One
Confessor and James sat opposite each other at the dining room table. The clock on the hutch chimed twice, breaking the silence. Confessor had expected the girls to be back by now, but he wasn't too concerned. He knew how important their excursion was, and important excursions tended to make generous use of time.
James folded his hands underneath his chin. Confessor smiled; the more he was around his wife's cousin, the more he realized how much they were alike. Their noses and foreheads tensed similarly. Confessor guessed they probably strategized the same way. How else could they make such good professional partners?
"Bishop to h8." James said at the chess board in front of him.
The white bishop stepped diagonally down the board on the black squares, waving diplomatically to Confessor's black knight as he did so. The dark horse whinnied and reared angrily. James laughed as his bishop smashed his staff into the black, corner rook, diminishing it to rubble. Confessor shook his head.
"Laugh all you want, but you won't be able to stop my pawn on the d-file."
James leaned back in his chair. "I know. I'm a lost cause at chess. I just like to see the bishop attack things with his staff."
Confessor looked at the balloons tied to the banister behind James. Last year they were pink, and this year they were a more seasoned purple. Confessor liked them better pink.
"So what was it like for you, getting your first wand?" James asked.
"It was no big deal. My grandfather had a spare one and told me I could have it, as long as I kept it clean. I never did, and it broke my first year at school."
"Morgan told me Circe turned her pillow into a block of ice in her sleep last week."
Confessor nodded. Circe had been showing her magic in fits and starts for several months now. Before that, there was nothing. He and Morgan worried at one point she might be a squib.
"Yes, we are so proud."
The front door burst open, and Circe ran into the house breathless.
"Dad, Dad! Check it out!"
Circe held up a wand. It was a foot long and slightly crooked.
"It's beautiful, honey."
Circe was glowing with joy and excitement, and Confessor hoped his own melancholy didn't register in his eyes. The image of Circe holding her first wand wouldn't leave him, he figured. Like every child, Circe was eager to shed her youth and step into adventure. Her wand would help her achieve power, maturity, but her life from this point would always be one of accommodation; essentially, her destiny was wrapped around the thin, wooden stick. Her fingers from now on would be exposed without it. Confessor sighed and again languished after Circe's pink balloons from her tenth birthday.
"So what's it made of?" James asked pleasantly.
Circe beamed. "It's willow with a core of. ." Circe inadvertently flicked it as she answered James. Before she could finish talking, the balloons on the banister exploded.
"Circe, let me have it for a second." Morgan instructed as she walked into the house. Jaime, James' fiancée, followed her.
"Wow, that store was incredible!" She exclaimed. James stood up and put his arms around her. Confessor wondered at what point her waist would no longer feel fresh to his hands. Confessor rose and kissed his wife. Her lips were familiar and lovely. Confessor told himself freshness in a relationship is overrated. Comfort counted for so much more.
Morgan broke from Confessor, and Circe reluctantly handed over her wand. Morgan squatted and smiled at her daughter. Confessor loved seeing them together. He prayed Morgan would always have a reason to look as happy with Circe as she did at that moment.
"Remember what we talked about. No wand use unless Daddy or I are with you." Morgan looked at the knobby wood and seemed conflicted; Confessor guessed she had the urge not to return it to Circe, as if that would keep her young forever. Circe shuffled her feet.
"Can we practice now?" She pleaded.
Morgan paused and looked up.
"Jaime, James, you wouldn't mind sitting through a quick lesson?"
Jaime and James sat down. They held each other's hand on the tabletop.
"Not at all! I think it would be wild!" Jaime replied.
Morgan again examined Circe's wand. She rolled it in her fingers several times, allowing the wood to familiarize itself with her touch. Finally, she offered it back to Circe.
"The first thing you must know, Circe, is that your wand is a part of you. It is your most treasured possession. It is a key, but unlike a normal one that can open a door to a house, your wand has the potential to unlock anything you want. It is only a question of will and skill. The skill myself, Daddy, and your teachers can help you with. The will is up to you."
Circe frowned as she looked at her wand. "Will? I thought I just had to use the incantation."
Morgan took off her garnet ring and put it on the table.
"Go ahead. Make my ring float. Say, 'Wingardium Leviosa' and wave your wand."
