Tavin grinned from his spot next to her on the sofa. Putting an arm against the back of it, he rested the side of his head in his palm. “Your favorite childhood memory then.” They had been going back and forth for a while, ever since he’d gotten back from picking up Sammy. His day off had turned into amazing once he had his two fun girls around. Tilly made every day they were together light up more brilliant than it could have done on its own.

It was just her natural light. Sammy seemed drawn to it as well. Though it had been odd to explain that he was a single dad… she had handled it in stride, he thought. Sammy was passed out near a turned down wireless with the ending of the Quidditch game on; Harpies had lost, but it hadn’t meant the game had been any less fun. She had her Harpies dress on and a stuffed broom against and under her for a pillow.

He’d made sure she was fine before accio’ing the wine in, pouring her a glass. The bottle was half gone, and he didn’t recall who’d had more. She was making him laugh, though. With his wand, he turned the wireless off. Pushing himself up, he took a few moments to pick out one of the many music albums he had come to purchase since meeting Matilda Quinn. Groaning softly, he finally put it on and started it from the outer most point. Happy with it starting up, he moved back over, grinning down at her.

Tavin straddled her for a moment, kissing her forehead, before moving down next to her. Sitting facing her, his legs comfortable with one up on the sofa between them, he rested the side of his head against his palm again. “What’s your favorite constellation?” He was interested in really getting to the meat of Tilly. Figuring out what made her… her. His eyes looked over her face before he grinned in anticipation.

For the past month and some odd days, he’d had something to look forward to after work besides more work and his daughter. There had been numerous times he’d been thankful for stumbling through the door and at her feet. Finally, he pushed himself back up, the soft melodies of Inside Dragons spilling out into the apartment. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet, dancing her slowly towards the balcony, behind her with one arm around her waist, swaying. “Better yet… help me find it."

Kissing her neck, he grinned against her skin, pulling her to him before reaching out with his other hand and grasping the door. Opening it, he followed out behind her onto the balcony, turning her around in a slow circle, stopping her facing him and stepping up to her.

Tilly's gaze moved to the sleeping child, who looked remarkably like her father... in tiny, Harpie-clad, little girl form. The young woman had been thrilled (and the feeling hadn't stopped, really) that Tavin had decided to share this part of his life. The chance encounter at Reducto had fallen lucky in her favor. After a moment of smiling at Sammy's slumbering shape, her eyes returned to Tavin, soaking up his familiar features, open blue eyes. She searched blindly, instinctively, and without haste for the hand that wasn't supporting his remarkable face, and continued to grin at him while she seemed to ponder the question. She'd already had the answer, as soon as he'd asked it. It was just that sort of thing one could recall with a blink, and it made her feel good to share it, and to anticipate his own answers. Still, she wanted to take her time. She'd never been bound to clocks, and it was being here, forgetting they existed at all. She unfolded his fingers, her own tracing the lines in his palm. She grazed his fingers with her own, her eyes finally flickered downward, too.

"I don't know if either of us can ever beat the classic Hello-I'm-Tavin-And-I-Was-Glued-To-A-Piano-Bench-As-a-Child, but..." Her eyes danced back up to his face, shifted to Samantha again, and back to Tavin. "I do remember my first quidditch get-up. Not nearly as adorable as a Harpies dress, but, like I said, my dad is a Kestrals fan." Which would have to be forgiven by the devoted Holyhead supporter, it seemed. "They took me to a game when I was Sammy's size. I tried to dye my own hair green with a gardening potion. Such a genius..." She lifted his hand and leaned in a little bit to press a kiss to his fingertips, winking. Settling back again, she obviously enjoyed revisiting old memories. "I'm shocked my mum didn't disown me. It took three weeks to get the blossoms out."

Folding her legs in a pretzel, Tilly fished her glass off the table and took a slow sip, still staring unabashedly at Tavin. "You have to share yours," she added, holding the glass away, and tilting her head with an amused little smirk. Her tone implied it was the natural progression of things, and that obviously he knew this. Not that Matilda minded deviating from the path, but some things just felt right. And she'd wanted to know everything about him, even while the fantastic fervor of mystery was still kindled.

She leaned back into the couch, stretching her limbs contentedly and pushing her hair out of the way while Tavin selected an album. The first song started up and Tilly nearly closed her eyes for a moment. For someone who had wandered into the shop apparently needing to expand his collection, his taste was rare and wonderful.

Matilda grazed the material of his shirt when he returned to the couch, giving him a gentle tug before he settled beside her. The next question was another that brought pictures to her brain, this time a map of the sky. Tilly had grown up near the water, in a much smaller place than London, and there had always been plenty of spare time for lounging around in the sand and perusing the stars. Life was busier here, but time still wasn't much of an issue for the young woman. When her watch couldn't spare five minutes, she covered it with her sleeve.

Tavin had her on her feet now, and Tilly laughed lightly, reflexively covering her mouth to make sure she didn't wake Sammy. She teetered around his shoulder to peak, but luckily, the soft music had replaced the tranquil post-game chatter of the wireless. Turning back again, with Tavin behind her, she managed to keep her amusement and happiness to a smile as they drifted toward the balcony at the music's pace. Her eyes felt heavy again when the kisses graced her neck, but it was the same sweet heaviness the music brought, and it was wholly welcomed.

