2 March 2012
Friday, 11:30pm
Waverly's parents home, London

As Waverly had done for several weeks now, she slipped home leaving only polite daughterly pleasantries with whichever or both mothers were home. It was coming up on a month past that Terrence Hooker had created a memory Waverly wished to forget. And it had been a week since Virgil had asked to do it. He'd found her in a dream when she hadn't answered his owls, strolling in with that princely manner he had. They'd quarreled, they'd made up, they'd made a deal. They hadn't articulated what was being bartered, but Waverly figured that Virgil's gain was getting to play with Big Magic.

So she'd slipped in, leading Virgil upstairs. Mother Zora had eyed the Carstairs boy skeptically but opted not to start in with the little Seer; she and Iona had returned to their cooking.  Now the hour was growing late. Waverly sat on her bed, long legs crossed in clothes for sleeping, her hair wrapped up, her arms and thighs bare. She set the empty wine glass on the night stand.

"Do you want a book or something? I have Slither Girls," she asked Virgil.

He had kept sharp most of this week and especially today - steered clear of alcohol and gillyweed and other dizzying pleasures. It wound him tighter than usual but that was good; he needed to be sharp tonight, needed to be able to make snap decisions with an alert mindset. If Virgil did a sloppy job now, he was going to be in very big trouble later. Potentially.

His logic was simple: assume you will get caught somewhere down the road. And if he did get caught, the consequences of doing a bad job was much worse than doing a good one.

            "Do you want a book or something?"

"No," he was lounging on a chair, on which he had draped his cardigan. "The wine's enough. I'll just--" he yawned and stretched in the seat like a lazy cat. "-- I'll just wander in my own head until you're well into the dreamscape."

Virgil had put aside a little time every evening to construct a memory for Waverly, to replace the one in which Terry Hooker bit her against her will. It was not a drastically different memory but it was less unpleasant, less a sense of violation than the original - the omission of the bite being the biggest alteration. Now, finally, he would attempt to make the switch.

His heartbeat picked up a little at the thought. "Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked, procuring his now-familiar cigarette case. "Regular tobacco."

Didn't want to alert Mothers A and B, after all.

Waverly became aware of her walls. She didn't want to feel dread or hope or awkward or anything at all, so she just chose not to. She'd given a great deal to this sweet boy and she probably trusted him more than anyone else, but that didn't mean she was scared somewhere in there or that it wasn't deeply bizarre to fall asleep while being watched.

"That's fine. There's an empty cup there." Waverly had accumulated several uncared for dishes. Why was it that they all became fourteen again when they were back at home?

She turned the covers up and doused all the lights save the little purple lamp on the dresser nearby Virgil. The door was already locked.

"Don't expect anything until past one," she said, trying to be helpful. "I never dream before then."

Once Waverly was slid down in her bed, she laid there only a second before she suddenly got out of bed again, unable to bear it. She padded over to her records. There'd be no way she'd catch a wink just laying there with another person in the room. Merlin, this was so gods-damn weird. They were insane.

"I can't. I need music."

She had something by a witch with a baleful voice singing about oceans and the life-after and break-ups. Then wordlessly she crawled back into bed pulled the covers up again and closed her eyes.

He lit up a cigarette and sipped wine - not enough to get tipsy but enough to sit on his tongue while Waverly went through the motions of going to sleep. Music grew in the room, a sprout of a melody swelling into the voice of a woman. Virgil knew this was odd for his friend but he was used to this kind of thing in the Brain Room on level nine. Even Yavin sat around waiting for people to sleep, though he usually came dressed in outrageous pyjamas.

The blond puffed away, eyes glazing over as his thoughts retreated inward. It was a Friday night. He wondered if he could stop by Ceph's place on his way home later, if there was time, if the older man wasn't already sleeping.

"Waverly?" Virgil spoke after he counted three or four songs off the album. "Still awake?"

No answer. He checked the time. It wasn't yet one, so he took out a small slim book from the pocket of his cardigan: When Walls Fail Your Dreamscape. Virgil flipped through it, pausing to read dog-eared pages and to keep his head in the game. He wanted to do this just right; leave behind no trace of himself.

Another yawn escaped him and he tucked the book away, curling up in the chair comfortably. Yes. Almost one. He would close his eyes and let the music bleed into his mindscape and carry him into sleep, where he would conjure up a glossy red door that would take him into Wav's consciousness.

Waverly shifted her long legs and turned over once or twice as she began to fall into a deep sleep. The magic of sleep began its course, like the moon pulling the tides. Waverly's mind rose and fell between the different stages of sleep, waves of self washing over her mind and body sorting and smoothing out the sands of memory and dormant turmoil. Presently she stopped moving, her limbs paralyzed themselves, and she began dreaming.

A house. Everyone was there. The hour kept growing nearer and nearer but what was approaching it was hard to say, only that there was a disorganized sort of frenzy among everyone.