Circe grinned enthusiastically and took a step back. She raised her wand. Confessor knew the day would come when he would witness this scene, but now that it was playing out in front of him, it didn't seem completely real. The tempo of it was blurry, like a Quidditch team racing past you on their brooms. He observed his daughter's eager eyes and radiant smile. He admitted to himself Circe came home from the wand shop not exactly older, but less incomplete.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Circe recited. She brushed her wand through the air. The ring remained motionless. She looked tediously at Morgan, who did not seem perturbed.
"How did it feel to wave it?" She asked casually.
Circe ignored her question. "How come nothing happened?"
"Because the incantation is rarely enough. You have to want the ring to rise in the air. Also, 'listen' to your wand; there are ways to wave it and ways not to. It will guide you if you allow it."
Circe looked confused. Confessor could practically hear her confidence crash down the steps of her psyche.
"Take a deep breath, sweetheart. Nothing wondrous is going to happen right away. Have patience." He advised.
Circe brought her wand up again and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she glided her wand across the air and repeated the incantation. This time the ring jumped an inch off the table and fell to the floor. Jaime clapped her hands.
"Circe, that was great!"
Circe glared at Jaime. "No, it wasn't!"
Morgan retrieved her ring and stood up. "We'll continue another time. Don't be sore. Ms. Jaime is right. For your first time you did well."
Circe nodded her head resignedly and stored her wand within her robes. Confessor stood up. Circe's wand was the most important gift she would ever receive, for any birthday, but it was a complicated present; almost equal measures of joy and pain were included with it. He preferred that the pain not win this day.
"Sweetheart, why don't you help me out with the cake in the kitchen? I'll let you decorate it anyway you want."
Circe grinned. "Can I use my wand?"
Confessor exhaled. He wondered how often he was going to hear that question.
"We'll see. Come on."
Two
Morgan sat at the kitchen table, letting her mug of coffee warm her hand. From the living room, she heard Circe and her friends laughing over a story Confessor was reading to them. Confessor had a great narrating voice, and Circe and the girls had apparently picked up on this. He could captivate an audience with the simplest words on a printed page. Morgan considered how she took this quality and so many others for granted every day. Confessor filled out their home with life and pleasantness, and Morgan loved him for it. They were in separate rooms, and yet Morgan felt immensely close to him.
Sally's parents, Lionel and Lorna, along with James and Jaime, were sitting with Morgan, slowly consuming slices of birthday cake. Morgan watched as Lionel brushed the front of his robes after each bite. She put her hand to her mouth to hide her smile. Lorna was looking at Jaime.
"So, Jaime, Morgan tells us you two are getting married. How go the plans?"
Jaime put her coffee on the table. "Oh, gosh, we haven't even picked a hall yet! Everything has been so crazy the last couple months, I haven't hunkered down and gotten serious yet. James and I were supposed to go over the guest list last weekend, but that writer from that magazine stopped by and interviewed James. What was it called, honey? Pen and Magic?"
Lionel stopped brushing off his robes. The skin covering his long nose contracted.
"Ink and Magic?"
Jaime gestured affirmatively and nodded. "That's the one! Morgan and Confessor told us the issue should be out on Wednesday."
Lionel turned to James. "What is the piece about, if you don't mind me asking?"
Morgan saw James look Lionel in the eye. He answered after a second.
"A Muggle's experiences inside professional Aurorship."
Morgan detected James' dislike of the word 'Muggle'. She knew her cousin had no fear being the person he was most comfortable being, but given the choice, he would rather fit in than jump out. Lionel leaned back. He attempted to look relaxed, although Morgan suspected he was not.
"And what have been your experiences?" Lionel didn't bother to ask if he minded the question.
James swallowed and attempted to smile. He glanced quickly at Morgan.
"Not exactly what I expected. Although I can't say for sure what I expected anyway."
Lorna laughed, but Lionel did not.
"You'll forgive me for saying so, but there are those of us who believe it is not in society's best interest for the USLA to recruit Muggles."
Morgan's stomach rippled with coldness. Jaime was staring at Lionel dumbfounded, but James merely nodded.
"Yeah, I heard that one. I guess it's a good thing I'm not on their payroll."
Morgan desired at that moment to make a better acquittal of her cousin, but to her surprise, it was Jaime who spoke up first.
"James helps handle the Muggle components of Wizarding crime. Isn't that what you told me, James?"
