[london] until it ends, there is no end. [billie]

In the moment between when she asked and when he had started writing Phillip's mind had gone a mile a minute. About what to write, about all the different meanings she might take from it, about what he wanted her to take from it. And he'd settled on this. It was simple but it was also complex. He hoped she'd notice that he wrote are instead of were. A reminder that even though so many things had been taken from them, they were still here. And they were here together. He stared at the letters, ignoring his horrible hand writing, it still felt like an accomplishment. Having come back here, but most especially having made such a good friend.

Phillip turned to look back at her as she wiped at her face and he noticed the wetness in her eyes. Her compassion had always amazed him but especially now he felt like she wasn't just standing next to him, she was there with him. Billie's empathy had always made it that much easier for him to open up to her.  In ways he never could with another person. He'd shared more of himself today with her than he had ever shared with anyone else. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable, but also safe.

Urged to comfort her he returned to the spell he kept being failing to do for them. He was seventeen now, able to do magic whenever he wanted so long as there wasn't muggles around, but that was harder to get used to than he thought it would be. He wasn't used to it yet, but he'd get there. He whispered a spell between them, his charms work had always been impeccable, and felt a warm drying feeling sinking into his clothing. He tucked his wand back into his pocket a took a step toward her. He moved to wrap his arms around her again and whispered as he did. "You're perfect."

It was an honour, she thought, for her name to be there too. Beside his family name. She felt another swell of gratefulness, and joy that he’d shared all of this with her. Half an hour ago, she’d felt like she was flying. There was no way she’d have predicted that the mood would have shifted to this much weightier place, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

She shivered at the change in temperature again, feeling the magical warmth spread over her skin and chase the clammy feeling in her hands away. It raised goosebumps all over her body. A part of her wanted to touch her hair, now dry and probably quite frizzy, but she refrained. She turned as he moved close again, an inquisitive look in her eye, and then he was hugging her again, wrapping her up in his taller frame.

Billie was silent as she rested her head on his chest, her pale green eyes open, re-reading the words he’d written on the stone. More tears came, but they were the quiet kind; ones that ran down her cheeks regardless of how even her breathing was or how quickly she blinked. She’d stopped trying to keep them in by now.

Did he know, she wondered? Did he know what saying something like that would do to her? She felt like she had a fairly decent grasp on Phillip and the way he thought, most of the time. But sometimes she wondered how aware of his impact on her he was. She stood there, in his arms, for some time.

Honestly, she felt a bit overwhelmed by all of this. Billie was a sensitive girl; she felt her feelings to her core. He had to know how deeply she cared about him, but did he really understand it? She felt a little selfish thinking so much about her own feelings in the context that they were in right now, so after a while, she tried to shift her focus back to him.

"Let's walk for a bit," she said gently, pulling back and offering him a small, watery smile. The blonde slipped her hand into his again, and started walking.

The words had escaped him before he knew they were coming, like taking a breath, he hadn't even considered them before speaking. Phillip wondered what she was thinking as she nestled her head against him. He hoped he hadn't said the wrong thing. He tried to reassure himself that the quietness between them was normal, that everything was how it should be. He leaned into the warmth that was spreading between the both of them, sighing as he did.

He wasn't sure how long they'd been standing there when she spoke again. He'd gotten lost in his own train of thoughts, fleeting memories of his family, of the warmth, of her, but his hair was dry and his shirt nearly so by the time that she had. He took a deep breath, pulling away slowly, and agreed. "Okay." He said softly, wrapping his hand around hers and following. The low tide of the afternoon allowed them full access to all of the steps and Phillip let her take the lead. A part of him was excited to watch her explore this place, and maybe let himself keep remembering how much he had loved it as a child.

He pointed out across the black and blue water as the little waves kept rolling in. The crashed against the stones in foamy white waves, leaving behind puddles in the indented stones that had an iridescent sheen when the sunlight hit them just right. "That's where Fionn mac Cumhail and Benandonner fought." He told her, recalling the legend of the Irish and Scottish giants. "My da' told us Fionn built the steps to cross the channel." Phillip had worked hard to lose his Irish accent, so people would stop asking him where he was from. He'd convinced himself if he sounded like most of his classmates, he'd draw less attention. As a child he had just wanted to sink into the rest of the population at Hogwarts. Now, back here, talking about these things, he couldn't help but let it bleed through in the tiniest of ways.

