Evening


It was a Saturday night, and Virgil Carstairs considered the joint of gillyweed he had yet to light. He was sprawled languidly across his bed[1] with a scattering of partially read books - each one open to somewhere in the middle, abandoned. His record player was spinning some muggle tune while he held the joint in question, pinched in the air between slender fingers.

January, contrary to calmer aspirations, had been a hectic month. He was relishing tonight: to be home and alone and to have no obligations whatsoever. Not actually alone, though. Nick was doing something Nick-ish in his room, probably, and Ari was busy writing up a game in hers.

Therefore effectively alone. Virgil slipped off the mattress and tucked his treasure behind his ear as he strode idly to the mirror. He was wearing a full face of make-up, lipstick and all, which had been diversion #1 from the reading he was supposed to do for Mysteries stuff. Gillyweed was diversion #2. Ringing up Anton was diversion #3 but he wasn't feeling that sensuous this evening.

"What a pretty little thing you are," he spoke to his reflection, hand on his hip and tilting his head to the side, trying on a coquettish pose. Ridiculous. Virgil giggled at himself and shook his head head - his cat, Dante, was under the bed, unimpressed, and she blinked slowly at his posturing.

The doorbell rang just as he was examining what looked like an emerging zit on his chin, and the wizard called out quickly. "I got it!" he yelled, dragging his feet out into the living room to see who had come calling - maybe it was Peyton, or their strange neighbour from downstairs with all the owls. Either way, someone he could talk into sharing a joint with him.

Virgil threw open the door with flourish, ready to speak, but instead found himself raising his perfectly drawn eyebrows in surprise. Oh. It was Fauna Blake. The witch[2] Fauna Blake.

"Hello," he crossed his arms, quickly pushing past the surprise, and leaned against the doorframe. "What's this?" his eyes danced a little. "You've come bearing gifts?"

1.	Sarah's wonderful sketch of V's bedroom: link!
2.	2nd Jan - A Haunted Ode

Fauna too, raised her eyebrows in surprise at Virgil when he opened the door. Her brows were imperfectly arched, her face bare. She wore one of her favorite holiday gifts - a Hunger Games mockingjay hoodie, and jeans. Though she felt well since getting her magic back, the January weather and events of the wolf moon had left her winter pale, her hair as dark as the black hoodie she wore and her eyes a striking blue.

Virgil stood as her opposite, his face painted with drama, much like it had at the New Year's Eve party. Was he in a celebratory mood? Would he let her paint a tiny star on his cheek, or light the gillyweed joint between his fingers?

He sounded confused.

"Did you get my - er, I sent you a memo?"

Brow furrowing, Fauna shifted the container of chocolate brownies in her arms. She'd added little starry sprinkles on top of the chocolate.

"Hey Virgil," she repeated for his benefit in an official memo-voice. "I'm ducking out early to make cookies or something. Reply only if you hate chocolate, though evidence suggests- oh shit, it's Saturday," her eyes widened and her voice went back to normal.

She'd been restless at the Ministry earlier, and had decided to pester Virgil via memo. Merlin knew they'd both had a crappy month. Unfortunately, Fauna had forgotten that normal people weren't in the office on Saturdays, only Hufflepuffs.

"Um, I can come back, you know, at a time when you're not - what are you up to?"

Fauna looked at him curiously, glancing over his shoulder in case Nicholas or Ari were there, and then glancing down the hall to plan a quick escape before her embarrassment caught up to her.

            "...only if you hate chocolate, though evidence suggests- oh shit, it's Saturday."

He laughed, pink in the cheeks, and was already stepping aside to let the witch in when she offered to come back later. Any port in a storm: and besides, this wasn't a storm, and Fauna was slowly becoming a preferable port. Virgil had quickly grown to like the auror after she discovered his stolen violin in December.

"I was just about to light up and... um," the blonde shrugged, "relax? Come in, I won't say no to brownies. Don't suppose they're the gillyweed sort though, are they?" he smiled languidly at Fauna and closed the flat door behind her.

With Ari and Nick in their rooms, the rest of the apartment was empty but neat. There were some groceries still sitting in a paper bag on the kitchen counter - for breakfast tomorrow - and a coffee pot gone cold in the living room. David Bowie's imperfect voice drifted out of his bedroom door, and Virgil gestured for his guest to join him in there.