Morgan jumped in before James could answer.
"You know, Lionel, if the League felt James' presence was harmful to society, we wouldn't have him around." Morgan's voice was not loud, but she felt she was clear enough to deliver her opinion on the matter. James laughed.
"Harmful or not, I have a good partner, so it evens out."
Lionel bowed his head and smiled graciously. "Of course, but were there ever a Dark uprising here, as there was in Britain and Europe several years ago, we might consider ourselves safer behind the wands of Aurors as opposed to the handguns of the FBI."
Morgan felt a splash of rage inside her chest. As before, it was Jaime who answered first. Morgan was actually reassured by this; Jaime might as well get used to being the first to defend her fiancée and future husband, if a defense he ever needed.
"James has more than proven himself in action! He's battled monsters, goblins, Dark wizards. Heck, he's even won a wand!"
Something heatless and smothering descended on the kitchen table suddenly. Lorna, who had been glancing diffidently at her husband as he attempted to structure his argument, looked shocked and offended. Lionel stiffened and shrunk the corners of his trembling mouth. He no longer attempted to disguise his feelings. Morgan could practically see his heart beating beneath his robes.
"What did you say?" He asked Jaime quietly.
Jaime's fire was extinguished when she saw Lionel's transformation. She paused before repeating herself.
"He's won a wand."
Lionel put his hands on the table and stood up slowly. Lorna mirrored his movements. Morgan stepped in.
"Lionel, Lorna, please take a deep breath. ."
Lionel did not remove his eyes from James. His pupils seemed to have the consistency of rock.
"Lorna, summon Sally. We're leaving."
He swept from the kitchen with Lorna in his wake. Morgan noticed James was still smiling, but not comfortably. She followed Lionel and Lorna out into the dining room.
"Lionel, please calm down. Don't make a scene in front of the girls." Morgan was glad her voice did not carry across the giggles from the living room. Lionel turned around quickly. His robes collided briefly with Morgan's.
"Thank you for having us over, Morgan. I will not pause to say the same to Confessor. It might be for the best if Sally does not visit anymore."
Morgan's pleading look became a glare.
"You would deny Circe and Sally their companionship because of your wounded pride?"
Lionel moved his outraged face closer, but did not respond. He turned back around and marched into the living room. Morgan followed only to the doorway. She knew a lost battle when she saw one.
Lionel and Lorna bent down and picked Sally up off the floor. The other girls looked at them curiously. Morgan prayed the children would be shielded from the harsh emotions of the parents. Confessor stopped reading.
"Lionel, Lorna, are you well?"
They did not answer but instead forcefully escorted Sally out of the house. Circe and the girls frightfully looked around, as if their own parents were about to Apparate and whisk them away. Circe stood up and went to Morgan.
"Mom, why did Sally leave?" She asked. Morgan was thankful her manner was calm. Morgan caught Confessor's eye; he seemed to understand what happened, even though he didn't hear a word that was spoken in the kitchen. Morgan bent down towards her daughter.
"Mr. and Mrs. Best weren't feeling well."
Circe raised her black eyebrow. "How come they didn't ask Dad to help them?"
Morgan looked over Circe's head and noticed all the girls were staring at them. She flashed a quick smile.
"It's not the kind of sickness Daddy can fix."
Three
Jaime looked at James' long blond wand on the mantle. She liked it there. Her only regret was she didn't have a decorative support base so it could stand straight. As it was, it would have to lay on its side, almost invisible against the carved edge of the mantle. Perhaps the less conspicuous it appeared, the better. She would have a hard time explaining to guests what exactly it was and how James had acquired it.
She picked up the wand and let it tumble down her fingers into her palm. The smooth, straight wood felt completely normal, except for the fact it was slightly heavier than what she would expect. She wondered what it would feel like in her hand if she were a witch. Would the wand communicate with her? As things currently stood, she heard nothing. Jaime felt indistinct, like one of a billion blades of grass surrounding a tall, red rose.
James walked into the living room with his ear pressed against his cell phone. After a minute he closed the lid and put the phone in his pocket. He plopped down on the couch, raised his arms to the cushions behind him, and breathed out. He noticed Jaime looking at him and he smiled.
"That was Morgan. She just wanted to apologize again."
Jaime sat down next to her fiancée and nestled her head into the crook of his arm. She loved being close to him like this, as if he was a warm cabin on a cold night in the woods.
