FÀILTE
WELCOME TO THE FIRST OFFICIAL MEETING OF THE REVIVED AN COMANN BUIDSEACHD. THE INITIAL AIMS OF THIS MEETING ARE TO COME TO A CONSENSCUS ON THE AIMS OF AN COMANN AND TO EXPLORE POSSIBLE ACTION WE CAN TAKE OR PLAN TO TAKE TO ACHIEVE THOSE AIMS. IN PARTICULAR:
· A DEVOLVED SCOTTISH MINISTRY OF MAGIC
· ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE DISTINCT NATURE OF NATIVE SCOTTISH MAGIC
· THE POSSIBILITY OF SETTING UP AN INDEPENDENT SCOTTISH SCHOOL OF MAGIC SIMILAR TO THE SITUATION IN IRELAND
· DEMANDS FOR AN APPOLOGY ISSUED FROM THE LONDON-BASED MINISTRY FOR THE WRONGFUL AND UNJUST TREATMENT OF THE PREVIOUS INCARNATION OF AN COMANN BUIDSEACHD
Màiri still wasn't fond of apperating. She'd thought about trying floo powder but everyone was going to Mrs MacRath's house and Màiri hadn't actually met her yet, and the idea of just dropping into the living room of someone she'd never met before felt a bit rude, and the very idea of floo powder made her uneasy. At least she understood the mechanics of the magic behind apperation. But she had decided not to get a return ticket just in case she worked up the courage to give it a shot. Coming by muggle transport was usually not advised, but it was usually only pure-blood wizards who caused a scene. But she'd got the train from Glasgow queen street to Dundee, and a bus to Eassie farm. The walk from the bus stop wasn't long but she enjoyed it, the air was damp with drizzle, the quintessential Scottish weather. It felt appropriate, calm and hopeful, a hydrating breath before a great and fantastic downpour.
Travelling by muggle transport was for the best, because it drew less attention to them. They had chosen this dreary march morning because it was Betty MacRath's birthday, so the ministry wouldn't become suspicious of the influx of people travelling by the floo network to her house. Getting everyone into the magically concealed chamber beneath the church across the road from Mrs MacRath's house was going to be more challenging. The plan was to covertly try and move small groups over there at big enough time intervals that the other people in Eassie might just think it was the same group of people going between the house and the church repeatedly. And then they had to just pray that no one questioned how all these people got to be in Mrs MacRath's house with only one car parked in the driveway.
But she was just to go straight to the church. The entrance was easy, the door in the ruined stone wall was only visible to wizards. Hector of Fortingall, as the founder of the original An Comann Buidseachd had styled himself, was responsible for the cloaking charm. He was Bobby's cousin's great grandfather, and no doubt he was already telling everyone who was already downstairs all about him and 'The Great Injustice'. This village used to be a fairly even mix of wizards and muggles, but now it was just MacRath. It was more of a hamlet now though so at least the decline was mutual. Of all these graves she passed in the church yard, she wondered how many of them were magical. She recognised a handful of the old big names of Scottish wizarding families, the MacMhuirrichs, the MacPhees, the Beatons. She climbed over the scattered fallen stones inside the roofless building, and placed her hand on the wooden door and chuckled. Someone had scraped the words "buidseachd gun chànan" into the door. She knew the phrase they were referencing, and assumed she had to say the end of it to be let in.
"Buidseachd gun anam." She tried not to giggle. It was so typical of Bobby to do this, clearly on an impulse for extra protection as much as his ethereal views about language and magic. The door opened and she descended the spiral staircase.
Magic without Language, Magic without Soul.