Facing him, Matilda leaned up on her toes a little and kissed below his ear. She clasped her hands around his neck, staring at him for a long moment-- something she had not tired of, and would probably never, because she always found new little things to adore about him-- and heaved her shoulders lightly. "Constellations..." She repeated, reminding them both of the topic, whether they needed it or not. She let her arms fall back down and was content to hook a few fingers at the edge of his pocket while she leaned against him and turned her focus to the sky. "Orion's belt," she said. "Because I think I could be a sailor in another life and that's the one all the men at the lighthouse near my parents' house fancied." She bumped him lightly with her shoulder. "And nothing beats a classic."

Time slipped by when he was with her. And unlike his normal self, he didn’t worry about what he was missing in his schedule book. He kept up with his important agenda, but the other things… the little things, the insignificant priorities he’d had prior to her… they became obvious to him and he didn’t worry about having his rent in at nine thirty three days prior to its due time. It could wait until any time of the day, really. Or what he had planned for dinner; he didn’t need to have every meal planned out and written in. She brought a little flare to his boring scheduled life.

And even on his palm she showed that she didn’t like to stay in bounds. He took a slow breath, smiling softly as he watched the tip of her fingers brush over his somewhat sensitive skin. Though he worked with plants all day, he had the use of a wand. He kept his fingers and hands clean and polished and as soft as possible. He easily gave in to her probing fingers, a small smile on his lips. He looked to her face, lingering there for a moment, waiting for her response.

“I don’t know if either of us can ever beat the classic Hello-I’m-Tavin-And-I-Was-Glued-To-A-Piano-Bench-As-a-Child, but…”

Chuckling, he moved his thumb to gently tease one of her fingers on his palm, letting it roll back to the place it had been before. There should be a ‘child gluer abuse’ owl line for other poor children taken advantage of like that, forced to learn the silly instrument.

“I do remember my first quidditch get-up. Not nearly as adorable as a Harpies dress, but, like I said, my dad is a Kestrals fan… They took me to a game when I was Sammy’s size. I tried to dye my own hair green with a gardening potion. Such a genius…”

His cheeks lifted with his grin, imagining how she might have been, to be around Sammy’s height and demeanor. How her personality may have affected every little thing she did. And done up in a Kestrals outfit no less! His eyebrows rose in surprise at the mention of a gardening potion, an anticipatory laugh escaping breathlessly from his lips. He watched her kiss his fingertips and winked back.

“I’m shocked my mum didn’t disown me. It took three weeks to get the blossoms out.”

“I’m sure you were the most intense Kestral fan there.” She had been a bit of a minx in her younger days, and he was glad to see it seemed to have transferred over as she grew up. It would have been terrible for that nature to get bashed down and rolled out. Letting his hand stay there a moment while she leaned for her wine, he finally let the hand fall to rest on his thigh. That look she gave him after her demand, however, made him smirk and reach forward for his own glass.

“My father was a dragon tamer, and my favorite memory is when I was about eight. He finally decided that I was old enough to help with some of the chores with the dragons. By then, both my sisters were off at school, and it was just me to keep entertained.” He spoke with his father more in those years when he was more or less an only child, learning of how things had been before the defeat of Voldemort, and how his Uncle Alfred had been a very brave man. In the midst of all that… his father decided that Tavin was old enough to attempt his first ride.

“Anyway, we had a hippogriff staying at the barn because he was recovering from an injury, and my dad had a partner who dealt with other creatures. And I had my first, and last ride on a hippogriff. It was thrilling and terrifying. Nothing like a broom.” Shaking his head slightly, he smirked and glanced at her, having wandered back to his memory somewhere between her eyes and her hand. The fog dissipated and he sighed. “On the landing, I ended up breaking my arm and my mother refused to let my father do ‘such a stupid stunt’ again.”

He would have stayed over her, especially with the playful tug, but he was enjoying that their relationship was fairly slow in all things physical. He’d waited until the second date to give her a kiss, and a fifth before inviting her back to his place. Mind you, all those happened fairly quickly; he didn’t wait long before asking her to dinner or lunch again, and then it turned into other things. He planned on asking her to go with him to see the new Museum project that was opening up later on, knowing it was coming up in another month or so.

The touch of her lips to the sensitive area near his ears made his lips part and an intake of breath to be heard softly in the somewhat quiet night. Finally he opened his eyes and looked down at her, smiling as she put her arms in positions that he didn’t mind if she ever came undone from.

“Constellations…”

An amused expression came to his face when she hooked her fingers in his trousers. He’d expected her to grab on to his suspenders. Holding her waist gently, Tavin gave her room to look around without need to worry of falling over.

“Orion’s belt… Because I think I could be a sailor in another life and that’s the one all the men at the lighthouse near my parents’ house fancied.”

Laughing at the bump, he pressed her back against the railing, moving one arm around her so to support her against him while the other moved to steady them both on the rail. He felt an odd, yet familiar pang of jealousy at the mention of other men. She was talking of years ago, though, and he tried to remind himself of that. “A sailor?” Grinning, he looked down at her and tilted his head slightly as if appraising. She knew a lot of things he was only slightly familiar with. What was the use of being on a boat when you could fly over it on a broom?

“And nothing beats a classic.”

“I like Orion’s belt… I’d prefer you enjoy mine but…” He didn’t wear them. Smirking, Tavin leaned forward and kissed her lips softly, parting them enough to take the bottom in between his and tug lightly. Smiling against her, he pulled away and let out a content sigh. “It’s too bad it’s so light in the city. The stars are amazing from the right height.” Glancing to the city, he was at least glad the candles near him were smudged out. Not that he had any hand in blackening the inside of the glass… he just liked to not be pestered with flickering magic.

