1000 hours


He had roused early, for a Sunday. Vigil preferred to sleep in (always) but the bed had felt too warm and the air too stagnant, his skin too sticky.

So he dragged himself out of bed at about eight, leaving his cat Dante to doze on his head pillow, and headed into the kitchen to do what he always did when he couldn't go back sleep. He cooked. Ari and Nick were still in bed, though, so he had to cast a muffling charm around the kitchen first; nobody wanted to be woken up by clattering pots and pans on their day of rest. His dreams had been full of mouldy fruit and stales breads, a Hogwarts feast rotting beneath its arched ceilings of nighttime splendour. This needed correction.

Virgil had baked the pie, first. Flaked almond apple pie, topped with a nice and salty miso glaze. It had gone on a windowsill to cool while he started on a main. The kitchen and living room was very much alive, come ten in the morning, cooking pans and whisks washing themselves in the sink while a rich egg yolk sauce burbled away on the stove.

The record player had been brought out and he was singing along to Killer Queen, mumbling lyrics through the cigarette hanging off his mouth. Virgil finished slicing the leftover roast beef he'd nicked from staying over at Edgar's earlier in the week - he carefully arranged the pieces on three freshly baked brioche buns, each sat on a plate next to a mound of red cabbage and carrot aioli coleslaw.

In the corner of his eye, he clocked one of his flatmates' doors opening and glanced over with raised eyebrows.

"Good mor~ning," Virgil picked up the sauce from the stove and drizzled it over the meat. "Hope you got an appetite."

Nicholas was roused out of his sleep by the sound of music and the delicious smells of something being cooked.  He was glad the enchantment on his room was finally fading and he could actually hear the rest of the flat now.  It did mean he'd have to remember to cast charms before he got loud.  He didn't want to do anything that would jeopardize waking up to breakfast, or was it brunch, what time was it anyway.

He threw the covers off and padded into the main room in his boxers and t-shirt.  "Morning," Nicholas yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

He walked into the kitchen looking around at everything Virgil had made.  "Couldn't sleep or something?"

Ariadne’s hair was stool on end. She could hear voices which meant her flatmates were up. Her bed was awfully cozy, though. She’d been dreaming about quidditch - which was the norm with the new job - but she’d been the referee. Cuffe, the owner of the Daily Prophet was yelling at her from his broom, telling her she was too young to know anything about referring.

Eventually the Daily Prophet trainee stuck a foot out of the bed, found her slippers, and once out of bed, her dressing gown. Ariadne slipped her wand into one of the oversized pockets. She noticed her reflection in a nearby mirror, and frowned. Drawing closer she tugged a quill from her hair with a lack of surprise.

Between the three of them, and their chosen professions, almost always one of them was out. Ariadne had spent most of Saturday out following the Falcons and Harpies, and later the Magpies against Portree. By the smell of it, Virgil had decided to lure them out.

Ariadne fell over her muddy walking boots as she stumbled out the bedroom doorway. Outside in the open living space, she gave Nick and Virgil a dazed but squinty look of suspicion and clumsily claimed the vacant bathroom, shuffling her feet across the floor in her slippers.

She emerged not long later, looking relatively unchanged, but slightly more alive.
“What time is it?” She asked croakily, before covering a yawn with her hand. “I could like sleep for a week.”

Nick was the first out and Virgil gave his wand a flick to settle their plates on the small kitchen table by the balcony. It would keep a while because the sauce was piping hot and coleslaw was better off served cold anyway. "Couldn't sleep or something?" the other blond took a guess, while he pressed down on the cafetière and returned to the table; he brought with him the rich fragrance of freshly ground coffee and its undertones of honeyed berries.

"Slept loads," Virgil poured three full cups, shrugging. Ariadne joined them just then, before disappearing into the bathroom with the grace of a roused cat. He smiled at the closed door and then at Nick. ""Just got up early and thought I'd cook. It's been ages hasn't it?"

They were all busy with odd hours and Virgil was having a rough few months, full of strange twists and turns that led him straight to his bed at either dawn or dusk (or on one memorable day, in the middle of the afternoon). He could not lie to himself and say that life was treating him well recently but he was keeping an eye on the condition of his mindscape since chatting to Nemo[1] over the weekend. Thrill seekers and music makers, the both of them.

The third musketeer appeared once more. Virgil gestured at the coffee as she asked her questions.