As they walked, with her ahead, her eyes were drawn to the way the water pooled in the concave surfaces of the stones. She made a mental note to take care as she stepped over the uneven surfaces; she hadn’t planned for this, and her boots admittedly leaned more towards being fashionable than practical. Everything was still sort of damp. His spell had worked perfectly, and she was a lot drier and warmer than she had been previously, but the spray generate by the waves still hit them occasionally, and the rain had shifted to a fine mist, keeping the air wet.

“I see,” Billie said, pausing to look out into the ocean. They were more north than she’d realised. Her geography had never been very good, and for some reason she’d thought they were more in line with northern England than Scotland. “We’re on the northern coast,” she said, looking at him like she was asking a question despite her inflection. She smiled, hearing some of his old accent slipping back in. She liked hearing it.

The blonde let go of his hand (reluctantly) when they started climbing higher. She felt self conscious about taking big steps like this in a dress, so she slowed, letting him move beside her. She used her hands to keep balanced, or to place against a taller rock column for stability. It was a bit windier as they moved out of the shelter of the taller columns. "Did your father like stories like that?" she asked curiously, wiping her hands on the front of her dress as they came to a bit of a plateau. "Myths? Legends?" She had to speak a little louder over the wind.

"Yeah we are." He replied to her question, wondering for a moment if that made her uncomfortable. Hoping she didn't feel mislead about where they were Phillip looked out across the Northern Channel. They were maybe an hour from where he'd grown up, by the highway, a few more if they took the train out of Glenwherry, but apparition made everything seem so much closer. As a halfblood Phillip had grown up partly in the muggle world and his mother would often take them on long car rides, especially to places like this. She loved showing them new things, loved museums and historical sites, Phillip had loved them too.

He fell into step beside her as they started to ascend the columns, he made sure to watch where his hands were so he wouldn't slip. The mist and the moisture in the air making it a little more difficult than if they had come on a sunny day but Phillip was glad they hadn't. If it had been bright and cheerful he might not have felt so at ease here. The overcast gray made him feel like he'd truly come home. When they came to rest on level footing he crossed his hands over his chest and looked out. The new vantage provided an even better view then when they had been on the lower steps. It showcased the vastness of the steps, they stretched up the coast as far as he could see. And even though he knew Scotland wasn't far across the channel it seemed like an endless divide to him.

"He did." Phillip answered her question without much thought. "He loved all of that crap." His voice sounded unimpressed, like he might of been rolling his eyes, but really he was smiling on the inside. There was a certain hope in those sorts of stories, even they weren't true, and as a child Phillip had loved them. He was too old to believe in fairy tales now though. He turned to give her a shrug, "Sometimes I think he made a lot of it up, just for Aoibhe and I." Thinking about his father caused a bit more grief to swell up in his chest. He wasn't missing, he was just gone.

Swallowing and gritting his teeth he pushed it back, he needed more time to open that door. He looked over to her again, a sadness in his eyes, and he thought about asking about her father. She never spoke about her parents and he'd never asked. He tried to give her the same patience she had afforded him for so long. He trusted that she would tell him, when she was ready. So he turned to look back out over the water.

Billie wiped her still-wet cheeks with the knuckle of her forefinger as she followed his gaze out to sea again. “My papa - my father, he told me lots of stories when I was younger too.” It was instinctive by now, to feel uneasy talking about her parents. They didn’t ever come up accidentally anymore. She never accidentally referenced her mother or father; those words only left her lips with careful consideration, even with Kendrick and Jocasta.

“He read to me a lot.” She was silent for a moment, then willed herself to add a more personal detail that she wouldn’t have if the pair of them hadn’t been here, in the space they were in together. He’d shared so much with her today already; it felt wrong not to share a little too. “Taught me how to read like that, actually” she said quietly, her voice barely perceptible over the wind and the waves. “He always read too slowly… He told me I’d find out the endings more quickly if I learned to read myself.” She looked at Phillip again, smiling, but teary too.

These days, Billie didn’t spend much time thinking about her father. At least, she tried not to. The walls of her compartmentalised feelings ran very deep, and between being at school and being at Kendrick’s house, there wasn’t so much space for Sybil, or her dead father, anymore. She hadn’t visited Azkaban in over a year; the longest time since she’d started going as a child. She’d brought it up with Kendrick quietly a few nights ago; Billie was dutiful to her core, despite the deep dread that settled in her chest when she thought about seeing the person who used to be her mother.

But anyway.