“I’m sure you were the most intense Kestral fan there.”

"Don't ever think otherwise," she demanded softly, still smiling. With the quaffle in his court, she waited for another story to unfold. It was her favorite sort of conversation; it was so human, hearing someone recollect things with such feeling. It didn't matter if they'd come from different places. Matilda's own father, an owl post office operator, was light years away from a dragon tamer, but she could still envision everything Tavin told her.

She bit her lip in mingled amusement and excitement, and her eyes widened slightly at the height of the story. An eight-year-old taking care of dragons seemed an impressive benchmark. One who took a spin on a hippogriff, even more so. "Your poor arm," she sighed, shaking her head. "It must have been so hard catching up with the missed piano lessons. I'm ridiculously glad you didn't have any limbs taken off." That would have been a sorry day for the drums and for Matilda, who had become somewhat selfishly accustomed to both of his arms. "I've never been on a hippogriff, but it sounds like they'd bow to you, at least." She grinned. "But who wouldn't, right?" She teased.

"Did you ever think about becoming a dragon tamer, too?" She probed, wondering what sort of life it would have been. Perhaps as exciting as becoming a rockstar, in its own way. In Matilda's mind, Tavin could get away with being a million different things. Her attention remained on him between idle sips.

Once out on the balcony, Matilda was less worried about waking Samantha with her laughter, but she still kept it gentle, enjoying the natural hush that had fallen over the night. She leaned easily into the railing, Tavin's hands there to support her.

“A sailor?”

"Mmhmm.. wouldn't it be great? Phil's something of a sailor with his little floating house," she added, speaking of Reducto Records' lovable owner. Granted, the houseboat employed at least as much magic as a wizarding tent, if not quite a bit more. "But I'd like to go all out, you know. The uniform and all. Just to try it." She wasn't particularly crazy about dress codes, but who didn't want a little taste of the nautical life at some point?

“I like Orion’s belt… I’d prefer you enjoy mine but…”

Laughing, Tilly looked down, where she knew there would be no belt. Her fingers curled further around the material of his pocket, and she pulled reflexively when began to kiss her. She moved one hand over his shoulder again, happy to let it rest there a moment until their mouths parted again, and she drew circles on his neck, tracing it like she had his palm. "I didn't know we were including Tavin's Pockets and Suspenders, but we can find a constellation that looks like you and rename it. We'll be clever. No one will know." Leaning against him, she let her eyes roam sideways, her peripheral catching Tavin's warm body on one side, and the edge of the sky on the other. She agreed that the city could use a bit an astronomy kick. "It's lovely, following the stars. The centaurs have it right." Not to be confused with The Centaurs, also brilliant, if not four-legged.

"So, do you have a favorite?" She asked, knowing he must. She'd taken plenty of basic astronomy in school, but probably not to the extent it was taught in the Wizarding World. Sometimes she'd wished there was a little more devotion to it in everyday life. Luckily, her mother had been a fan of bedtime stories that included stars and planets. "We should get out of the city sometime. I know a brilliant observatory in the middle of nowhere." Then again, there were observatories in the city, too. "Or just a field, if you don't mind being homeless for a night."

“Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Tavin wouldn’t make that mistake. Watching her face, he saw a hint of the child in her, the way her eyes lit up, that spark hidden just behind the calm and collected exterior of an adult. It was so much trouble, keeping on your best behavior sometimes. Or at least adhering to it... He felt more compelled in his later years to conform and do as he was told, which was a bit depressing when one thought about it. What happened to the carefree time of their childhood when one could wash themselves in garden products because it sounded like a good idea?

Responsibilities were the suck of growing up.

“Your poor arm... It must have been so hard catching up with the missed piano lessons. I’m ridiculously glad you didn’t have any limbs taken off.”

Chuckling at her humor, he gave her a knowing look. “Partial to guys with two arms? Maybe I lost a limb and took a potion to grow it back.” Winking, he ran his fingers along her leg subconsciously. “Maybe the fake arm is the better arm.” He figured he could be obscure in his flirting.

Tavin did smirk when she mentioned the Hippogriff bowing to him. “At least you’ve figured out my ego by now.” Gently squeezing the area above her knee, he withdrew his hand to let it rest on his leg.

“Did you ever think about becoming a dragon tamer, too?”

“Perhaps when I was younger... wanting to be like my father.” His smile faltered slightly, remembering the days he used to run around with the other kids of the family, his sisters and cousins, pretending to be Death Eaters among other things. “I was more interested in plants, though. They don’t all spit fire at you.” That sounded a bit boring compared to dragons, perhaps, but it had worked (and continued to) for Tavin.

“But I’d like to go all out, you know. The uniform and all. Just to try it.”

Listening to her go on, Tavin shook his head and glanced her over slightly. “The uniform. I think you should do that. With a hat, of course.” He’d never been particularly fond of being on a flimsy piece of safety on a bunch of open ended water... but he could see Tilly doing it.

“I didn’t know we were including Tavin’s Pockets and Suspenders, but we can find a constellation that looks like you and rename it. We’ll be clever. No one will know.”

Her teasing fingers caused a shiver to run up his spine, but he grinned at her. “Only if we find the Tilly Sailor constellation. Hat and all.” Pressing against her, he glanced to the stars himself, smirking in agreement. When she mentioned centaurs, he nodded thoughtfully. “Except for the lack of suspenders.” He gently kissed and nuzzled against her ear before glancing back up at the sky.