"Where's my Omma," Waverly asked again and again, using the childhood name for her mother Zora. "She's just in there," said someone. "She'll be back," said another. [1]

Waverly checked door after door, turning knobs. Then, having lost all patience with everyone in the house being  useless, she walked out of the house and went down a long lane lined by long grass.  It was twilight. Out in the field, another door, this lacking a house. Just a red door. The wind was just right. Perhaps she could fly for a better vantage point.

1.	During the 2nd Wizarding War when Waverly was four, Iona and Waverly went into hiding abroad while Zora stayed back. Waverly doesn't consciously remember much, just uncertainty and difference.

He knew, before the door handle twisted down, that Waverly was dreaming an old dream. Virgil could sense something like dust - shaken off the memories used to clothe her reverie. This is how he knew to mirror her age when he stepped through into the dreamscape.

Twilight. The sun was always setting or rising in here. The blonde boy in periwinkle pyjamas looked about the way he did when he had first gone to Hogwarts; skinny and gaunt eyed, golden hair sticking out messily, colour in his cheeks. The door closed. He found himself in a field of tall grass, barefoot. He breathed in and looked around with calm eyes.

Waverly stood in lane running through the field, some ways away. Something sharp and nostalgic pinched him. This was the Wav he met as a firstie. They had been so young.

"Hey!" his voice carried clearly, unbound by possibility. "Waverly Roh-Ballentyne!"

Virgil pushed through the tall grass as he made his way towards her, smiling a little. He didn't know why. Perhaps because being younger here reminded him of how eager they had all been as children. Eager to learn, to talk, to question. To break the rules. Some things didn't change.

Waverly stopped at the sudden voice carried to her on the wind. She turned and looked. "Virgil!"

He was there with hair the color of straw. Her sleeping mind accepted Virgil this time in a way she hadn't before. He fit and she took him for granted. He swam through the grass towards her and she felt a gust of wind at her back.

"Hey! I have to show you something. Watch out!" With that, she took two long strides forward and jumped. She jumped so high that the wind lifted her up in a long, cool arc and she landed two dozen yards away nearby Virgil.

"No magic," she said, breathless. She inspected his face and furrowed her brows. "What?"

His smile widened as he watched her leap, stirring memories of his Peter Pan days. This was always the best part about dreaming. Anything was possible, anything you could imagine. Virgil walked towards where his friend had landed, opting not to do the usual thing of showing off. He eyed her face searchingly.

            "What?"

Should he break the spell? You're dreaming, Wav. He wanted to say it. Instead, he looked over his shoulder and then back at her. "Nothing. They sent me to fetch you," and remembering he was in his pyjamas, the wizard add: "For dinner."

The sense of urgency and efficiency, which had followed his every thought of tonight, dissipated. It was odd; it felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place, this unwillingness to break the fourth wall.

"But we don't have to rush back." Virgil shrugged and looked up at the glowing clouds, finding his calm. "Bet you could jump higher, Wav."

Dinner. Dreaming Waverly rolled her dreaming eyes. It was always dinner and would doubtlessly be French food. She didn't care for it.[1] But Virgil was not committed to his quest and egged her on.

"Here, like this. Ready?"  Waverly took his head and swung it, one, two, three! A couple big strides and Waverly jumped again. Another soaring leap. The ground rushed away, the doors wiped away from Waverly's care. A twilight-warm village appeared ahead, a landscape painting just ahead of them, just ahead of Waverly's perception to introduce another chapter in the ways many dreams do.

When they landed, she was her living age again. She looked for Virgil.

1.	Iona took Waverly to hide from Death Eaters in France.

He found himself in the air, reluctant to land. To return to earth was to face certain realities but Virgil knew he had to do this now or he would become too afraid. So he remained in the air only a little longer - unlike Waverly, he floated a while before drifting down on to his tiptoes. They were their own age again and he landed after his friend.

"I won't be around when you wake up." Virgil said, watching his heels rock back before glancing up at Wav. "You won't remember this."

That was liberating to realise. She wasn't going to remember him being here, meddling in her head. The sky suddenly flickered, like a muggle television, and it was no longer twilight. It was late night and the stars were endless in a clear sky. They appeared to move, giving the impression of the earth tilting on its side.

The field no longer stretched out towards vague country settlements - tall grass as far as the eye could see, instead. Virgil was affecting changes the way he hadn't before. This was his working space.

"Last chance, Waverly..." he trailed off for a second, soft and serious, giving her time to realise she was dreaming. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

Waverly turned around when Virgil spoke. As suddenly and as loudly as a blink, the surface tension of the dream broke. He'd been gentle in the way Virgil always seemed to be, but this time Waverly didn't try to push him out. He'd been invited this time and from the way the world around her had begun to change, he was already getting settled. It was cold being awake in here. It was odd seeing the dreamscape's incompleteness.

Here in her dream it was a lot harder to hide how much she was hurting and how afraid she was. Her neck began to bleed from two bright holes and her hand twisted ugly so she held it against her heart. She was crying without sound, just tears down her cheek like a poem.