Billie pressed the back of her wrist lightly against her eye, dabbing gently at the tears that were there again. “I’m sorry,” she said unnecessarily. “I don’t mean to…” She gave him a helpless sort of look. It was very typical of her to apologise for her own feelings, yet dedicate herself so fully to those of the person she cared about.

When she mentioned her father Phillip kept the surprised look off of his face, knowing it wasn't appropriate in this moment, but feeling it just the same. He couldn't remember if she had ever mentioned him before. He noted the way she'd called him papa, and then father curiously but stayed quiet until she was finished talking. He would never interrupt her, especially not right now. He pictured what a tiny Billie and her father must have looked like reading bed time stories. He had wondered what her father was like more than once, wondered if he was as poised and polite as she was.

"Oh?" He questioned light when she brought up learning to read, his eye brow perking slightly before she continued. The corners of his mouth pulled at the idea of her being too impatient to wait for her father to finish telling the story. And he recognized that smile when she looked at him. He could see the pain in her face, in her glossy pale blue eyes, but he understood how she could smile too. He had been exactly where she was. It was a heavy place to be, but also, he hadn't hated it.

Phillip was glad she had shared that with him, relieved that she felt comfortable enough to do so, and when she started to apologize he shook his head for a moment. "No, don't." He pleaded with a whisper. He caught her glimpse and tried to lock onto her eyes. "Never apologize for that?" He told her, or asked her, the end of his sentence turning upward like it was a request and not a demand. He knew there was history there he didn't know, things about her family she wasn't talking about, and he'd assumed it was because it was too painful. Losing both parents, then her aunt, and now living with Kendrick who as far as Phillip could tell wasn't a blood relative at all. Not that that was a bad thing, Phillip knew first hand uncles weren't all they were cracked up to be.

"Just.." he didn't know how to tell her what he was thinking. He wanted her to know she could tell him anything, that she could trust him with her feelings and thoughts and worries, but he didn't know how to say it. He shifted his weight as his arms relaxed into his pockets, a shiver running up his spine in time with another gust of wind. "Thank you for telling me that."

Billie’s watery eyes locked onto his as he told her not to apologise, with a tone she rarely heard from him. “Yes, Okay,” she answered just as quietly, nodding once. She felt the heaviness of his request, and wondered if he treasured these little things in the same way she did.

When he thanked her, she almost laughed. It was strange; she understood exactly why he was thanking her - she’d felt overwhelmingly grateful since they’d arrived here - but being on the other side of that was… unusual. Maybe she just didn’t feel like her own grief, and her own memories, these little pieces of her, were quite as meaningful or valuable as his. “You’re welcome,” she said with a small, self-aware smile, teasing just a little as she wiped away more tears.

More stories threatened to bubble to the surface now. Did Phillip want to know that her father had taught her how to sew? He’d had to learn first himself, but at six years old she’d taken an interest, and there wasn’t anyone else around to teach her. Despite herself, she could see it all; a long island, stretched out off the coast of Devon. The bristol channel on one side, the Celtic sea on the other. She saw trays of baked muffins, golden-brown. So many books. Seals, puffins, moon whales.

Billie held up the strawberry skewer she’d had in her hands for what felt like forever. “Um. I don’t want this, could you…?” she left the question open, unsure what exactly it was that she wanted him to do with it. Vanish it or something? “I don’t want to just…” she mimed tossing it on the ground.

As she passed it to him, Billie collected herself, wiping her face again with her flimsy sleeve, and straightening her dress. She felt her hair - frizzy and messy as expected. Instinctively feeling the need to shift the conversation away from her family, Billie's thoughts returned to Phillip, and where he was going home to tonight, and what he was doing for the rest of the summer. She glanced back out at the ocean, crossing her arms across her chest like he had moments ago.

"Are you excited to see Winifred?" she asked, "And get out of Scotland?"

Phillip could of listened to her stories all afternoon. He wanted to hear more about where she came from, about her family, all of it. There was a need to know why she was the way that she was. How she had become such a wonderful person. He thought of asking, but stopped himself short. Hoping she would find a way to tell him more when the time was right. Absently he wondered if she thought he was selfish for not asking more about her past. She always seemed so interested in his and he hoped she didn't think he was uninterested in hers. Phillip wasn't the type to ask, he couldn't find the words to.

She handed her strawberry treat to him and he nodded silently. Holding it in one hand he traced his wand over in a semi circle, banishing to wherever banished things went. Sometimes he pondered whether they had a special magical realm they went to while awaiting their next summoning. If he let his might wander he could imagine all the sorts of things witches and wizards had sent there over the centuries. Discarded items piling up when the casters were too lazy, or purposefully, didn't send them in a specific direction. With a little flash the skewer disappeared from his grasp and he nodded.