“So, do you have a favorite?”

Finding it with ease, he leaned forward, letting his lips brush against her ear. “Charles’ Wain.” It was simple. “It is the easiest constellation to find, and it’s the first I have to look for in the sky before finding any other.” It was called a few other things, but he recalled that particular name from his childhood. He still remembered lying on the roof with his mother while she pointed it out and explained the history behind it.

“We should get out of the city sometime. I know a brilliant observatory in the middle of nowhere... Or just a field, if you don’t mind being homeless for a night.”

Get out of the city... that could be fun. His eyebrows rose at that suggestion, and he grazed his fingertips against her side before hugging her to him lightly. “Either works. Though if I’m with you... I won’t be watching the stars very long.” Even now, on the balcony, she had successfully pulled his eyes away from the night sky to her face, his lips now pressing lightly, teasingly against the area under her earlobe.

“Partial to guys with two arms? Maybe I lost a limb and took a potion to grow it back. …Maybe the fake arm is the better arm.”

“Well, if I’m being honest…” She half-frowned, half-cringed apologetically, but followed it with a brief smile. “But you have two now, so if you lost one once upon a time ago, that just makes you officially awesome, doesn’t it? People love a good horror story.” They made for great albums, too. Actually, Tilly wouldn’t have minded of Tavin was entirely armless at this point. She’d had too much fun with him in the past several weeks. His arms were certainly a welcome plus, though. “So which one is the fake? This one?” She looked down to the fingers softly grazing her skin. “I bet every arm is the better arm for a drummer.”

“At least you’ve figured out my ego by now.”

His ego. The young woman grinned. Egos were funny things. She liked confidence, but there were some brands that weren’t particularly tolerable. Tavin’s ego, however, whatever it was, made him all the more attractive.

“I was more interested in plants, though. They don’t all spit fire at you.”

Even as Tavin’s smile seemed to waver, Tilly’s became brighter at the idea of him wanting to be like his dad. She tilted her head. “Plants are the way to go. If I was better with them, I could wake up in London and convince myself I’m in the Amazon.” Maybe she’d have to invite him over to help her start a jungle in her flat. Not that it wasn’t already its own type of jungle. Poor Jasper was a brave soul, camping out on Tilly’s couch. “You could give me a few tips… after my cousin leaves. Probably none of those mysterious things you work with at the Ministry, though. I bet they’re all highly illegal.” She grinned, trying to fathom what his work day was like. It wasn’t as if he could invite her into the Department of Mysteries in the same way Tavin could stroll into the record shop and greet her. One day, maybe…

“The uniform. I think you should do that. With a hat, of course.”

“We could get you an eye patch and a hook for that fake arm. Lure me in.” She raised both brows quickly, trying to tempt him. A match made in sailor heaven. Or the heavens. She looked back to the sky, squinting a bit as she smiled, trying to imagine the constellation version of herself in a sailor hat beside Tavin and his glorious suspenders. They would put most of those celestial formations to shame. And, sadly, the centaurs, too, it seemed. They didn’t have the adequate style.

“Charles’ Wain. It is the easiest constellation to find, and it’s the first I have to look for in the sky before finding any other.”

It was an extremely logical but endearing answer. “You have to, like a compulsion, or because it makes a map in your mind?” She challenged lightly. “I love it, though.” Tilly stood there for a moment, studying and memorizing the classic (there’d been a lot of great classics springing up in her life lately), and then turned her attention back to Tavin, finally returning his affection with a kiss to his jaw. She rested her head against his shirt, smiling down at their feet. It was arguably an insignificant point of focus, really, but that’s what made it brilliant.

“Either works. Though if I’m with you... I won’t be watching the stars very long.”

Cuddled against him now, she moved her gaze back to his, enjoying the feeling of Tavin looking at her. “The good part…” She murmured, trying not to sigh or laugh at the wonderful sensation of his lips on her sensitive skin. “Is that night lasts ages.” Plenty of time for ‘study breaks’. “You could make a fire,” she added. “Or I’ll do it the old-fashioned way with sticks. I know how. I learned when I was seventeen. It’s brilliant.” She reached up in the dark, her fingers stroking the side of his hair while his mouth was busy teasing her. “Just you and me and a fire… what are you doing this weekend?”

“But you have two now, so if you lost one once upon a time ago, that just makes you officially awesome, doesn’t it? People love a good horror story.”

Her sense of humor always made him chuckle. If she were being honest, she obviously didn’t mind that he may or may not have lost a limb once upon a time. “Officially? It wasn’t official yet?” A hand went over his heart as if he was wounded and he leaned against her slightly, groaning under his breath. Finally he straightened up and winked. “As long as the one the story was done to is able to still tell it, of course people eat it up.” While she mulled over which arm it might be, Tavin laughed and shrugged. “Whichever one is the better one.”

“Plants are the way to go. If I was better with them, I could wake up in London and convince myself I’m in the Amazon.”

Biting his lower lip in thought, he smirked around it. “I’m sure I can arrange that, Tilly.” And now that she’d given him the idea… he wanted to deck at least one room of her flat out like it. The good plants, though; vines along the wall to give it an earthy tone, hanging plants, ropes of roses interlacing, the barbs held back… Well. That all seemed very girly. Just to off put it, he’d have to put some moss and a small, vicious little snapping potted plant. The kind with tons of little ones so that an unsuspected victim walked too close it could lean over and take a few fairly harmless bites.