"She shouldn't have to apologize. I still can't believe they just got up, took their daughter, and left. Is the wand that big a deal?"
James stretched his back, pushing Jaime from her spot.
"I guess it's what separates us."
Jaime held the wand out in front of her and gave it a wave. James laughed.
"How does it feel to wave it?"
Jaime placed the wand on the coffee table and snuggled back against James.
"What does it feel like to you?"
Jaime waited a second before James answered. She took a deep, pleasant breath of his cologne. She heard James' open his mouth.
"It's weird. It's like there's someone inside it who doesn't want to get out."
Jaime looked again at the blond wand on the table. She was glad she placed it pointing away from them.
"Did you ever think about turning it in?"
James laughed again. "Jeez, Jaim, you make it sound like it's illegal to own!"
Jaime thought about Lionel and Lorna Best and their revulsion at James. People were such complicated, such mentally massive beings, it was almost unfathomable some could allow a frail piece of wood to create such divisions and hard feelings. Or maybe it was completely fathomable. Jaime wondered if Circe thought herself a bigger person because she came home with a wand. She remembered what Morgan said, how a wand was a key that could unlock things, but Jaime thought otherwise. The 'someones' trapped inside wands were most likely laughing at the chaos they were creating. Wands to Jaime were nothing but crutches.
"Maybe you should get rid of it."
James bent over and plucked the wand from the table. He pondered its shape.
"It does nothing for me, but that's not the point. I'm going to keep it, because I have to feel like I'm worthy of it."
Jaime closed her eyes. At least the mantle would be a nice place to look at.
Four
Confessor finished reading the last paragraph of the chapter before he put his book on the bedside table, and found satisfaction. He hated falling asleep in the middle of someone's written ideas. He watched Morgan undress and crawl into bed next to him. He snuffed the candle and closed his eyes.
"You played it well today. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. You handled it with dignity." He told her softly.
Morgan nudged closer to Confessor and draped her arm across his chest. He felt her breath on his shoulder. Confessor imagined a mouse fanning its tail against his skin. He smiled to himself.
"I can't control what they do with Sally, but I'm not telling Circe to stay away." Morgan stated. "I won't be the one to set up the fence."
Confessor ran his hand up his wife's arm. She was so unconscious of cutting him out of the decision process when it came to their daughter, he almost found it cute.
"Lionel and Lorna are decent folks. They'll come around and admit their mistake."
"He looked so cold at the kitchen table. Why did he have to press the issue?"
Confessor enjoyed the darkness and how it slowly allowed the bedroom its subtle visibility. So many people feared the dark, but to Confessor the darkness was a place where nothing bad and bright could occur.
"Having James involved is a new concept for so many people. A lot of us don't like things that are new."
Morgan tapped her fingers against Confessor's collarbone.
"Well, we're going to have to get used to it. I feel like headquarters is the only place where wizards don't have their heads buried in the sand. Everyone needs to wake up and realize we can no longer consider ourselves a bunch of wise shepherds overlooking the flock. Muggles have technology, greater access to information, and vastly superior numbers. If we want to continue living on this planet, it's going to have to be in coordination and not in conflict."
Confessor stroked his wife's long hair. He regretted the darkness didn't at least allow him to behold its amber charm. He loved it when Morgan uttered inspired speech. He pictured himself as a rain cloud gazing at the small, pretty witch on the ground while she made her noble points at the sky as to why it shouldn't storm.
"Is that what you're going to tell the reporter tomorrow?"
Morgan paused. Confessor felt her swallow against his ribs.
"I should have told her no. What do the papers want with me anyway?"
Confessor chuckled. He couldn't tell if she was purposely being naïve. For a second he was reminded of Circe throwing a boa around her shoulders and strutting around the house like a queen.
"You've sort of made a name for yourself, babe. And besides, isn't publicity good for the new order you have in mind?"
"Being an Auror makes things complicated. I don't want my image and personal information thrown around too much in public. But you're right. The concept has to be put out there. Wouldn't it be nice to live in a world where Lionel and Lorna wouldn't stomp out of our house?"