"Bit past ten. Are those your plans today, then?" he pulled out a chair for himself, dropping into it and stubbing his cigarette out on the rim of his breakfast plate. "Eat, sleep, more sleep?" His mouth relaxed into a fond smile. He was rather fond of Ari.

1.	20th Jan - A Thinking Place

“Bit past ten. Are those your plans today, then?” Ariadne let out a long sigh, approaching the boys.

“I wish. I’ve got the Kestrels Wigtown game at one. Gotta leave here at noon.” Every weekend and during the week had been the same, darting from one place to another. Her apparition license was getting a hell of a lot of use since she’d begun assisting Ginny Weasley.

“Yesterday I did the Falcons and Harpies then the Magpies Portree game. I’ve not written stuff up that fast since our NEWTs.” Ariadne cracked her fingers as if illustrating the point. “Where’s the paper, let’s see if any words I used made it in this time.” She could smell the food, but her initial interest was whether her work had made it into the paper. She would scour the Quidditch pages to see if they’d retained any of her work. She was persistent about submitting something every time with Ginny’s blessing.

“You two lazing, then?” Ariadne asked, and then surveyed Virgil’s assembled breakfast, “Or perhaps blazing…?”

"Ages...yeah that about describes the month so far."  Sure Nicholas had the entire weekend to himself but the rest of the month had been insane. The full moon had been terrible. And after the news hit the prophet, it seemed like half the wixes in Britain did something that required an obliviator any time they saw something bigger than a corgi.  At this point he was hoping for a mass dragon sighting.  Or giants.

Ari joined them after her detour to the bathroom.  "As long as you write nice things about Peyton, I'll keep my fingers crossed you end up in the paper."  Wait, that didn't sound right.  It seemed all too easy to get in the paper and it was never good. "err, I mean your writing gets in the paper."

Nicholas laughed, "I spent yesterday high as a kite, today I'm going to the Tornados game.  Then we'll see what kind of mood Peyton is in."  He grinned, hopefully they'd be celebrating if not well he'd do his best to cheer him up.  He joined the other two at the table, starting with a sip of the coffee.  "This looks amazing by the way."

He turned back to the kitchen counter while Ari joined them, detailing her plans for the day. She worked hard and loved her work - he didn't even like reading about games in the Prophet but he skimmed it every time he knew his roommate's words may have had a chance to grace the pages. There was something nice about it and Virgil felt strangely proud of her.

           “You two lazing, then? Or perhaps blazing…?” the witch quipped and he laughed, bringing over the pie that had cooled down.

Nick regaled them with his own exploits and plans, surprisingly social ones after the escape of a gillyweed haze yesterday. It was always easy to tell when one of them had spent time lighting up in the flat. "My my, you two quaffle heads," Virgil remarked and gave his wand a flick before he used a slicing charm to divide the miso glazed pie for afterwards. "And thanks," he replied to Nick's compliment with a half-smile.

It was as therapeutic for him to cook as it was nutritious for them to eat the product of his busy morning.

"I'll probably roll a joint later," he pulled out a chair and finally sat down, glancing at Ariadne. "And do some reading. You know, boring level nine stuff..." the Unspeakable-in-Training drawled with an ironic twist of his lips. Mysteries was far from dull - they all knew it - but he liked to joke about how boring it could be, because not everything he did down there could be shared.

They didn't know about the Death Chamber or Carter's vision. But he'd dabbled in other things that he could discuss... should, even.

"So, random question." Virgil picked up a fork and gestured in their direction, smiling and yet serious. "Have either of you ever tried Muse?"

“As long as you write nice things about Peyton,”
“Always.” Ariadne assured her flatmate and flashed him a smile as he stumbled over his words inferring luck that she was published.
“My, my, you two quaffle heads.”

“This looks amazing by the way.”
“Anything Virgil cooks does.” Ari agreed, more than a bit thankful she’d ended up with such a talented cook as a housemate even if he did lust after her uncle.

Nick’s plans were sociable and Virgil’s rather more insular and academic. Normality had resumed in their flat, though it was still a little strange that she was the one doing the most work when they’d begun their tenancy with her as the least likely to  hold down work.

“So, random question. Have either of you ever tried Muse?” Ariadne screwed up her face, thinking about the word.
“Is that a magazine or a band or something?” She asked, hideously ill-informed about anything stronger than gillyweed. She’d tried gillyweed once the Christmas before last and hurled in a flowerpot at her grandparents. Her mother had been particularly suspect just for the whiff of it on her clothes from Virgil and Nick smoking it.

