10.15am, Hall of Prophecy.


Virgil Carstairs sat behind the desk of the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy, a witch who was currently preoccupied between towering shelves somewhere else in the vast room. He was bent over a sprawling surface of parchment, quill, and thick books. A little crystal orb was perched on the very corner - it contained nothing but smog, swirling in its black depths. Silence otherwise prevailed as there were no ongoing projects being researched in regards to prophecies this morning.

His trainee task today was to help scratch out prophecies that have Come to Past in their Book of Prophecy: a thick tome bound in the leather of some creature or person (nobody dared ask). Virgil had made it two pages before he took out his personal journal instead.

It was home to either minor ramblings or recipes[1] and other odd bits stuck between the pages. Pressed flowers from a bouquet, ticket stubs, photographs, forgotten memos, professional cards. He turned over to a clean page and tried to draft the letter Abby had advised him to write.

No. That wasn't any good either. The dark ceiling and gleaming shelves stared back indifferently. Virgil puffed out his cheeks in a frustrated sigh, hand moving on its own accord now. He sketched the outline of Cepheus Gamp's countenance, a delicate resemblance. Great concentration was given to the brow, that thoughtful forehead bearing down oppressively on kind eyes.

            "You've, aha, you've improved."

Virgil startled, dropping the quill and pushing his chair back. "Don't do that!" he exclaimed defensively at Yavin Morgenthau. The tall wizard stood in front of the desk and smiled mildly at his protégé. He was a bright spot of yellow in the ethereal hall.

            "Hard at work I, hm, I see."
"I'm allowed to take breaks. What are you doing here? The Keeper's gone and lost herself."
           "I came to see if there was any, that is, any extra chocolate left."

Shit. Virgil tried not to let that word show in his face, hoping Yavin would attribute any oddness to the fluster of being caught sketching pretty wizards on the job.

"None here," he replied bravely and cleared his throat. "Do you really think I've improved?" Change the subject, yes, even Yav couldn't already have figured out some of the bonbons were spiked with love potion. They both glanced at Virgil's journal, the soft likeness of his crush.

            "Well I, um, I haven't met the bona fide version yet," the older of them remarked dryly. "Friend of yours?"

Virgil reached forward and turned the page back, blushing. "Y-yes. Forget I said anyt--" a paper airplane had entered the hall, gliding smoothly towards him and right past Yavin's shoulder. He snatched it, recognising the glittery ink, and made sure Yavin was distracted by a mud pie recipe in the journal before he read it.

Virgil!

E-mer-gency!

My sister is here! Today! She's meeting with your boss on Level Nine. Oopsie! Keep an eye on her, will you? Don't let her near the sweets! Tell her they're terrible and nothing like your baking.

Ta,
Abby

Aileen Reid was coming to level nine today?? He crumpled the note and resisted the urge to eat it, glancing up at the department head who was now flicking through some of the other recipes. A pressed, dried orchid fell out from the pages. Yavin replaced it carefully and finally met Virgil's gaze, a knowing look in his eye.

The problem was you could never tell exactly what it was Yavin knew!

            "Try to, hm, to get some real work won't you? I have a meeting."
"May I help?" Virgil blurted out, and quickly added. "Please? It's so awful and dull in here, I'd rather be uprooting mandrakes."

Merlin help him, the Keeper of the Hall better not have overheard that. His old tutor gave him a bemused look. He held his breath and pulled the most earnest face he was capable of. It might have involved a shameless pout.

            "I don't approve of favouritism." Yavin raised his eyebrows, "But if I, hah, if I leave you here I doubt you'll be any more productive."

Yes! Virgil hopped to his feet gracefully, picking up his journal and tucking his quill behind his ear. "Thank you!" he grinned smugly as they left the Hall of Prophecy together. "I promise I won't cause trouble!"

It didn't seem like a deceitful thing to promise if all the troublemaking had already been made, after all.

             
 End

1.	Haven't updated in a while but: example