He watched her pose change slightly, as her arms covered her chest, and instinctively he knew their time of talking about her parents had passed. He hoped it would come back up, but only if she wanted it to. He took a step to stand next to her and face the same direction as they stared out into the waters together. "Yeah, I am." He said in reply to her question. He was excited to get out of his uncle's grasp, away from Keithcairn, and especially out of Scotland. "London isn't as nice as Ireland though." He admitted, his clear and obvious preference for his home country on display. In his attempts to keep all of his emotions locked away Phillip had even sworn off Ireland, an entire country all together, because it held so many of his memories.

"What do you think of it so far?" He asked her, changing the subject again.

“What do I think of Ireland?” she clarified, eyes still focussed somewhere out to sea. She was still for a moment, reeling in some of the thoughts she’d accidentally let out, and returning to here. To him. “I love it,” she said honestly, turning to look at him to make sure he knew that she meant it. She gave a small smile.

She looked back out to sea, then turned her eyes up to the sky and watched the clouds moving slowly across it. A part of her wanted to talk more about Winifred. She felt so close to the edge of a confession– that she’d felt insecure knowing he was going to stay with her. Insecure realising that she didn’t know very much about his other friends at all, or if he ever spoke about her, or what they thought. That she felt all of those things because she cared about him, in a way that felt too big to be simply friendly. Things didn’t have to be explicit, but right now a part of her wanted to be honest like that.

But this was good too.

“I don’t think I was expecting it…” to feel so much like home, she finished silently. “I mean, I spent a lot of time by the sea when I was a child,” she admitted. “Being here…” She opened her arms, palms facing forward by her sides as the wind streamed through her fingers. “The sea –” she took a deep breath in through her nose, smelling the salt and the rain and the freshness of it all. “I love the sound of waves hitting rocks,” she said, aware that her sentences were a bit disconnected, that her expression might come off as dream-like.

The tears had stopped by now, though Billie could feel a moving swell of sensitivity in her chest that threatened to bring them back at any conversational turn into difficult topics. Her voice was soft, but still a little emotional as she spoke. “My amortentia smelled like the sea,” she admitted, offering another small smile, this one tinged with just a little teasing.

If he was being honest with himself Phillip was putting entirely too much weight on her response, on her opinion of Ireland, but he hadn't realized it yet. Ireland was so much more than a place it was almost like a state of being to Phillip and he had this strange need for her to approve of it. He listened closely, absently chewing on the inside of his cheek until she had finished her answer. She loved it. A tiny smile came to his lips, like rays of sunlight just barely peeking out through dark clouds, and he nodded.

Her words seemed disjointed and he could tell from the look on her face that she was in the middle of a thought. Phillip might not have been as compassionate or empathetic as she was but over the time they'd been friends he's started to notice her little tells. He had come to associate this look with her remembering things she wasn't telling him about. He knew she wasn't keeping things from him, not exactly, but assumed maybe she just wasn't ready to really tell him all of the details yet, so he remained patient. Even though he was curious. He wondered what she was thinking though as he watched her expressions.

Phillip bit down on his cheek when she mentioned her amortentia and he sucked in a hard breath. "Did it?" He said softly, trying to keep the embarrassment from reaching his cheeks. He would remember that potion, what it had smelled like, what it had made him feel, for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. He shivered, not knowing if it was the cold or the reminder of the warm tingly feeling he'd had under the effects of her amortentia. "To me it had smelled like thunderstorms and.." he trailed off feeling silly saying the last part of what he remembered from her potion. It didn't even make sense really but it had reminded him of what warm blankets felt like, coziness and safety, but he knew he couldn't say though out loud. He remembered the scents so intensely even though it had been so long ago now. He couldn't help but stare at her as he recalled what had happened that night, the sounds of the waves crashing being drummed out by the pounding in his chest.

"You don't talk about the sea very often," He stated while he turned to look back out across the ocean. He chewed on his lip again, unable to look back her yet, and finally brought himself to ask. "Did you live near the water, I mean, before everything?"

"I miss it," she said. She resisted the urge to look at him, keeping her gaze trained out in the distance. She felt the emotion register in her face, though. A slight coming-together of her eyebrows. An ache in her chest reflected in her eyes. “I lived near the water… For a while,” she said. “I moved when I was quite young, but there was water in both places.” She crossed her arms again, holding herself tightly. For a second, she imagined herself back there. Had she ever told him she’d gone diving when she was a child? Magically aided, with her father.