"How are you feeling?" he twirled the joint in his fingers idly, wondering if he should feel guilty for not having to resort to diversion #3 tonight. "Must be nice to wave that wand around again."

Merlin knew that's how he felt when his magic returned after the mysterious measles.

Fauna walked inside, glad to hear his amused laughter. Ok, so he wasn't going out tonight! He'd made up his face for fun. She felt a little bit plain and frumpy next to him, but she'd get over it.

"Just normal chocolate," she lamented. Plenty for Virgil and his flatmates. Maybe he'd share his gillyweed with her. She glanced at him, too shy to ask.

The flat was much calmer and neater since the party. She passed the kitchen, catching a whiff of old coffee that reminded her of the Ministry.

No, the Ministry didn't have good taste in music. Tilting her head, she listened to the lyrics, the distinctive voice, and half-smiled as she hesitated in the doorway of his bedroom. Hm? Oh, magic!

"It's been really nice. I keep thinking I don't have it, and I start doing something the slow way, like physically carrying files in my arms," Fauna shook her head as she stepped into the room. What madness!

She looked at the container of brownies in her arms. Fauna swished her wand and levitated the brownies to rest on the trunk in the corner.

"Then I realize I have magic and you know, I overcompensate by casting all the spells. At once. So I've got files doing somersaults in the air above me," she gestured with a wave over her head. "And I've been apparating everywhere. Can't trust the floo lately."

Oops! Probably partially her fault. Fauna tucked her hands in her hoodie pocket and shuffle-turned, glancing around at the plants, the mirror, the wardrobe, and the row of bookshelves that had taken over a whole wall. His room was full of personal knickknacks, much like hers, except instead of bookcases she had flat files for art storage.

Fauna stuck to the middle of the room, unsure how comfortable he was with her studying everything. She always felt like a bashful teenager going into someone's room, especially a new friend's, even if it was Virgil. What were the rules? Where should she put her hands? In her hoodie pocket.

The chorus came on. David Bowie!

"Rebel, rebel," she sang under her breath, then smiled at Virgil sheepishly.

"How are you?"

            "And I've been apparating everywhere. Can't trust the floo lately."

"I have a preference for apparating anyway," he remarked as he slipped back on to his bed and leaned lazily against his bookshelf. "There's always something the matter with floo, isn't there? One word wrong, next thing you know you're coughing up a storm in someone's living room while they're shagging on the sofa set."

Not that he was speaking from personal experience. There was a brilliant book about it - Foraging the Floo: Awkward Tales by Arabella Ansel. After having to floo out of level nine when he was kidnapped, reading the awkward stories had been a great way to overcome all fireplace related anxieties.

Fauna sang along to Bowie a little, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room,.

"Sit," he nodded at the edge of his bed and sighed at her perfectly polite, sensible question. "I'm alright, just trying to forget... you know, the entire month." Virgil smiled dryly, twirling the joint in his fingers to indicate his method of 'forgetting'. Better than drinking and definitely better than trying Muse again. Few people would understand his despondent state better than Fauna, who he assumed was also suffering from a similar condition.

They had both known about the Direwolf attack. And they'd tried to stop it from happening, and they'd failed. Nothing worked out. It didn't matter. The legilimency and the seer ability, none of that changed what would happen. It was a microcosm of his entire life. No amount of talent, charm or desire ever helped him to get what he wanted.

Fate rolled over the little things in favour of lesser fortunes. "Light up with me?" Virgil stretched out his hand to offer her the gillyweed. "It's a great sign of friendship," he intoned in a voice of mock seriousness, "to be given the first drag."

Shagging on the couch. What a specific example! Fauna shook her head and chuckled, unsure if he was being serious. There were wards for that! People should use them.

After weeks without magic, it had taken her a few days to get used to apparating again. She'd been slower in learning it years ago, and the first few tries after her forced break had made her nervous and queasy again, as if all her hard work had been for nothing.

Everything took hard work really, and she just had to make herself do these things. To go out at night after the ambush. To apparate everywhere until it became second nature. It already was.

She'd just avoid red telephone booths for a while yet.