Confessor squeezed his wife and kissed her on top of her head. He would never say it to Morgan, but he did not share in her idealism. He didn't believe people were strong enough to drop their conceits in order to collectively prosper. There were too many circumstantial variables, too many psychological complexities. Conflict was at the heart of the human experience. Morgan, even with her vast quantity of skill, charisma, and determination, was fighting a losing battle. He loved her all the more because of it. She was his tragic heroine. At the end of the day her tears would fall, but Confessor would be there to comfort and heal her, so she might yet again pick up her wand and do battle in the morning.
"Come here, babe." He whispered.
Morgan arched her head back and peered at him in the darkness. She moved towards him and kissed him. Confessor stroked her cheek. Her skin was smooth, but even if it wasn't, Confessor knew that no number of wrinkles would ever keep his fingers away from her face.
Five
Morgan sat at the dining room table, going over a scroll from the office. The hard sleet was beating steadily against the window. The doorbell rang. Morgan took a deep breath.
"I got it!" Circe shouted as she bolted across the house into the living room. She threw the door open and was greeted by a plump witch in a broad hat.
"You must be Circe! I'm with the New York Mage. Is your mother home?"
Morgan smiled as she walked behind Circe.
"Hello. Morgan Westerling. Please, come in."
"Marigold Venable. It's so nice to meet you! Love the tattoo!"
After shaking Marigold's chilled hand, Morgan drew her wand and waved it at the reporter; instantly, her clothes became dry. Marigold laughed.
"Ha! Clever spell, clever spell, but I guess I should expect nothing less."
Morgan figured she would be flattered at many points during the interview, no doubt as a ploy to soften her up for questioning. She grinned to herself.
"Please sit down. Circe, dear, why don't you pour Mrs. Venable a cup of coffee? Or perhaps you prefer tea?"
Marigold merrily waved her off as she sat on the sofa. "Tea sounds great, thank you very much."
Circe ran out of the living room, and Morgan sat back against her chair. She had logged hundreds of field hours in live combat. She vowed not to let a newspaper witch intimidate her.
Marigold removed her cloak and hat and pleasantly looked around the living room.
"Your home is lovely! I take it your husband is at the hospital today?"
Morgan nodded. "He sends his regrets."
Circe re-entered the room carrying a tray with cups, saucers, a bowl of sugar, and a pot of tea. After placing it on the coffee table, she skipped away.
Marigold plucked from her robes a notepad and quill. She swiped her wand over both, causing them to hover steadily over her shoulder. She smiled at Morgan. Morgan was a little surprised at how young she was.
"Thank you so much for meeting with me today!" Marigold began. "I will explain what I want to accomplish. There has been a lot of talk surrounding recent Auror exploits, and your name has consistently come up, along with your partner's. Of course, your raid in Tennessee has pushed you right into the limelight, and I want to get your take on all that's been going on. Hopefully this won't take very long, as I can imagine you want to get back to enjoying your Sunday, weather be darned."
Morgan bowed her head. "I will answer truthfully the questions you ask, but be warned there are some issues I cannot talk about."
Marigold poured herself a cup of tea. "I understand completely! Let me know when you're ready, and I'll begin. You'll see the quill write above me, and that's how you'll know you're on record."
Morgan looked at the quill and pad. She couldn't recall if she ever pictured herself being interviewed by the Mage while she was at school. Her job could be exciting, she admitted, but at what point did it become newsworthy?
"I'm ready when you are."
Marigold's smile adopted a cunning tilt. She took a sip of tea.
"Well, of course I want to talk about your cousin, James, so I might as well start with him. Is it true the two of you were estranged until recently?"
"We weren't estranged. We simply did not know of each other's existence."
Marigold squinted slightly as she nodded. Morgan guessed she didn't believe her answer. Morgan didn't care.
"Why is that?"
"There was a separation between his mother and my father before we were born."
Morgan saw the quill above Marigold scribble energetically on the pad. She wondered how ridiculous her answers appeared in print.
"Can you elaborate on that?"
Morgan swallowed and kept her face still. "No, I can't."
Marigold's smile did not waver. "How would you describe your relationship with James?"
"James and I work very well together. We've survived up to this point, which counts for something." Morgan paused and dropped her guard for an instant. "I don't consider him my cousin. I consider him my brother."
Marigold appeared touched. Either she was moved by Morgan's sentiment, or she sniffed something splendid she could sink her pen into.
"In your professional life, he is your partner, and yet he is a Muggle. Has that had any effect on how you work together?"