On an isle so small, the ocean was an important part of everyday life. The creatures that came along its rocky coast, the weather, access to different parts of the island; everything was dependent on the tides. A part of her wanted to share it with him, share that part of herself. All of the grief that came with it, too. “The ocean feels like home,” she breathed, like it was a secret. She took a deep breath in through her nose again, smelling the rain and the rocks and the salt.

She blinked just then, and looked at him, meeting his eyes. She felt very vulnerable, but she was sure he felt vulnerable here too, after everything. All opened up. After a moment, she glanced down at his hand and back to his eyes. She reached to link hands together, interlaced their fingers slowly. “It was the sea, and books,” she offered. “Or parchment, maybe. Old parchment.” She paused, her lips slightly parted, “Um. Rain, especially at night. And wildflowers – moly – especially in the day.” After a second, she added softly, "Thunderstorms and what?"

Phillip grew still when she started speaking, not wanting to interrupt her in anyway. He thought this might have been the most she'd ever told him about her past and he didn't want to miss any of it. As much as he tried to be stoic and keep his own emotions under wraps there was something comforting about Billie that always helped him open up. He felt safe sharing his past, and his pain, with her and he would of liked to be that same safe space for her, if she'd let him. He never wanted to ask though. He'd hate it worse if she felt pressured than if she never shared anything with him. He listened closely as she told him she used to live near the water, and moving, and he assumed both places had meant her family home and again with her aunt, the place she had been before she moved in with Kendrick. She'd lost two homes, she'd lost so much, sometimes he forgot how familiar she was with the things he was struggling with too. Briefly he wondered if that was why they had bonded but he tried to not put too much stock in their tragedies. He wanted to think they were so close because of who they were and not what they had lost. Phillip felt like their connection was greater than just the fact that they were essentially both orphans.

"Maybe we can go back there.." He paused, wondering if he was being pushy or inconsiderate, and then finished the thought. "To your ocean." Of course he knew physically the entire ocean wasn't her home but he had to assume there was a very specific slice of it she clung so tightly to. He wanted to see where she grew up, he wanted to see and hear about her memories. It wasn't the first time he'd thought it but in this moment he desperately wanted to know everything there was to know about her. "I mean, only if you want." He added at the last moment, needing her to know it was entirely her choice.

The conversation turned back around to her amortentia and he nearly looked away but the feeling of her locking his fingers in his made him feel comfortable again. He'd made such a fool of himself that night. Part of him needed to know how he had accidentally gotten his hands on the potion, half wondering if it was the insane substitute who'd had the good idea to have them brew love potions in the first place playing a prank on them. The other part wanted to forget it had happened entirely. More than he remembered how it made him feel that night he remembered the dread he'd suffered the next morning when he realized he might have ruined their friendship forever.

As she told him about what it scents it had for her he couldn't help but try to understand each one of them. He understood the sea now, though probably not completely, but some what. He couldn't help but give her a small grin when she mentioned books and old parchment, her ravenclaw blood shining right on through. Wildflowers stumped him though, especially that she had named a specific type during a specific time of the day. He knew enough to know it couldn't of just been that she thought they were pretty. With that much detail there had to be a more significant meaning behind it and he opened his mouth to ask what it was just as she was asking him about his.

He paused, not knowing how to properly articulate the fact that the aroma had actually been more of a feeling, maybe even a something that it reminded him of. The power of scents was so closely linked to memory it could of been either really, or both. He looked toward his feet and clenched his jaw for a moment as he thought deeply about how to answer. "It was like a memory I suppose." He said, closing his eyes as he recalled the fragrance like it was yesterday. The potion unlocked something different for everyone and for Phillip it was something specific. Something he hadn't wanted to untangle back then, something he wasn't ready to face. "Kind of like a feeling if that makes sense?" He turned to look back at her and swallowed nervously. "It's going to sound stupid but it made me think of the safe feeling of wrapping up in warm blanket. You know, like right out of the dryer warm." He shrugged his shoulders, pulling on her hand a little because of the height difference.

"It was like home." He knew he sounded like an idiot saying it, like some sappy romantic novel fan, but it didn't mean what he said wasn't true. And he wouldn't of admitted it to anyone but her. He hadn't even wanted to come to terms with it himself honestly. The thought of her reminding him of home had terrified him at the time. It still did. Because even though that was wonderful and amazing he was scared of losing her just like he had lost everything else. He took a beat, blinking a few times, and returned her questions.