Fauna nodded, wrinkling her nose. January had been terrible and no-good. Poor Virgil. His visions invaded his dreams, and came true despite his best efforts. She'd read up on his vision about Abby from the woods, curious after he'd mentioned it earlier in the month. He'd tried to help by sending that note to Abby's sister. How must it feel, to impact the future in ways too subtle to be seen, to always be one step ahead yet no wiser? How long did it take him to recover from tragedies he had watched but not experienced directly? Did he ever look for invisible walls in the woods, or hear banging at the door and flash back to Carter in his flat?

He must feel frustrated and guilty, and upset at everyone who was supposed to listen at the Ministry. She did.

"I know what you mean," she sat on the edge of the bed, glancing down at her shoes.

Gillyweed! Thank you, Virgil.

"Ye-es," Fauna agreed in her usual sing-song, reaching out to take the joint. His ease and casual offer (assurance?) of friendship made a warm smile flit across her face.

She lit the joint with a wave of her wand, thinking back to a few months ago. November was when she'd last lit up. She was a very casual lighter-upper, only taking a joint if offered, and completely ignoring wherever it came from - Aurors had real criminals to catch.

November - what had she been upset about? Oh right, Pratt telling her she was assigned as parole officer to Fig's dad. Her worries then!

Fauna nudged off one of her shoes to curl her leg in on the bed. One shoe off! She sighed, both despondent and happy as she exhaled the smoke.

"To friends and magic and um, your library," she gestured to the pile of books on the bed, and picked a book up at random.

"When pants fail your flatmate," she looked up and widened her eyes in mock seriousness. It gave her a second to invent the rest of the title. "How to make - I mean, how to magic pants - see, I'm still getting used to it - out of parchment and tequila?"

She sneaked another drag and leaned over to hand him back the joint. Fauna could go about two minutes without asking him more sincerely how he was doing, unless the gillyweed got to her first.

He smiled fondly at her musical reply as she plucked the joint from his outstretched hand. Who would have thought...? Him, lighting up with an auror in his bedroom! It was different from the sleepover with Abby and Raine, and everyone else crammed into the Hiraeth apartment. This felt friendlier and more intimate: he was getting high with Fauna, not in her general vicinity.

            "To friends and magic and um, your library," the dark-haired witch indicated the shelf against which he was lazily leaning.

She was the strangest muggleborn he knew. Sasha was... Sasha, obsessed with magical connections to muggle stuff. Nick got his knickers in a knot over anything magical he wasn't used to, like living with a Legilimens. Blake, on the other hand, seemed miraculously balanced. Like she was dropped into the wizarding world and decided to just roll with it like a normal person - and normality was an exception in Virgil's life.

"Even if I could magic pants for Bevans," he leaned forward to take the joint, and stuck it between his lips before slipping out the book she was failing to read on the shelf just over his left shoulder, "he probably wouldn't wear it. Fairly certain he'd go everywhere entirely naked if he could, horny fucker. And Ari would never lose her pants."

He never felt bad snarking about Nick, knowing that his flatmate would probably agree with the remark anyway. That was the glorious charm of their ridiculous friendship. Perhaps. One day he'd have to ask.

The blonde tossed the book on to his bed, front cover up. When Walls Fail Your Dreamscape by Yavin Morgenthau. Its linen-bound hardcover bore little else besides a gold embossed eye just below the title. It was a clearly loved copy, dog-eared and often thumbed through.

"How are you handling all this?" Virgil took a long drag and then handed the gillyweed over, watching Fauna's face with dreamy curiousity. The joint bore a vivid pink lipstick mark. "Werewolves in December, January. The bodies in the atrium. That's a lot, isn't it?"

Fauna laughed. Bevans was so good-natured about teasing that it was difficult to feel badly about it. He seemed to encourage commentary and attention among their group.

She looked down at the book curiously, studying the illustration first, then the title. She expected the eye to blink at any moment. The worn copy hinted at the history that many had heard around the Ministry of Virgil's mentorship with Yavin Morgenthau.

They both presented themselves as expressive eccentrics, Yavin and Virgil, Fauna thought, glancing at the pink lipstick imprint on the joint that Virgil passed to her. But their faces told different stories. The few times she'd run across the Head of Nine she'd found him impossible to read, his slight smile a permanent fixture, a show of reassurance in contrast to his shocking sweaters. Fauna often felt like she was looking at somebody on Level 900, detached from the world he wanted to help.