Nodding absentmindedly, he let out “Of course” in response to giving her tips before realizing what all she was saying. Making a face, he rolled his eyes and leaned his lower half against her, stretching his upper body and letting out a groan. “If it were highly illegal, I wouldn’t be allowed to touch them.” Smirking slightly, he let his arms drop heavily and sighed. He’d lied. That would probably be the main reason he was working with a  plant; the more x’s it can garner, the more probable it’s use for him.

“We could get you an eye patch and a hook for that fake arm. Lure me in.”

“I think you all ready pulled your line pretty taunt…” He wrapped an arm gently behind her, pushing up lightly and kissing her lips softly before pulling back. “And if the fake arm works, why get a hook?” Making a fake hook out of his hand, the index curved  while the rest of his fingers stayed in a fist, he slung his finger around her shoulder strap, tugging her slightly.

“You have to, like a compulsion, or because it makes a map in your mind?”

Pausing, slightly caught off guard, he let out a small chuckle. “Both.” He couldn’t deny that he had a few OCD tendencies, and if she thought that was the least of it, then it would work out for the better. He always felt more relaxed and overall better when he saw the familiar constellation in the sky. It was his starting point, and from there he could work his way out, finding what he needed to.

“The good part… Is that night lasts ages.”

Grinning against her skin, he continued the soft tease of the area. “Very astute observation.” When she mentioned making a fire, he frowned slightly and nuzzled against her neck before pulling back. Looking down at her, he shrugged. “Why would you have to do it the ‘old-fashioned way’ with sticks? That seems very rudimentary. Unless it’s an interestingly simple spell. In which case, you’re welcome… to start it.”

His lips found their way back to her ear, a soft chuckle escaping as his arms pulled her to him. “From the sounds of it… you.” Kissing to her jaw line, he continued. “Are making a fire.”

Tilly was left to ponder which arm might theoretically be the one in question. She was rather fond of both. And, it sounded as if said arms might give her a hand (ha...) in redecorating her flat. At the very least, she could invite Tavin over for a temporary, foresty holiday... at home. "Oh, I see..." She raised a brow and smiled. She really had no idea whether the Ministry permitted its employees to work with illegal substances, objects, creatures... she supposed some of that went on behind the scenes, though, given the crazy tales she heard of her cousin's career as a Hitwizard. "So you secretly spend all day coddling sunflowers, hmm?" She was only teasing. She was sure his job was brilliant, and laborious-- she'd probably blow the place up in five minutes or less, or at least use her potions tools as makeshift instruments. Arguably, she wasn't as disciplined.

Having been successfully (and quite happily) pulled in closer by roaming fingers, Tilly laughed with him, trying to imagine the sky from Tavin's point of view. The next time she was alone, her eyes would certainly lock onto his favorite first constellation first, she knew. Maybe she'd make a little map for him. She liked that sort of thing. In fact, it sounded like it could be a good album cover.

“Very astute observation.”

"I try." Or, rather, she generally said whatever came to her mind. Tilly was on the verge of closing her eyes and expanding on the idea of what might be possible in the night-which-lasts-ages, and, in particular, the imagined stargazing trip. With Tavin teasing her skin, it seemed a lot more plausible and even a must-- like a final world tour by a favorite old band. So far, there were two more promising nights already: one away, and one in London. But then he pulled away, and Tilly's eyes fluttered open before they could shut. She smiled at him, even as he asked the question.

“Why would you have to do it the ‘old-fashioned way’ with sticks? That seems very rudimentary. Unless it’s an interestingly simple spell. In which case, you’re welcome… to start it.”

She laughed and shook her head, looking at him as if he were just being adorable and teasing, but his words didn't even really sink in until he began kissing her again. It hadn't even come up until this moment, the fact that she was a squib. It had been a non-issue among her closest friends, and her past relationships (all of whom had known right away, mostly because she'd made it obvious), so much so that Tilly had taken for granted that Tavin knew-- or really, she hadn't thought about it one way or the other, at all. But the way he'd worded the question... How could they have gotten to this point without him knowing?

In Tilly's mind, the way things were going, it really made no difference at all. Her smile sobered a bit, but she whispered pleasantly. "Because it's fun," she pointed out. "And I don't have a wand." Her tone was light and almost encouraging, as if this should be obvious to him, as if they were merely exchanging banter, but at the same time, a small inflection in her voice suggested that she was testing her boundaries, waiting for a reaction. Her fingers grazed the base of his neck and collarbone, taking in the warmth. "I'm glad you think I can make fires in other ways, though."

“So you secretly spend all day coddling sunflowers, hmm?”

Chuckling, he raised an eyebrow. “And dandelions… how did you know?” Sometimes he worked with simple plants to try and create something more horrific or amazing. Testing the boundaries that herbology had thought were created. It was part of his job, and one he enjoyed doing. To be able to spawn an attacking sunflower would be the epitome of his year, and had now just created a side project to try and bring up to Ms. Snark.

Best to stay focused, though; work had a way of pulling him away from things. Sometimes he could be found for days in his office, unwilling to keep track of time as he worked on a deadline or some new, exciting piece of information he felt he’d stumbled upon. Samantha had slowed his addiction to work down a little, long enough to be with her, and Tilly had been doing a good job recently. When he wanted to be out in the world with people as opposed to the plants and possibilities in the dark confines of work… something big had happened.

