and lowered the saucer to the floor, for Ammu to drink from. "Questions?" he raised his eyebrows at her, "Or, if not, we can, ah, we can proceed."

With the experience all but begun, Tamzin grew more quiet more and more aware of her thoughts and memories. It was a similar awareness when one caught oneself breathing, each breath feeling deliberate and deeper. Yavin had described a mindscape, but Tamzin couldn't imagine what hers could be. She'd never wondered at the shape of her own mind. They said the eyes were the windows to the soul; she had a soul, but did she have windows? She worried, and was very aware of the thought, that Yavin might find something disappointing. They were few, but her insecurities were closely kept and long harbored.

As she took off her glasses (it seemed like the right thing to do), and straightened in the chair and planted both feet firmly on the ground (as seemed conducive), she thought of more questions which she opted not to ask. She was sure enough that Yavin would provide instructions.

"Nox or not?"  She lifted her wand, still passively channeling her aura perception spell. Then she realized she hadnt' explained. "I've got a spell to perceive auras." It gave her a sort of ... magical, tactile experience almost like echos. Just that sense of energy of objects and creatures, rippling around her.

Then, "onward."  Tamzin nodded resolutely.

Tamzin would not be surprised to find out the nature of her mindscape. It was an imagining of the space where she'd learned to be who she was, where she felt safe, where in each nook and cranny was a memory. It was a place that smelled of wood, polish, and dust. An aroma like incense, a twinkling bell. A place of warm heavy air criss-crossed with drafts. And everywhere a spectrum of tidy and intense magical auras, each tucked away in little boxes. They were all different. Some warm, some crackling, some undulating gently. They were warm and cold, powerful or timid. Some were happy, others restraining an intensity.

While the true Ollivander's shop was only as big as it needed to be, Tamzin's was a labyrinth. Not the sort of labyrinth that's a maze, no, this is one of those intricately wound paths meant to be a journey of security and order. A single way with alcoves but no deadends. Should she visit, she'd be pleased to know she knew every step, the way lined with stacks of boxes memories.

              "Nox or not?...I've got a spell to perceive auras."

"Whatever you're, ah, comfortable with." Yavin responded as he leaned back into his armchair and pushed up his spectacles to rest on his forehead - the mind needed no aid in its perceptive abilities. "Onward indeed."

The world outside became background noise. Literally, the Wireless on in a neighbour's living room and the sound of Ammu lapping up lukewarm tea and footsteps on the cobbled path of the mews. Less literally: the scent of spices that has settled into the furniture, the grey light coming through the rain and curtain veil, the image of the witch sat across from him in front of the fire.

He heard his heartbeat. And then he heard hers, only marginally less calm.

Everything behind Yavin's eyes darkened for a moment and he felt like he had been dropped into the vast innards of a hollow metal sphere, thoughts echoing like little noises from every direction. The noises softened, as did his awareness of the space around him. Tamzin's thoughts burbled, a stream of curious musings. Her mind expanded - organic in nature but resilient, the plaiant wood of a garden rather than of a house.

He had a sense of the paths to be taken around him but not an image. All he could see was.... sparks of lights, where the noises peaked, reverberating.

Interesting, he spoke into the mindscape. Very interesting.

Yavin wondered if he could mimic this, a blind labyrinth as a kind ofmental trap for intruding Legilimens. He set aside that idea to focus on the interaction at present.

Would you mind remembering something for me? The day we met at Alohomocha, maybe?

Tamzin almost gasped. She could hear - no, it wasn't in her ears. It was a thought that she hadn't thunk, clearly in Yavin's manner, clearly not her own. It was an entirely new feeling. As soon as he 'spoke' (a word close enough), she became aware of her Self in a Place. She cast about curiously, now understanding what he'd meant by 'mindscape'. She knew exactly where she was.

She smiled. "Oh my," she said out loud, pleased.  "Marvelous."

But speaking out loud seemed to flood away what was going on in her head, so she hushed up and sought the place again. She found it again easily, and paid closer attention wishing she could explore more. The smells of Yavin's home faded away and was replaced by the smell of sawdust and polish.

He'd asked her a question. Asked her to remember something. Their first meeting, he suggested. She could do that.

Tamzin put her mind to it. The sounds of the cafe, the smell of the coffee stronger than the smell of tea. A gentle buzzing aura of the busy-but-serene gathering of Magical folk. As she remembered, the mindscape around her seemed to solidify and she reached out. In her mind, along with the memory of Alohomocha that was aggregating, she felt the wood and dust of Ollivanders' shelves. To her right she felt a chirruping little feeling. Warm and interested. Was that the memory?

Am I doing it? she wondered. She tried the thought again, thinking it at Yavin.  Are you hearing this?

Further details seeped into their surroundings, drawing not from sight but from the other senses. Yavin breathed in the reassuring scents of furniture polish, of shaved wood. He could sense the familiarity and comfort that Tamzin drew from such an aroma; it reinforced the safety of this place inside her head. She had a stable mind, which helped.

As soon as she set to remembering their first meeting, however, scents began to change. As did the sounds. Yavin frowned to himself and tried to focus on the most definite of these, not used to parsing them; he recognised the overpowering chai and coffee, the background murmur of cafe chatter, their little exchange. It matched with his recollection of that day but different aspects took priority in Tamzin's memory.

He thought it gratifying to experience those things, layering them onto his own experience. Tamzin's mindscape was still within reach however - it blended with the memory.

I am hearing you, yes. Yavin replied with a smile on his lips and in the tenor of his thoughts, You're enjoying the experience? It can be overwhelming, depending on your state of mind.

Of course, he could already tell that she was taking some pleasure in this exercise, but it seemed polite and more informative to directly ask.