Virgil lived in this world, was mired in it. His eyes always carried slight shadows underneath them, a gravitas not hidden by spectacles. His smile could be sly but usually genuine. He'd welcomed her in when he'd made up his face just for himself, and he tossed her his dog-eared book, shared his gillyweed, asked after her easily. Fauna's face showed everything unless she consciously masked it. He must have noticed her flickering smile and crease of the brow, but still he asked how she was, summing up in a few sentences what she was feeling.

"Oh no, don't ask me first," she wagged the joint at him, her smile shy but pleased.

His time was coming. Time for doting questions. She scooted to the middle of the bed to flip over the book and read the back. Dream magic, dated a decade ago. How long had he had this particular copy?

"It's kind of affected everyone but me. More so, I mean. I have a few," she paused, "friends who were involved in the safe house disaster." That encompassed the multitude of friends and one girlfriend, right?

"And you know, uh, Carter."

She took a long drag of the joint. 'You know Carter' did not even begin to describe it, but he knew what she meant. More than anyone.

"And you know, then Penny found those bodies in the phone booth," her brow furrowed. Had Yavin told him what had happened there? She breathed in the gillyweed, remembering the wolfsbane petals floating down from the booth. The flowers had had no smell, ripped from the stem, and overwhelmed by the stench of...

She shook her head.

"I'm either home with Penny and Theta, and thank Merlin for Theta, Virgil, she's so patient and helpful. Or I'm downplaying it all to my family, or I'm with Tia, or I'm at work. Normally I'd go out to pubs, but..."

Everyone was affected, including her favorite drinking buddy Fig, and at the last Ministry outing she'd felt so guilty about Carter that she hadn't gone. Her shoulders relaxed. She was already rambling. Her other foot dangled her sneaker just off the edge of the bed, laces drooping.

"Anyway, I'm glad I'm here."

Fauna glanced up gratefully as she opened the book, and the pages fell to a chapter with several notes annotated in the margins. She set her finger in the crease and looked at Virgil as she leaned forward and offered him the joint back. Was it okay for her to be flipping through this?

The corners of his lips lifted into a faraway smile as the gillyweed descended upon him like a soft, welcoming mist. Oh - the same kind of mist they knew at Hogwarts in the early spring morning, a delicate gauze stretched so far out across their great lake that it simply dissolved into the whiteness of an endless sky.

Fauna's words reached him through this mist nonetheless but it was fine; her voice felt welcome in this state of mind, and she was talking about things that were bothering her. Important things. "I'm either home with Penny and Theta....Or I'm downplaying it all..." she explained, and without trying he already felt the tinge of anxiety radiating off the witch.

She couldn't escape because everyone she knew was a part of what had happened. He felt bad for her: outside of the odd acquaintance none of his close friends had been involved in the full moon events of this past two months.

            "Anyway, I'm glad I'm here."

"Me too," Virgil decided to meet her in the middle, laying himself down on his front so that his heels knocked at books on the shelf and his elbows propped him up closer to the middle of the bed. "It's performative, isn't it? Life...." he trailed off and took the joint with a sense of delicacy.

If anyone knew about having to perform as such, it was him. And not only because he was an actor but because he had to pretend for so long in Hogwarts that he couldn't hear what was happening in people's heads. It was exhausting. To be disingenuous always is.

"Sometimes you simply want to exist without having to downplay or control what you're feeling," the blonde muttered, titling his head to the side so that he could glance at the chapter Fauna had landed on - chapter six, befriending the subconscious. One of Yavin's annotations was a doodle of a person shaking hands with his shadow. "It's important, right? Feeling things, learning how to feel things instead of the world demanding you process it right away."

He took another drag and reached over to tap some ash into one of the potted plants by the windowsill. "So," Virgil looked up at Fauna, squinting comically. "Can I do up your face? I've been like, dying to, since I knew you at school. You look like a doll."