"Just take it," she said her mouth not moving quite in time with the words. "I don't want this anymore. Just take it. I don't want this anymore."

Her desire echoed and faded a few more times, and her intention never hesitated. Headlong again she went.

Oh, she was in pain. He watched her in that quiet and careful way of his - the way a young boy might watch his mother cry. Virgil felt ambiguity and fear drain from his chest. The laws and regulations about this kind of thing felt distance, harmless. He wanted to help her. The wounds of the world were great and numerous, weren't they?

It couldn't be wrong to do this, this small kindness for an old friend.

"Alright," he replied as he walked up to her closely to press the tips of his fingers to his lips and then to her forehead. "Then I must say goodbye. You are going to dream, Waverly. Dream something far away from this memory and from the ones you don't want."

Virgil stepped back; the grassy earth around Waverly began to brighten, as if she stood on the glowing surface of a large puddle. She sank into the light, abruptly, leaving behind a marked silence. A dream without its dreamer.

The young wizard stretched his lean body and breathed in the air as if it were all real. The puddle of light started to grow even larger, becoming a small pond. It stopped glowing, and resembled the vision pond[1] in the Department of Mysteries. He knelt at the water and touched its coolness.

Images began to form on the reflective surface.

1.	11th Jan - Listen to the Kids These Dats

Waverly closed her eyes and did as Virgil bade her. She slipped into the cold bright silence of the pool. There was something powerful about being given permission to forget and dream of something else. Waverly's dreamy brain needed no further coaxing now that the deal had been struck, she could go anywhere and be unpursued.

If one were to write it, one might expect something glowing and warm and pastoral. Flickering pixie lights, wet moonlight, windblown window curtains, maybe. But Waverly dreamed of the Wizarding Wireless Network and arguing with Genevieve Garcia-Gamp at Witch Weekly. Busy hallways, looming deadlines, a troupe of theatricals, musical typewriters, a cat who gave birth to a litter of birds. A dream with literally nothing haunting about it.

He left his purse and wand on the table, shedding his coat to drape over the back of a chair. It was evening. Might be considered late, if you were dull. The warehouse flat was dark and he switched the light on before getting the kettle on the stove. Comfortable, mumbling to himself, he made his way to the bathroom. But there was someone[1] in there, there was a man sitting in the bathroom.

---

With a gesture, Virgil was back in the field, sitting cross-legged before this pond of his creation. The seam of Waverly's memory was reflected on the surface; the seam was where he would stitch the false memory into her remembrance, as smoothly as possible. Over the past week, he had been dropping into her mind at night to examine various aspects of her memories.

People recalled things differently based on their priorities. Some remembered outfits and objects better, others might focus more on spatial surroundings or colour or scent. It was important to get a sense of Wav's tendencies so that he could create a memory that was strongest on those points.

Most of the work had already been done. Tonight was the putting together of it all; sewing up Frankenstein's monster for a blast of lightning.

Only, rather than lightning, there was the calm of this field: the night sky moving indifferently above his golden crown. Virgil continued to watch the pond: it was moving on to the created narrative. Lucky thing he had personal experience with Terry Hooker. It meant he could better imagine a different sequence of events.

A sequence which saw Hooker break into Waverly's flat, only to shove her violently against the wall and sprain her wrist with his grip. The vampire's words, threatening Wav to keep mum (hah), were mostly unchanged.

            "Keep your head down and your mouth shut, bloodbag. Or I'll be seeing you again," he growled, genuine in intent.

Virgil wanted to be sick, reminded of his own assault at Hooker's hands. He kept telling himself to tend to that uneasiness later, later. His eyes followed the rest of the memory. Unlike pensieves, true memories were seen from the point of view of the person in question. It was disorienting but he was used to it by now.

To change one thing meant to change several. In this version of events, Wav still came to him for help - to heal her wrist. Marrowbone had to be taken out of course. Instead, Waverly immediately slept the incident off at his flat.

---

Time moved differently in a dreamscape. Virgil had been meticulous, combing Waverly's memories to weave a knock-on effect of the memory change. He had to implant a reluctance to see Athena, shred and bury the original memories in separate dusty corners of her mind. And he edited tonight's plan, so that he had come over simply for a smoke and catch-up.

In spite of the workload, it was barely half past three when he woke in her bedroom. It had felt like hours.

Virgil was oddly sore. As if someone had turned his bones to elastic and stretched him out. He rose from his chair and approached Waverly's bed. She was sleeping peacefully but he placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking it persistently.

"Hey, Wav. I'm gonna run, yeah?" he murmured, effecting sleepiness. "Didn't mean to fall asleep. I'll see myself out."

1.

12th February - Some Blood in the Cut Quote from: Waverly Roh-Ballentyne on March 10, 2020, 05:44:31 PM She dropped her purse and wand on the table and her coat over the back of her chair... She lit a lamp and started the kettle going, then headed into the bathroom... There was a man there in the dim light. A man sitting in her bathroom.