“Because it’s fun-”

For some reason, Tavin doubted that. It didn’t sound particularly fun. If it could be done with a few waves and a word or two spoken, then why waste the time getting a fire started when you could have more together time? It had never really been a thought he would venture into. Once he could use magic, he did it for every little inconvenience to the point that little things, like shaving or ironing his robes, were thoughtless little practiced flicks of the wand in the mornings. Part of his routine.

“-And I don’t have a wand.”

Frowning slightly, his brain started to work faster than it should have. His breath came in slowly and he felt her fingers teasing his neck. She didn’t have a wand? What did she use instead? He’d heard of other cultures trying out different means by which to flow the magic through. Or maybe she had a suspension from it? No… that didn’t make any sense. Frowning still, his brain trying to figure out any way she could still be a witch and not have a wand, Tavin was slowly coming to the realization that she had presented.

“I’m glad you think I can make fires in other ways, though.”

Pulling back, standing up, he pursed his lips and pushed them to the side in an uncertain, thoughtful frown. “Wait… so… you don’t have a wand?” Running his tongue over his bottom lip, he let out a breath and drummed his fingers on the railing behind her. “As in with you?” Tavin was slowly but surely putting the pieces together. He was just being a little dense right then. His frown deepened a little. Normally this sort of thing wouldn’t get past him so easily. Or the end result, either. Perhaps it was partially the wine’s fault, and partially his brain not wanting to accept the possibility that she didn’t or couldn’t use magic.

Though she'd been smiling envisioning Tavin surrounded by bunches of sunflowers and dandelions in an otherwise Very Serious Laboratory for brilliant minds, and, likewise, had been wonderfully content with the peaceful mood inspired by light kisses and fires that weren't fires at all, Tilly couldn't help but frown momentarily at his frown. Reality was beginning to set in, and though she had never tried to promote anything but the truth, this brand of reality was a bit harsh. She was still in awe that they had gone this long without either of them realizing it-- and she supposed it was her fault, for assuming that most people just knew. Tavin, after all, was a very perceptible man.

Their initial encounter flooded her mind and she wondered why she hadn't just blurted it out with her name. That had been more of a common practice when she was younger, just after all of her peers began to get their letters and Tilly didn't. She felt her heart jump now as it hadn't in a long time.

“Wait… so… you don’t have a wand? As in with you?”

Tilly searched his face, her eyes almost silently begging him to understand, even as they stayed exactly how they'd always been. There was anxiety there in his features, and she swallowed, giving her own head a quick, light shake. "No, Tavin," she began. Her mouth stayed slightly parted for a moment as she thought about how to word it. This never happened; she was usually very forthright and said whatever came to mind first, and generally without apology, because she liked to mean what she said. She tried to smile again, but it faltered. She shook her head a second time. "I thought... I thought you knew," she explained softly, hoping to convey that she hadn't meant to trick him. "I mean, you've never seen me perform magic, have you?" She asked, the humor of it falling flat. "I can't-- I'm not. It just sort of skipped me, the magic, when it was catching the rest of my family. But it's not a huge deal." Her voice almost trembled, which, again, was something that rarely happened. Even if she hadn't meant it, the words came out more like a question. It was the look on his face. "I have my own way of doing things." The confidence rushed back into her voice as Tilly's spirit seemed to grab hold of something invisible. She'd said it a million times, she could say it to Tavin. Especially to Tavin, with whom she had became close in the past few weeks. She wanted him to know everything about her. "I've survived this long, haven't I? Muggles do just fine for themselves, too."

“No, Tavin.”

His mouth felt a little dry. Swallowing himself to try and get something back, he felt an overwhelming weight looming, threatening to crush him the first chance it got. No… she didn’t have a wand. He felt a little sick to his stomach. It wasn’t that big of a deal, right? Surely he could be understanding of it, after all the years he’d had to put his families prejudice aside? The wine really must have been getting to him; he felt a little dizzy as well.

“I thought… I thought you knew… I mean, you’ve never seen me perform magic, have you?”

He grit his teeth and stood up, his hands pulling away from the railing stiffly. She thought he knew what? She had… a business in Diagon Alley! She employed witches and wizards, didn’t see? She was the manager of a shop in the wizard section of London! How could he have guessed it? Of course now he was searching his mind for a time he would have sworn she had done this trick—no… or that spell! Again, he came up blank, trying to grasp for hope that was failing him.

“I can’t—I’m not. It just sort of skipped me, the magic, when it was catching the rest of my family. But it’s not a huge deal.”

She was a… a squib? His mouth opened slightly as the realization came to him. He felt as if he’d been sucker punched in the stomach. Or been hexed with the confundus charm. Magic just ‘sort of’ skipped her? Taking in a stacked breath, he held it a moment and pursed his lips. Squibs were far and few between, but they happened. His great aunt, he’d been told, had been one. His grandmother’s sister. She’d been disowned and snubbed. Then again… he’d been explained those were the times.

“I have my own way of doing things… I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Muggles do just fine for themselves, too.”

He was still piecing things together but his reaction happened as soon as she compared herself to a muggle. He frowned in sudden anger, stepping away from her with his hands coming up in some defensive ‘don’t touch me’ type of body language. “No better than a muggle.” It was muttered as his brain tried to keep up with his emotions. He’d been with her? A squib?! His breathing came in a little too quickly.

How could he have been such an idiot? Wasn’t it obvious? From the moment they met, she had never pulled her wand out; she’d never used a spell to help her do something. She did it all her own. And he’d just figured she was one of those new age witches who thought they were empowering themselves by doing the little things on their own. Now and again he did it, he supposed. But… now he couldn’t recall one time she had done a spell; if it was something intricate, he’d done it.