She nodded in surprise. Perceptive Virgil understood perfectly. On Level Two, Fauna had to control her expressions and act before she'd barely had time to process, and she could do it and she was good at it and she couldn't go back in time nor did she want to now that she knew how to protect people. Like everyone though, Fauna simply needed to 'be' sometimes. Flip the pages gently, smile at the doodles, instead of rushing through searching for answers.

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows, hand pausing on the page. It took her a moment and then the glow of flattery sank in. A doll! She laughed at herself and laughed a little at him.

"Um, Virgil, I was going to ask you how you are and I was also kind of wanting to draw a star on your cheek - a star or two, David Bowie mini stars - and you just come up with all the things first, but I don't mind!"

How could she? Compliments. She grinned sheepishly and nudged off her remaining shoe, curling her other leg in.

"Ok then," she nodded, ducking her head and tucking her hair around her ears. "You won't need to add blush, I think."

Fauna secretly loved makeovers. Sometimes she bothered to be all artsy with her face but usually she saved her creativity for the hats she wore and the portraits of friends she sketched.

Not unlike a cat who can't settle into one position for very long, he pushed himself up with an excitable grin when Fauna agreed to having her face painted. Yes! New canvas! Virgil slipped his wand out of his pocket and gave it a happy wave - a large tin box, once intended to store American pipe tobacco, danced in his direction and he placed it next to him on the bed.

            "You won't need to add blush, I think."

"No, you're quite blessed in that regard," he giggled as he sorted through the various glass bottles and jars. Some of the stuff were Lipwitch products but most of it was specialty or theatre cosmetics. "I think we shall do something with a bit of a Harlequin vibe, really bring those eyes into focus. And then you may draw as many stars on me as you wish."

Stars. He could never seem to escape stars - be it in Peter Pan or Stardust or dark haired wizards named after constellations. Virgil nudged the thought aside and rubbed ed his hands with a cleansing wipe before reaching for a jar of tinted balm.

His smile was a little distant as he took out a dollop of the balm and gently smoothed it over Fauna's face with the tips of his fingers. "To answer the question you didn't ask..." Virgil spoke, voice soft, concentrating on the symmetry of her features. "I'm not okay. Most days I want to--" he pulled his hands back and made an explosive gesture, "--burst! Just, poof, everything inside me. So that it's no longer inside me."

Sighing, he picked up a glittery pink eyebrow pencil. His argument with Yavin[1] still weighed on his mind and he knew he'd have to face it soon.

"But it's fine," Virgil reassured Fauna and started to fill in her eyebrows, pink pigment gliding over the dark hairs. "I'm used to feeling like this. I just have to let myself... think it out. Feel it out. I don't know."

He was such a joke, trying to be all mature and thoughtful. All these talents and Virgil knew nothing at all. Except, maybe, how to carry a tune and put on a little make-up.

1.	16th Jan - Scares Me Half to Death

Fauna sneaked a glance inside the silver tin, a smile tugging at her mouth as she straightened her posture. The tin held a rainbow of colors. She'd pick something joyful for him later, something colorful, like a shooting star or a bright comet, one on each cheek.

She murmured that she'd never tried a harlequin look before, and scrunched her nose slightly in surprise when his fingers touched her face. It was kind of fun to see this side of Virgil, the giggly gillyweed side, and though her hands fidgeted with the book on her knee and she glanced at his dramatically lined eyes and quickly away again, unsure where to look, the cloud of smoke in the air veiled his face and softened his already soft voice.

He wasn't ok. Her stomach dropped a little. He sounded ok, right then and there, but so few people would admit that they weren't and there was a bravery in that, simply saying it out loud.

"Ok," she echoed in acknowledgment, her brow beginning to furrow, then smoothing out so he could apply the - was that pink? Ohh. Pink to match her cheeks, she got that.

"You're feeling... overwhelmed?" She wondered just as quietly, plucking the paltry word out of the smoke. Fauna was missing something, even with the dreamscape book resting on her knee.

If it happened often, and feeling it out or thinking it out wasn't helping this time, then it didn't sound like he was going to be okay anytime soon.

"I'm here if you want to talk it out. I mean, right here. Sitting here," she rambled, the corner of her mouth quirking ruefully.

Overwhelmed.

