The Gardens of Versailles were closed to the public - or at least the muggle public. It was one of a handful of summer days during which the popular attractions shut their gilded gates for 'upkeep' or, in other words, magical tourists. It was therefore not particularly crowded when Yavin Morgenthau strolled up to the magnificent fountain with his hands in his pockets on this sunny weekday morning.

He and about a half dozen other wixes had rented the Villa Les Tilleuls for the summer; the wizard took it upon himself every year to host his likeminded peers for a symposium of sorts. Usually Legilimens, though not exclusively.

"Yavin!" a familiar voice called, accompanied by an odd crackling noise.

It was hard to miss Virgil in his bright outfit, pushing himself down the dirt path on what could only be enchanted rollers skates. He had grown taller since spring, and looked positively lanky, much in the way Yavin had been at fourteen as well. Just with... less colour.

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"You're wearing the shirt!" Virgil circled playfully around his mentor, coming to a stop with the burbling fountain to his back. "I told Angela you would but she thinks you're not silly enough."

As he spoke, his parents joined them. They had been trailing leisurely behind Virgil, who enjoyed the rented roller skates far too much. Cecil was holding Edgar's hand and reading a pamphlet. The whole family - besides Laidie, who couldn't get off from work - visited Europe every year. This was the first time Yavin happened to be in Paris at the same time, so they agreed to meet up before going to brunch together.

           "I, uh, I am indeed!" Yavin looked down at his pink shirt with its purple seahorses.

"You didn't!" Angela cried out with a laugh, hugging the older man. "What will we do with you? They get worse every year..." she shook her head as she stepped back to mock-appraise him, impeccably tasteful in her own chambray dress.

They exchanged their usual pleasantries and quips, briefly. Cecil was keen to look at some peculiar trees and so his parents left him to Yavin until it was time to eat.

There was a wide, low pond further down the main path so the pair of them started walking towards it. Well, Yav walked. Virgil skated in circles that took him around his old companion. He was full of energy, Paris was beautiful this year and so different from the tensions of school.

"Ca va?" the blonde asked, hands behind his back, moving easily. "I'm glad you could escape your mysterious villa to spare a thought for us poor peasants."

He snorted softly, glancing at the young wizard as he matched his walking pace.

The Carstairs had distant relatives in France - they visited every year and spoke with an accent too gentle for Parisians, and attended grand parties whose host and attendees were far from poor.. But Virgil was good at painting a little picture like that; flattering, self-deprecating, careless.

"It was, hm, it was in fact a daring escape," he gestured with wiggling fingers. "My colleagues were very keen to, hah, to tag along and meet, uh, meet you."

Virgil pulled a face but performed a theatrical bow on skates, acknowledging the compliment. "I wouldn't have minded."

Yavin was fairly sure the boy wouldn't enjoy being questioned and remarked upon by seven bookish wixes whose social graces disappeared in the vicinity of scholarly passions. They reached the round pond, its only two observers. Virgil began to go around, holding out his arms like wings.

"Actually, hm, I've sent them to Provence for a couple of nights," Yavin called out over the water. "Except for the one or two, who, aha, who you're welcome to meet. Tonight. After dinner, with Edgar or Angela if you like."

The young wizard glanced up, curiosity piqued. "Am I allowed wine?" he posed the question to Yavin's mindscape, making him laugh. Yavin held up a single finger and raised his eyebrows: "Oui. Un seul verre."

His pupil slowed down, coming to a gradual halt before him. The two were reflected in the dark water of the pond, hot blue sky above. "Alright then. And they're nice, they won't... they won't be pushy?" he asked quietly - as if someone might overhear the concern.

"They won't." Yavin reassured, serious. "And you, ah, you can leave at any time. Not only tonight, I mean that in general. Doesn't matter what, where, when. If you feel too uncomfortable, just leave."

Virgil nodded and turned his gaze away, embarrassed by this earnestness. He lifted his camera and started skating backwards. "Strike a pose?"

Sighing pleasantly to himself, Yavin stood straight for the photo.

           "You know what's odd?" Virgil called out, clicking away. "You think French in a ghastly German accent."

Austrian, thought the old man, feeling especially old today. "One of life's many mysteries," he replied.