"Moly? Why that flower specifically?"

Her eyebrows came together a little more when he suggested going back to where she’d grown up. He didn’t know, couldn’t possibly know, how badly she wanted that. He didn’t know that she was actually born in Germany, or that she’d lived somewhere secret and concealed for most of her childhood. There were so many things that he didn’t know about her, but if she took that thought too far along its path, things started unwinding and fraying in a way that stole her breath from her chest. So she stopped following it.

Only if you want, he added, and she almost wanted to cry. “One day, maybe,” she replied softly. She wondered if she would ever go back to that place. If she would ask Kendrick to take her, or if she’d take herself one day.

Like a memory, he said. She nodded at that. Hers were like memories, too; she wasn’t sure the rain smelled different in the night to the way it smelled in the day, but the feeling was one of rain at night, outside a window.

It made her think of her father, sitting by her bed when she’d been very young and still afraid of thunder. It made her think of Kendrick, who’d held her hand when she’d cried her eyes out after her father had died. She had a specific memory of sitting on his bed – the one he’d generously given up for her – while it poured outside, the sound covering up her little sobs. It was the kind of memory that made her physically hurt to relive, but also one that she associated strongly with her love for Kendrick, and how grateful to the brim she was to have someone like him caring about her.

“Out of the dryer?” she repeated, understanding from context but probing gently to understand the specific reference. She nodded at the mention of home, too. Her potion had smelled like home. Like the ocean. Like being safe, somewhere in the past and in the present at the same time. She gave his hand a small squeeze.

He asked about the flower. She squeezed his hand again, looking out at the sea once more. She really shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t like a detail like that mattered too much, but chipping at the walls was a dangerous thing. Far too dangerous to slip, even here. Mentally, she pulled herself back a little – something she hadn’t had to actively do in years. “They grew some, when I was young,” she said, knowing he would understand that she meant her parents.

“Have you ever read the Odyssey? It was the flower Hermes gave to Odysseus when he went to rescue his friends from Circe – the one who turned all of the men into pigs?” She glanced at him to check if he knew the reference. After a second, she leaned into him a bit, shivery again now that his charm had worn off, and they were still damp from the sea mist.

Even as he brought it up Phillip wondered how the idea of her going back home would make her feel. She replied quietly, and he wasn't sure what that had really meant, but he didn't push the subject. If she wanted to go he hoped she would ask. He would love to bring her there, or any where she wanted to go really, but he wouldn't ask again unless she brought it up. He wasn't as good at this side of things as she was. He tried to listen and understand and put himself in her shoes but he struggled. She seemed to be so naturally gifted at being a good friend, in a way he envied that, but only because he wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be so much more than he was.

He'd nearly lost himself thinking and talking about the way the potion had smelled and what it had reminded him of. Her question about the muggle contraption that heated up wet clothing brought him back. It reminded him that he knew she was a pureblood even though she'd never explicitly said it. There was just certain things about her, ways she had of doing and saying things, and especially these sorts of questions, that had made it easy to peg. Even if he didn't know much about her family or her life before going to her Aunt's and then Kendrick's he felt like he'd put together some clues over the years. "Oh it's.." he shrugged, feeling silly talking about muggle devices in the midst of the weightier things they had been discussing this afternoon but he finished anyway. "It's like a big box you put wet clothes in, it dries them quickly and they come out warm." The idea caused him to shiver and reminded him of the spell he'd cast some time ago. It had faded out almost entirely now and he wondered if she was cold.

Knowing what she meant by they and waiting for her to continue before he spoke Phillip remained quiet. He listened to her recount one of the stories from Homer's poem with an interested look. He remembered reading about Odysseus and how long he'd spent trying to return home only to find it was nothing like what he had left. That had resonated with him when he read it, and it still did now. He nodded along as she spoke of the flower and Circe and the men. "Do you think he'd of been better off never returning to Ithaca?" Phillip asked her quietly. He'd spent a fair bit of time debating that question with himself. By the time he'd returned all of his men had died, everything was different, and it was never going to go back to the way it was. He had to kill as many men before he could reveal who he was. He shrugged at the thought, turning to look out to the sea.

The sun was starting to go down now and that mixed with the mist from the sea the air around them was getting chillier by the moment. He pulled out his wand and repeated the warming charm around them. Even though it was bigger and stronger this time because he was more focused on it Phillip still took a side step toward her. His want to be closer had nothing to do with temperature.