“How could I have been so stupid? Merlin!” His hands to his face, he groaned and stamped his foot in slight irritation, slight toddler reaction. Letting his hands drop, he suddenly changed his outward emotion. “You’re just a squib. As useless as a muggle. And you kept it to yourself… you let me get close to you believing that you were like me?” His upbringing was trying to help him get out of this unknown, this area he didn’t know how to respond. His grandmother would no doubt be proud of him. “You can’t…” His disbelief showed through before he stood up straight, gripping his fists tight.

Yanking his wand out, he strode forward, little sparks emitting from the end in his fury. “CAST A SPELL! Show me!” He thrust it at her, suddenly needing hard proof, real evidence, that she had no inkling of the ability in her. If this were a joke… it was cruel.

Her reactions, even before she spoke, made her nervous. Matilda tensed, almost biting her lip as she watched his expression darken and his hands grow cautious. He stepped back and Tilly felt her heart drop instead of jumping this time. Her cheeks went pink, though she had long since learned not to be humiliated by who she was. He looked as if he thought she were contagious.

“No better than a muggle.”

Tilly had never got the impression, even once, that he disliked muggles or thought they were any less human than witches and wizards. She'd realized his passion for magic, certainly, but even her parents had obvious inclinations to use their wands. Tavin was a smart person who was obviously serious about his career, and Tilly had just assumed it was his habit to prefer to do things the way he'd always done them... just as it was her own habit to do things without magic in a purely magical world. This time her own mouth opened in protest, in hopes of explaining, but when she thought about what she was protesting, a look of pain etched itself into her face. Was anyone really better than a muggle? Weren't they all people, the same species? What exactly was he reducing her to? "What do you mean..." She murmured almost disbelievingly, her breath threatening to catch in her throat, but it wasn't really a question.

“How could I have been so stupid? Merlin!”

She wanted to ask the same question, to throw it back at him, but she felt too ill to be angry. Her eyes were beginning to sting. Was this really happening? Things she'd left in the past, remembered but marched on from, flooded her mind. Times when people had looked at her in the street, whispered as she passed, or blatantly called her ridiculous names that she could hardly bring herself to repeat for no desire toward negative energy. Mostly, though, she thought of the time when she was eleven and nearly every child she'd known had gathered around after their first semester at Hogwarts to celebrate the winter holidays. They had made sure Tilly knew she was different, that they thought she was less, and that she never forgot it. Now, as an adult, the same heat of shame reached her peachy skin as it had ages ago.

“You’re just a squib. As useless as a muggle. And you kept it to yourself… you let me get close to you believing that you were like me?”

"I didn't!" She said this time, louder and more immediately. "I didn't try to trick you! I wasn't lying, Tavin... I didn't think you cared. I thought you knew, I really did, I..." It was ironic. Tilly was being accused of what every great and imaginary witch in muggle history had been accused of doing: bewitching people. Only, this time, she was the one without magic and the expertise to slip home-brewed potions into the goblets of unsuspecting victims. Even as she tried to explain herself, she wondered why she was doing it. The pain might have overtaken the anger, but a part of her was still baffled and infuriated that he thought anyone who wasn't a wizard was useless. A waste. "I'm still Tilly," she said weakly, furrowing her brows in anguish. "Do you really think it makes a difference?" She'd almost feel sorry for him, a grown man with that mindset, but she couldn't. Not now, not him.

Apparently Tavin wasn't ready to believe it. It was Matilda's turn to back away, and she did reaching the wall and shaking her head. She held out a gentle hand. "No. I can't," she insisted calmly. She blinked away the water reaching her eyes and tried to stand a little taller. Her gaze was dizzy for a moment with tears starting, but she refocused and looked from the wand to Tavin. She'd never seen him so angry. The sparks, she knew, weren't for added effect. "I won't."

Even if it was worthless now, everything they'd enjoyed about each other, because Tavin clearly had a problem that Tilly couldn't remedy, and that she certainly could not stand for or with, she didn't move. A little part of her wondered if it was just the wine, just the dark. Maybe he was tired, maybe he was upset about something else. The Ministry had been busier than usual, according to the papers. A small part of her wanted to believe this was all a misunderstanding, even if she knew before he could say anything else that something had been abruptly lost and would probably stay that way. "I'm a squib, Tavin. I've never had a wand. I tried my dad's countless times when I was young, and my mum's, too, and nothing-- not even a little spark. I can't do magic, I could never do magic... I'll never be able to do magic."

“I didn’t! I didn’t try to trick you! I wasn’t lying, Tavin… I didn’t think you cared. I thought you knew, I really did, I…”

Tavin would have to figure out a way to stop himself from talking when his temper flared. He was digging a hole and getting it deep with little hope for rescue. It was part of his family’s temper, he supposed, that undeniable rage that seemed to well up in certain times and you just had to go with it. You had to make yourself really hate something, to really find it degrading and interfering to be a perfectly sane person capable of helping commit genocide on all non-magical persons.

And it just bred as the purebloods lived on. Now and again it was put at bay, masked and hidden, but growing up in that sort of environment, where bigotry and prejudice and self entitlement were second nature… very few (and they were no doubt the lucky, disowned family members) ever figured out how to set that aside and accept others as equal. Even now his family members had a hard time keeping their opinions to themselves when it came to too much drink and too much debate.

