Nichelle DeVera was a very content woman, a very content wife, and a very content mother. She was quite average in appearance; she had short, brown hair that reached to her chin and chocolate brown eyes. She was a healthy weight, for she did not believe in such words as skinny or fat, and was a bit small in height; only over five feet. She had had an average, normal childhood in an average, normal town in Little Whinging. She had gone to an average elementary school and graduated from an average, normal high school (or as normal as high school can get). She went on to major in literature and minor in fashion in an average at a not so normal college (because what college is normal?) and then she had graduated at twenty-two years old. Weeks later she had walked down a busy, average street that would lead to her new, average editorial job, and had bumped into a very not average, not so normal man.
Now thirty, she was happily married to that not so normal man. Her husband, Mordecai, had long ebony hair that he kept tied up and blue eyes as dark as the stormy ocean. He was quite tall, nearing seven feet, towering over her. He had a lean but dense build, and a hard stature that intimidated most people; it made his line of work a bit easier. And he was the most magical person in her life. Really. Discovering the magical community (and him) after college had been a bit of a shock to her, but she took it in stride, especially when the one introducing it to her was a drop dead gorgeous man that could actually make all her wishes come true. (Her first wish had been to quit her editorial job but that she had to do on her own.)
Her daughter, Roxanne, whom they had adopted at six, was the second most magical person in her life. This was because she was still in school, her second year at Hogwarts, and was nowhere near magical mastery…yet. If there was one thing Roxanne had inherited from her adopted father, it was his ability to transfigure and charm all that was within his reach. She would surely succeed as a brilliant witch. She had cinnamon, bouncy curls that stopped at her shoulders and bright, cerulean eyes. She was tall for her age, and very thin, but not too thin, or Nichelle would be writing much more often than she usually did. Thank god for school feasts…
Nichelle lived in a moderate house, a double ranch with white walls and gray roofing and trim, in a neighborhood her old classmate, Evans, would not approve of. She had many nice neighbors, muggle and magic, that did not feel the need to pry into her life, but were always welcome to her home. They often shared news with her over tea that poured itself and biscuits that cooked in a wave of her host's wands. She in turn showed them muggle magic, of lights that flicked on and off with a clap of one's hands, of blenders and coffee machines, of hostess channels and online recipes. The neighborhood was such a mish-mosh of magic and muggle that the Obliviators had stopped coming after the fifteenth time of erasing the minds of the entire block. It seemed silly really, why fret over things like pet nifflers and fairy light fixtures when they could spend time on more important things, like catching old Death Eaters? Such oddities that occurred in her friends' homes neither bothered nor scared her, in all honesty, those oddities were more normal to her now than her non-magical childhood had been.
She herself was an oddity, considering she was the best potioneer on the block. She was even better than her husband, though this could not readily be explained. Many wondered how she, a muggle, could be more potion oriented than her husband. It wasn't that hard to comprehend really. She had explained it to a neighbor of hers, who had asked her to help her with a pepper-up potion for her kids. The neighbor had been extremely shocked on finding out that Nichelle was a muggle. Nichelle had simply said back to the woman, "You only need to wave a wand once or twice for a potion and that's what my husband's for."
Her husband was currently away at the ministry, helping those that needed saving, searching for those who needed finding, and catching those who needed to be locked up in Azkaban for the rest of their miserable existences and then some. He was so brave, and with the other aurors by his side, they would find all of his followers sooner or later. He was currently looking for some of them now; he had found a new lead on an old case, and was hoping to find a few Death Eaters that had escaped the Ministry's watch.
She felt a small sense of dread drift over her for a second, and let out a long sigh. She loved her husband too much not to worry about him, despite his insistence on not to. Not that he was arrogant, oh no, then she would be doubly worried he'd do something idiotic and get himself killed. It seemed most of the cases he took on, whether new or old, ended up at dead ends, so he told her not to worry. But these were freakin' Death Eaters… it was hard not to think about Modecai suddenly being trapped by them, poisoned by them, kil-…
She began tidying her home so as to take her mind off… things. As she vacuumed her home and moved on to her daughter's dusty, but relatively clean room, she thought about Roxanne. Roxanne was at school; so there were no crumbs to vacuum from late night snacking, no bed to make, no papers or books to organize, just dust. Dust from a vacant room. Because she was at Hogwarts, far, far away… Geez, did all mothers think this much about their kids when they were away? Or had she gotten too use to having her daughter stay by her side? Determined to shake the growing depression, she tackled the dust bunnies with a vengeance. She would later sit down on her living room sofa and seek the only means of communication with her daughter, a letter.