He tilted his chin back and lowered his hand, examining her eyebrows to ensure he'd drawn them symmetrically. Was he overwhelmed? It did feel like that, like he was juggling so many things and if he stopped everything would come tumbling down at an alarming rate. Virgil put aside the pencil, taking out a little glittery palette and reaching for Fauna's hand.

            "I'm here if you want to talk it out. I mean, right here. Sitting here," she offered. Tempting.

There was something tentative and gentle about her; perhaps because she was older than most of his friends, it came across as a genuinely helpful offer. Abby and Ari could be as sweet or receptive but Fauna had a sense of mature competence, like she was old enough to understand that feelings were real things.

Things you had to handle instead of ignore.

"It's stupid," he began swatching different eyeshadows on the inside of her forearm, trying to judge which ones would go on her face. His gaze was cast down to observe the different shadows of pinks and purples and oranges. "Hogwarts wasn't too difficult, you know? I didn't have to work as hard, I had no real ambitions. I studied whatever subjects I enjoyed."

Pressing his lips together, he shifted her arm from side to side, catching the light on the colours. "Now it's like.... my legilimency, my seer skill, they're properly real. And it's stupid because I'm complaining about stuff other people wished they had." Virgil took up an eye brush and looked Fauna in the face, smiling wryly. "Close your eyes."

With the lightest of touches, he began to apply the powders to her eyelids, as if he were painting or sketching. Careful, under the influence of gillyweed, not to press too hard or brush over her lovely doll-like lashes.

"I don't know who I am without all this," he murmured. "I see people like Nick or Anton, having a good time going out, partying, and it's like... why can't I do that? Why can't I just switch off?"

She closed her eyes, feeling funny listening with her eyes closed and her wrist dotted with bright shimmery colors. The last thing she saw was his wry smile, similar to when he'd asked her to sit down and close her eyes before showing her the vision earlier that month.

A very different situation now, but Virgil was still trusting her, talking to her like this. She wanted to protest that it was not stupid, but she merely twisted her mouth to the side as he brushed the eyeshadow against her eyelids. Little wings wishing her sweet gillyweed dreams.

A seer and a legilimens. She hadn't considered before how the combination of those two talents must weight on him. Fauna had only caught - allowed, really - the barest glimpse of his ability to read thoughts. Between the demands of his job and simply growing up, it sounded stressful.

"That's a lot for one person to deal with," she said softly. "I mean, Anton and Nick might envy or admire what you can do, but they wouldn't necessarily want the responsibility that comes with it. Protecting people. Trying to prevent things only you can see."

The vision of Carter. Her eyelashes fluttered, then closed again, unsure how her words were landing.

Right or not, she related it a little to Auror training. Everyone claimed that they wanted to kick arse, but they did not want to have to make decisions about kicking arse or to feel bad about kicking the wrong arse or to watch as all the arses ran away into the night...

Even Aurors went home sometime though. How could Virgil clock out of his own head?

To hear Fauna say it was surreal: responsibility, protecting people, preventing things. The words landed in his gut like cold lead and he pulled back the brush for a second to take a deep breath. Nobody ever actually told him that out loud. Yavin least of all. Yavin never wanted to pressure him into moral obligations, and neither did Edgar nor Angela. Certainly none of his friends did.

It was more of a vague implication, that he would try to do the right thing instead of... of what Professor Duerr[1] once mentioned. Getting off on a power trip.

He added a few finishing touches to Fauna's eyelids, allowing for an oddly comfortable lapse of silence between them before speaking. "It isn't all bad." Virgil didn't want her to think he was endlessly distressed or overwhelmed. "There are nice things about it too, things I never would have known about the world. You can open your eyes by the way."

His smile was softer now, and he returned the palette and brush back to the tin. Fauna was calm to be around - not trying to cheer him up right away. It was okay to be sad every so often, to feel it instead of avoiding it. How lucky that she found his violin.

"For one....I know that people are almost always stronger than they look, on the inside," he picked up a lip palette this time and examined its colours, glancing at Fauna's face to gauge which ones to use. "You are. Level two is full of people who talk and walk tough," the image of Roh and Bagnold in Mysteries came to mind, "but I think you're tougher than the whole lot."

Virgil looked into his tin box, searching for a lip brush. "That's why none of them have odes written about them."

1.	21st Jan 2011 - Your Number's Up