So he basically just holed up and let that bit of black on his soul take over. It was easier than letting his shock work itself out normally and then going at it with a level head. Or… it seemed that way right then. He let out a disbelieving grunt at her words, feeling rather… disgusted with himself right then.

“I’m still Tilly… Do you really think it makes a difference?”

He didn’t have words to respond, though his facial expression answered it. The wide eyes, head forward as if it weren’t even a reasonable question, really, watching her with a slight grimace on his lips as if he had an awful Bertie Botts flavored bean in his mouth. When she retreated from his almost manic launch toward her, he felt a part of him shake awake, pulling insistently on his thoughts to try and stop himself. He didn’t need to bombard her like this. That wasn’t fair for either of them right then.

She wouldn’t? His eyes seethed and a few more sparks shot out, popping in the warm air between them. His mouth parted slightly as he took in a few shallow breaths, running his tongue over his lower lip. He had a sudden, twisted thought that he could make her. But then… that wasn’t very Tavin like. Surprised and shocked at his own thoughts, he felt his face fall slightly, feeling a little defeated. Such dark thoughts… was that what he’d come to? He didn’t have time to piece it together though, not long enough to frown in confusion and work his way through the fog of what was happening to put together a rational thought before she started talking again.

“I’m a squib, Tavin. I’ve never had a wand. I tried my dad’s countless times when I was young, and my mum’s, too, and nothing—not even a little spark. I can’t do magic, I could never do magic… I’ll never be able to do magic.”

And his rationality slipped away again. “You can’t do magic.” A flat statement, his face back into the controlled, slightly disgusted downturn to his lips, his eyes frowning as he stood up straight, still gripping his wand. “Only those who give up can’t do something. Is that what you are, Matilda? You just don’t try hard enough, and then what your left with is some pitiful existence. Can’t do magic…” He scoffed at that and stepped away from her. A hard laugh escaped his lips. “That’s pitiful.” He wouldn’t be sure later if he had meant himself or her more at that moment, feeling as if he’d pushed her away. His father would be disappointed with him.

With his wand in hand, he motioned it to the door, hearing it slam open. He couldn’t even form the right words to tell her to go. If she stayed, they’d only both be more upset. He heard the soft cry from the living room; he’d no doubt woken Samantha up. He didn’t even look at Tilly, staring out past her to the city.

“You can’t do magic.”

He reflected her words, said only what she'd said to him. But somehow... somehow, after years of being able to say it with ease, to tell people and get it out of the way, to tell anyone and everyone like she was telling Tavin now, and in such a seemingly strong and determined voice... all those years of knowing it and accepting and living it wholly... a life without magic... it sounded awful. Tilly flinched. She felt as if she were being punished, not by a teacher or an enemy, and not even by Tavin. For a fleeting moment it crossed her mind: was there something inherently wrong with her? She wouldn't, after all, wish her condition on another child of wizarding lineage. Certainly it was easier to have magic. It was preferable. And, in that sense, it made her appear flawed. But she'd gotten over these questions. She'd buried them and conquered them so many times, they'd become such a minor issue, that it was hard to finally succumb to doubts she never knew she still possessed.

“Only those who give up can’t do something. Is that what you are, Matilda? You just don’t try hard enough, and then what your left with is some pitiful existence. Can’t do magic…”

As he stepped away, Tilly felt no comfort. She might have been numb by now if her heart weren't jumping so wildly. She would almost have preferred him to hex her; anything was better than being treated like this, like she might infect him, like she wasn't human. She didn't speak, but drew a breath. It caught in her throat, scratchy and weak. Tavin's words spun in her head like powerful lyrics, but these were the kind she never wanted to hear, or analyze, or remember.

“That’s pitiful.”

And then she came to her senses again, as he laughed. It was stinging, but it was reality. Her eyes followed the wand in his hand, imagining its anger, and it made her angry. She squeezed her eyes shut softly for a moment and took a breath as she heard Samantha's cry, that last bit of pain playing tug-of-war with the disgust and resolve. More tears came, but Tilly was in control of herself this time, and she knew what she had to do. She floated toward the door without effort, pausing only before she could open it. She turned her back to it. The words were for Tavin, not Samantha. "You're pitiful," she said, throwing his words back at him as he had done to her, and with all of the fury of a spell she might never be able to cast. "You have a wand... And?" She waited, but not long enough for him to speak. Only enough for the implication to sink in: that it didn't matter whether he had one or not, that it didn't make him any more or less a person than anyone else. "Do you sit around in circles with your friends, measuring whose is biggest? Is that how you pick which of you the best man? Sorry, wizard." She stared at his back, almost daring him with her eyes to turn around and look at her. "You do what you're told, Tavin. Cast a spell, earn an O. That doesn't make you a man... I might not be able to use a wand, and I might not be a brilliant Ministry wonderchild, but I can do a lot of things, and I've done a lot of things, and I can look at the same sky as you and see things you can't see." She gestured to the stars they'd just been looking at, even if he couldn't see her hand. "But it's still the same sky." And that was what mattered, that neither of them was a greater or lesser existence. She turned to face the door, finally. "You have a beautiful daughter. I hope someone teaches her how to be a beautiful person."

Their backs were apparently to each other, but it didn't matter. She didn't need to see his face to know it. It was both too familiar, and the face of a stranger. Her own was slighty pink, blotchy from tears. Slipping through the door softly, Tilly grabbed the few things she'd left inside, offered a tiny, sad smile and wiggle of her fingers to Sammy, and left.