I should send her some food as well, she thought. Upon finding that Red Vine® and Starbursts® did not exist in the magical world, Roxanne had sent home a desperate plea last year for as many muggle sweets as possible for their owl to deliver. Nichelle dusted the lights and hanging photos, the small people in the frames moving from the duster, and then left to find some stationary and a pen.
"Maybe I'll send some pie too," she thought as she glimpsed at the half eaten pumpkin pie that had been last night's dessert.
She turned to the kitchen and found a roll of parchment and her favorite purple pen, and then turned to sit in her living room. Her tawny owl, Selvi*, had noticed her, and flew off her perch in the kitchen to the arm of the sofa to wait for Nichelle's finished letter.
It was 4:37 in the afternoon when she started.
It was 7:45 in the evening when she looked away from the blank piece of parchment to her disgruntled owl.
"I can't think of anything to write," she said to the owl. "Nothing particularly news worthy has happened since last week, and come to think of it, I already sent brownies."
Selvi gave her a look of great exasperation and flew out the open window to socialize with the neighboring owls. Nichelle gave the blank parchment one more glance before she gave up and rolled it up into a tight scroll. She didn't bother getting up; instead she clipped the pen to the scroll and flung both into the kitchen. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced at the clock again. 7:53.
"If there's anything good on, it'll be at the end." She looked towards the pile of DVDs next to the television. The stack had been created on the last day of summer, before Roxanne's departure. That had been three months ago. She picked up the first movie on the pile without looking at it, placed it into the player and sat down to wait for her husband. There were perks to being a stay at home mum (she had ditched the editorial job to go back to school for majoring in fashion), the first being her flexible hours. She would sleep with her husband, or next to her husband, when he got home.
She had not realized that the movie she picked was the second Transformers movie when she sat down with a blanket, popcorn, ice cream and soda, but decided to leave it in lieu of switching to the first movie. After crying over Optimus' corpse and cheering the fall of The Fallen, and with Mordecai still not home after two and a half hours, she continued with the third installment and then the first Transformers. When that too had ended, she glanced up at the clock on the cable box.
"I might as a well have watched all six Star Wars, and that man is still not home!"
It was nearly four in the morning; what could possibly be taking this long? No matter how dangerous the mission, he had never been this late coming home.
"Never, not since-"
She started to pace between the living room and the kitchen. He had always come home between ten and twelve at night, occasionally one when there was paperwork to settle. But the last time her husband had been out this late, he had still been alive. That god damn Hitler reincarnation had threatened her family and her life, nearly kept her child from ever living in the magical world she was meant to strive in. Her daughter would've been persecuted, eradicated; Nichelle herself killed off, as well as her 'blood traitor' husband. But that had been three years ago...
"The-Boy-Who-Lived saw to his demise," she thought out loud, "but what of his followers? They were never as dangerous as him, never tried to start up again, rebuild. All the insane extremists are in Azkaban, only the imperused... or the supposed imperused are still out there." She couldn't keep the worry away. She kept pacing up and down between the kitchen and living room continually glancing at the clock. At some point she stopped and took one of the pictures of Mordecai off the wall. She stared at his handsome features, his strong jaw, his dark eyes, his determined air and stance, and at five o'clock she had reached her decision.
She reached into an old snuffbox, which did not contain tobacco, but a curious silvery powder. She would never let tobacco cross her doorstep; the last of her ancestors to smoke was her great grandfather. She relit the dying fire and threw a pinch of the floo powder into the flames. The fire turned an emerald green. She stepped into the flames and called out "The Ministry of Magic!"
A swirl of ash and a dizzy sensation followed, and then she found herself in the grand fireplaces of the ministry. She stepped out onto the black tile of the atrium, dusted her skirt off and looked up.
Everything was chaos.
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Hello! This LB, saying hi for the first time on FF. hope your enjoying so far. Just want to say, please disregard the years in which certain movies or products were made. I know transformers came out way pass the time of harry potters school years, just disregard that.