She’d procured the newspaper now and her eyes had fallen to scrutinising the quidditch columns word by word.

Nicholas grinned back at Ariadne's response.  Not that he'd do anything if she did write something bad about Peyton.  Well, he might ask about it.  Or give her the cold shoulder for a few days.  Which was hard since half the time interactions with the flatmates were more often than not passing each other on the way to or from work.

“Anything Virgil cooks does.”

"Yeah.  But sometimes its a little much.  This is perfect."  He said as he started to dig into the plate in front of him.  He hadn't realized how hungry he was.  And now that he thought about it, he didn't remember eating dinner the night before.

“So, random question. Have either of you ever tried Muse?”

“Is that a magazine or a band or something?”

Nicholas chuckled around a large bite of food at Ari's response.  He swallowed and looked at Virgil and then Ari.  "It's a new drug.  It's an amazing trip.  I got some Friday night.  Smoked it last night.  It was like I was went somewhere else.  It was great."   He turned to Virgil then since he doubted Ariadne would want to partake.  "I can get some more if you want to try it?  I've got a hookah in my room.  It was like reliving a memory.  Or like dreaming while awake."

He used the side of his fork to cut into the brioche and speared a bit of meat and coleslaw.

           “Is that a magazine or a band or something?” Ariadne's innocence showed through beautifully as she looked into the morning paper.
"It's a new drug," Nick clarified while Virgil took a bite of breakfast. "It's an amazing trip.... Smoked it last night."

The food went sour in his mouth and he swallowed before the nausea could rise in the form of a wave of memories from Monday[1] evening. His fondness for Ariadne was quickly overcome by annoyance with Nick's cheerful natter, going on like it was the more natural thing to do. Perhaps it was. Nick didn't know what Muse really was. And if he did, maybe he didn't care the way Waverly didn't seem to care. Maybe people were just plain awful.

"It felt like reliving a memory because you were reliving a memory." Virgil spoke acidly, reaching for his mug. "Somebody else's memory. I was going to tell you two not to try the stuff," he sipped coffee to wash down the dry brioche. "I tried some the other night, saw it[2] for what it was."

Even the coffee didn't taste any good, and he shoved his chair back to get up. Virgil opened their ice box and took out the orange juice, still talking. "Somebody's been going around using people's memories. I don't know if they sell them or if they're forcibly taken and, frankly, I'm not willing to bet on the former..." he tipped his head back to drink straight from the carton before looking down at Nick, dryly.

"So, thanks for the offer," his brow wrinkled with distaste, "I think I'll refrain. Just be careful if you're going to keep doing it."

1.	16th Jan - That Lifting Sensation
2.	16th Jan - It Scares Me Half to Death

A drug, well that would explain how Nick and Virgil knew about it and she didn’t. Ariadne’s auror mother had drilled into Ariadne the caution about indulging in such things. Nadine Pinn had been a strict mother, well certainly once she’d split with Ariadne’s father, Orion. She had always feared her daughter would take after her father and kept a tight leash.

“I can get some more if you want to try it? I’ve got a hookah in my room. It was reliving a memory. Or like dreaming while awake.” Ariadne gave Nick a raised eyebrow, sceptical. She knew the offer was towards Virgil rather than her, but still. She gave a little shake of her head and looked back to the quidditch columns, busy running a finger down the print.

“It felt like reliving a memory because you were reliving a memory. Somebody else’s memory.” Virgil suddenly explained, and Ariadne abandoned all hope of scouring the pages to pay attention to this conversation. Something had got up Virgil’s nose. “I was going to tell you two not to try the stuff.”

Ariadne frowned, wondering how the heck someone could put a memory inside a drug, but supposed it was possible if you were clever enough. Bit weird though.

“I tried some the other night, saw it for what it was. Somebody’s been going around using people’s memories. I don’t know if they sell them or if they’re forcibly taken and, frankly, I’m not willing to bet on the former…” Ariadne’s frown turned to Nick, though it was more a trying to understand frown than a disapproval.

“It’s someone’s memory? So you’re basically tripping on a pensieve?” She asked, hoping she had understood. “So, what did you … see?” She asked Nick. “If it was someone else’s memory, like, what happened?”

Someone's actual memory. Nicholas had enjoyed the trip, but now he felt a little dirty.  He also felt a little stupid for not recognizing that it was an actual memory. Merlin knew he worked with memories enough.  Just not really in that way.  He'd thought it was just some fancy enchantments that created an experience for the wizard using the stuff. He'd been impressed.