"No. Partners team well together because of their knowledge of each other's movements, patterns, and styles. It doesn't really matter if you have a wand or not. The wand is an instrument, an important one, indeed, but the importance of the actual person is greater. James is more than qualified to handle magical assignments. He's proven so time and time again."
"Can you envision a scenario where Muggles routinely enter the Auror ranks and work together with witches and wizards in cooperation?"
Morgan thought Marigold could not have phrased her question in a more leading manner.
"Yes, I can."
It was Marigold who paused this time. Perhaps she found an entirely new light in which to view her subject. To Morgan's surprise, she shifted gears.
"After your attack on the Deegans, at the follow-up briefing, it was observed you and James wear identical rings. Is there any significance to that?"
Morgan stared at Marigold. She did not like obliviously having details picked off her person, or James', for that matter.
"The rings are family heirlooms. We just happen to own and wear them."
"Do they have magical properties?"
"I can't comment on that."
Marigold took another sip of tea. "Is it true you and James were the ones who destroyed the Fifth Wand?"
"I cannot comment on that."
"Is it true you and James were the ones who stopped that boy at Salem from killing all those people at the concert in November?"
"I'm sorry, but I cannot comment on that either."
Marigold looked flustered. "Can you at least talk about the Halloween Quidditch match?"
Morgan poured herself a cup of tea. "Okay."
Marigold loudly exhaled. "According to sources, you saved over eight hundred lives that night. What happened?"
Morgan brought the cup to her lips. The tea was fragrant, but weak. She should have brewed a stronger blend.
"What happened? The people were in danger, they panicked, I did not, and Confessor and I were able to rescue them." Morgan became irritated at the furiously moving quill, but oddly she didn't desire it to cease its scratching. "It wasn't a miracle, and I'm not a hero because of what I did. I simply made a rational choice. If I had acted irrationally, everyone, including myself and my family, would have perished. Don't you see? People talk all the time these days about how they are not free to make decisions, because of their emotional chemistries, because of the contingencies around them, but reason gives us that choice. I don't believe in fate or destiny. I believe in my will to affect the outcome of a situation. Muggle science at some point may prove me wrong, maybe it already has, but that's not how we should live our lives." Morgan reached again for her cup; she noticed her hand was shaking. "People want to be critical of James' role in the USLA, but they are considering his appointment from a prejudiced viewpoint. If he is able to do the job, and is willing to do the job, then for God's sake he should do it. The total product of the equation is what counts, and what do we want the product to be? We want happiness, harmony, peace, justice, for all, Muggles, witches, and wizards alike. If some do not desire these products, and work toward obliterating their influences, my wand is very capable of making shackles inscribed with their names." Morgan took a breath. She saw Marigold was gaping at her gleefully. After another minute the quill stopped dancing over the pad. Morgan wished she had gotten a little more sleep the previous night.
Six
THE UNEXPECTED AUROR – A MUGGLE'S JOURNEY INTO WIZARDING DEFENSE
by Romeo Melchor
Imagine yourself walking back from a Quidditch match late one evening. The wind is pleasant, the moon is glorious, and your family is elated by the home team seeker's incredible catch. Suddenly, all around you, a Dark army Apparates, a legion of death-eaters reincarnated. You reach for your wand, even though you know any magic you are able to muster will be ineffective against such numbers. Before any curses are cast, however, the circle is mowed down by a blast of Stunning spells. You look over at your savior, and instead of taking in the deep amber cloak of a seasoned Auror, you behold. . a Muggle?
In yesteryears this scenario would be completely unimaginable, but it is slightly less so today, thanks to James McBride of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Most of his time is spent keeping an eye on his own Muggle community, but what's left over is now dedicated to policing the Wizarding world.
"It was normal at first. I knew it was going to be a different experience, but I didn't register the strangeness of it all until later." McBride, a thirty-two-year-old soon-to-be-former bachelor, reflects. "The shock is still with me. When I feel overwhelmed by it, I grab a beer."
How did McBride find himself in his new, amazing role? He has his witch cousin, Morgan Westerling, mostly to thank. Westerling, one of the most skilled and respected Aurors in the USLA, was assigned to McBride in the summer, as part of an experimental, Wizarding/Muggle co-op. "There was a rascally Muggle working with some bad-ass wizards, and I was approached to handle the non-magical end of it." McBride recalls. "The idea sort of took off from there. I haven't had any real complaints, except for the side-along Apparition. It gives me the runs."
