1330 hours


He stood at the open door of one of many rooms on level nine's ineffable Labyrinth, appearing as serious as always - though not quite as intense. The room he looked into was empty and indistinguishable from most of their others, with its black stone walls and floor, gleaming like obsidian, and a single torch of blue flame for light. This was where he and his friends had been left to die by Mortimer Gamp just over a year ago now. He had been here before, when he first came to train with Mysteries, but sometimes Virgil dropped by when he had other things to do in the Labyrinth.

Just to see how he felt, a patient fascinated by the closing of their own wound.

Something tugged impatiently at the walls of his mind. Right. Work. Virgil gestured, the walls sliding close.He made his way down the passage and counted turnings and doors, concentrating hard. It wouldn't do to get lost. Some weren't found for weeks or months.

            "Ah, there you are. Ready?"

Yavin looked absolutely ridiculous. He was standing in a work room that adjoined the one in which Mysteries kept their resident Dementor. The department head was wearing a perfectly sensible black jumper with matching slacks, but he wore upon his head an oblong helmet. It was metallic fuchsia, quite large and with only enough of a gap around the eyes to allow for sight.

In some ways, similar to the helmet of a Crusader.

"I suppose," said Virgil as he strolled in and glanced at the mess of parchments and materials on the work tables around them. Perched on a corner of the closest table, Ophie Hassan quirked an eyebrow at him. "You suppose?" she drawled, and he shrugged.

His fellow Unspeakable had been at school with him, couple years his senior, and they often worked together in the Brain Room nowadays. Yavin removed his helmet, and handed it to the witch before turning back to Virgil. "We'll try with the Dementor after, ah, after this. And well, hm. Regardless of whether it,  um, it works, we might use it for the meteorite."

Virgil watched Ophelia carefully done the helmet, her dark brown eyes sliding to meet his as she slipped off the table.

"Ready?" he asked, the two of them facing one another. Ophie's voice was muffled but he could hear the grin in it when she spoke: "Do your worst, Carstairs."

"By which, aha, by which she means for you to do your best."

Yavin clarified, ignoring the eye roll from his protege. He wanted for the helmets to work - a helmet that could protect its wearer from the prying tendrils of a Leglimens, and possibly from those of a Dementor whose ability to tease out negative memories might be hindered by such a barrier. Even if it didn't, however, there was a chance it would keep the meteorite from manifesting people's fears.

Many, many ifs.

           "Anything?" Hassan spoke after a few moments and Virgil, eyes awake and clear, shook his head.

They remained like that for a few moments longer until the latter sighed. "Nothing. I think it might actually be working this time," he conceded in a tone that was covering up a natural irritation. It was always fun to give Virgil a lock he could not pick.

"You try it," Yav gestured for Ophelia to hand over the helmet, and she obeyed before stepping back to watch the younger wizard examine the headpiece first. "Me?" Virgil seemed skeptical. "You going to try and look into my head to test it?"

Yavin leaned against a table, motioned for him to just do it. "Not exactly," he replied, maddeningly vague. Without flourish or aplomb, Virgil wore the helmet - he was adjusting it for his eyes to line up with the gaps when he froze all at once. "Virgil?" The department head queried after a few seconds passed.

Virgil took it off in one motion and shoved it into Ophelia's arms. He was sweating, and the look he shot Yavin was decidedly angry. "It works both ways?" he hissed, tousling his hair distractedly. "You should have said, that was awful!"

"Not a reprieve?" Yav frowned, thinking of when Virgil had expressed relief from his sensitive Legilimency during a bout of Praecantatio Deliquus.
            "More of an echo chamber," replied the disgruntled trainee. "I'm never putting it on again."

That was a line drawn, if anything was.

             "Oh c'mon!" Ophie exclaimed, laughing as she cradled the helmet. "It's not that ba--"

"It's a prison." Virgil interrupted sharply and then, seeing the surprise on her face, softened. "I mean, for me. I don't like it."

He didn't bother to suppress a shudder. A hand clapped on to his shoulder and he glanced up to see Yavin smiling pityingly at him. "Walk it off," the old man advised. "I won't ask you to test it for the Dementor. Go on," he nodded at the door - it was a dismissal, Virgil knew, cloaked as something friendlier. Because Virgil was bad at knowing when to stop.

And he considered saying it was fine, insisting he could stay to watch the Dementor trial and help, but... he didn't want to. There was something awful about that helmet, even worse than entering the Death Chamber or letting the meteorite manifest nightmarish copies of his worst fear. It felt claustrophobic and lonely.

Virgil left the work room. He paused outside in the Labyrinth corridor, wondering if he should go back to contemplate Mortimer Gamp's prison room. No. That seemed rather a dull use of time, actually. He checked his watch and decided to have a late lunch instead.