He didn't doubt that Virgil was correct in guessing that most of the memories weren't given freely.  Would it be better if they were given voluntarily?  Or if someone bought them?  But surely he would have heard about someone going around asking to buy memories.  If the process was anything like using a pensieve the memory itself wasn't taken, just a copy.  Nicholas would have sold his for some extra galleons.

"Ah, the memory was of a summer day, swimming in a creek with friends.  It was a nice happy getaway.  I thought it was just some really cool magic."  Nicholas said, answering Ariadne's question and Virgil's tone. 

He wondered how dangerous the drug itself was.  Memories were complicated.  Visiting someone else's memory in a pensieve was harmless and it didn't take any skill.  Working on someone else's memory was neither harmless nor was it easy.  Where did consuming a memory fall?

Just another Sunday morning, talking hard drugs over breakfast.

Virgil returned to his seat with the orange juice and glanced at Ariadne as she asked about the experience of tripping on a memory. He worried for a second - would she want to try Muse? - but then remembered that this was Auror Pinn's daughter talking, and she was much too sensible for the kind of nonsense the rest of them got up to in their free time.

            "I thought it was just some really cool magic," Nick explained, after answering her.

"I suppose, technically, it is rather impressive." Virgil picked up his fork and speared some meat off his plate, ignoring the brioche bun. "Like watching a muggle movie, except all your senses are in on the trick," he thought about the memory he'd experienced - some woman being led away for a snog or something more in a backroom.

His hand went to his neck, absently brushing the bite he'd gotten from Hooker last month. What did Terry Hooker do in the backroom of his pub? Virgil both wanted and did not want to know. "I'll stick to gillyweed," he sighed before helping himself to more of his plate.

Nick’s experience didn’t sound as bad as Virgil seemed to make out. Of the things the boys did, that seemed one of the nicer experiences. Immersive and controlled, rather than out of it.

“I’ll stick to gillyweed.” Virgil sighed. Ariadne glanced up to him thoughtfully. This had hit a nerve for her flatmate, so she smoothed the paper back to the counter.

“That sounded almost tame for what you normally do, Nick,” she remarked, “like enjoying a good dream.” She looked back to Virgil, curious now, and wondering if there was something here she could work into an article.

“You’ve tried it too?” she posed to Virgil, somewhat rhetorically. “I’m guessing yours wasn’t as enjoyable as Nick’s. What makes you believe the memories were taken, rather than copied willingly in exchange for something?”

            "I’m guessing yours wasn’t as enjoyable as Nick’s." Ariadne's attention shifted fully from her perusal of the newspaper. "What makes you believe...rather than copied willingly in exchange for something?”

He looked up from his plate, giving up on the food for now. It was difficult to eat when he was still thinking about Muse and that night with Waverly - chucking up his dinner in a potted plant, trying to shred a memory into pieces so that it wouldn't rise to consciousness again. Virgil eyed his flatmates for a moment, pulling his thoughts together. Perhaps it was just him who found it strange to experience someone's memories.

To even sell a memory was, to him, an awful concept. Did they even know what they were selling? How private and personal it was? People were often entombed with their pensieves[1] for a reason.

"I don't think it's a copy," he spoke slowly, forming the conclusion out loud, "because it feels too real. When you replicate things it isn't perfect, it changes the memory, almost waters it down. You can kind of feel it? I can kind of feel it," his mouth twisted into a grimace at the amendment.

It occurred to him that he never really talked to Ari or Nick about mind magic, even though both of them knew about him now.

In fact he never really talked about it to anyone except Yavin and the Unspeakables in the Brain Room. And Fauna, last evening, of course. Was that healthy? His legilimency wasn't property of Mysteries. He could talk about it to whoever he wanted.

"Anyway, maybe people truly are just willingly giving away good memories." Virgil leaned forward against the kitchen table, cradling his glass of orange juice in both hands. "But I could feel the edges. When someone gets Obliviated," a glance at Nick,  "you can feel the edges too. If it's a good Obliviator, the edges around where the memory should be are smooth. And if it's a clumsy Obliviator..." he reached for Ariadne's newspaper.

Careful not to harm the sports section, Virgil tore a bit of a page and smoothed his fingers over both the ragged fringes. "That's what the edges of my Muse memory felt like. It's like someone just went in and tore the good stuff out, and didn't care about the rest of it."

1.	Apparently