Dreams Get Burned Down Overnight

[Lupus Jameshill]

12 July, 1887; 10 o'clock

For four days, Lou had been thinking and rethinking over this conversation in his head. Four days was not long to wait, considering that he hadn't known the truth for over six years prior to this, but now that the truth was so close, so tangible, they seemed to stretch on endlessly.

He hadn't seen Xena again. He'd managed to keep himself from trying to sneak any further glimpses of her, though every time he left Irvingly he hesitated for a moment in the apparition closet, contemplating how easy it would be. He knew where her house was. He thought he might even know which room was hers. He could be more careful, a second time.

Careful or not, though, it was dangerous. Far too dangerous. Particularly after the first time. Lou had no idea how Xena had reacted to the sound of him disapparating from her garden, or if she had even recognized the noise at all. His gut told him that she would have known what the sound was, though--and she would have known that there had been an adult witch or wizard hiding in the bushes outside her lawn. Someone who was either unable or unwilling to show themselves or speak to her. That probably wouldn't have sat well with anyone in the house. She couldn't possibly have known it was him, since he was dead, but it wouldn't have made it any easier to get closer to him again, if he did try it.

No, trying to see her was too risky. Besides, answers were coming... Wednesday.

He'd asked for the day off at the carpenter's, and the two Muggles he worked with had no reason to deny his request. His calendar with them was rather flexible, which suited his needs just fine--he didn't even come in the days after a full moon, and since they were Muggles, they neither noticed nor cared about the significance of that. He was able to get so much more done when he was in, through the use of magic, that they would hardly begrudge him a few days off here and there.

One apparition trip to the Casino, and then a floo trip to his father's house, and there he was. Finally, the conversation that he'd been waiting for--except now that he was actually here, stepping out of the green flames and into the older man's presence, he couldn't remember how he'd wanted to start. So much mental rehearsal, and here his throat had gone dry.

"Hi," he said as he stepped into the room, cheeks flushing slightly. "Thank you. For agreeing to talk to me."

@'Charles Jameshill' @'Odira Potter'