McBride soon found himself honored with his own Auror brooch, and an official partnership with his cousin. "Morgan has been terrific to work with. She can cast a lot of neat spells. When she gets going in combat, I try to stay out of the way of her wand."
McBride working alongside Aurors in the field surely sounds diplomatic and symbolic, but how can a Muggle truly stand toe-to-toe with the highly trained, highly disciplined Aurorship of the League? Please note it has not yet been written that McBride, while a Muggle, is a stranger to the use of magic. "Yeah, my (Muggle handgun) is enchanted." McBride admits. "I can fire Stunning spells with it and stuff. Morgan has a real knack at fixing it up."
So what have been the most memorable moments so far for this pioneering protector? "I enjoyed fighting the undead dragons in October. Watching their heads fall off after I shot them was kind of funny, except, of course, for the fact they were trying to kill everybody." McBride remembers. "Breaking up the counterfeiting ring in Tennessee was great, too. At one point during the op, I forgot I was a Muggle, and felt like part of the team. I hope that day I earned the respect of my magical peers."
Earn it he most certainly did. Chief Wizard Ferdinand Glover has gone on record stating his satisfaction with McBride's work within the League, and has hinted at continued assignments.
But what effect has this had on McBride's fiancée? According to him, she has been fascinated with the ongoing ordeal, and hopes greatly for her future husband to continue his successful, mystical tour. "She's been real understanding through the whole process. She's been open to the new experience. It actually has been great for our relationship." McBride confesses with a scratch of his neck.
And so, we must ask: Is this just the beginning? Can witches and wizards expect to see an Auror defense force shielding them with both wands and revolvers? If so, will witches and wizards accept such a dramatic change in their Aurorship? McBride, alas, can only shrug his muscular shoulders. "I have no idea what will come of this. No offense, but I don't really care that much. I want to deliver justice, to everyone. We're all human, we're all on Earth together. Let's all get along. Let's all respect the law."
With that said, we ask you not be preposterously stupefied if the next time you are attacked by a Dark wizard, it is the butt-end of a Muggle handgun that sends your wicked assailant defeated to the ground.
Seven
James opened up the newspaper to the fifth page after he closed his car door. There, in the top left corner, was the picture of Morgan from the day of the counterfeiting bust. She was sighing and looking up at the ceiling in the briefing chamber. James found it funny how the picture did nothing to complement the title of the article, 'Morgan Westerling, Auror of Reason, Seeks Justice for All'. It was as if she was listening to the title repeatedly and found it lamer and lamer with each pass through her brain.
James was moved by the way his cousin defended him in the press. He really didn't expect anything less, but still it was nice to read. Perhaps they would grow accustomed to communicating with each other through the papers, like two teammates on a professional football team, although James loathed the idea of being a celebrity. He was fortunate that in the Muggle world, where he spent most of his time, people paid no heed to his existence.
As he woke up that morning, Jaime raced into the bedroom and shoved the new copy of Ink and Magic magazine in his sleepy face. He saw himself on the cover, staring heroically off into the distance, wearing his black suit with his honorary Auror sash and brooch streaming diagonally down his chest. The caption read, 'A Muggle to the Rescue: James McBride, FBI Agent, Honorary Auror'. James wondered if the interns were the ones who came up with the blurbs to these pieces. If so, it was a good thing they weren't getting paid.
James understood why he was interviewed and featured on the cover. There was something startling and symbolic about his partnership with Morgan. He still figured it was useless to consider his role in such a grand light. He was around to fight bad guys, whether they were wizards or Muggles. People could consider him anyway they wished, as long as they let him do his job. People always made too much of things, even when things had a right to be made too much of.
He folded the paper up, tucked it in his pocket, and began walking gingerly across the parking lot, making sure to avoid the sooty islands of ice. He looked up at the alabaster sky and heard a pop to his left. Instinctively, he reached for his piece and spun around. On the grassy divider, with his navy blue cloak wrapped snuggly around him, was Lionel Best. James moved his hand away from his Glock, but only by a few inches. Lionel took a step towards James.
"Did I surprise you?" The wizard asked.
"Yeah, you did."
Lionel lowered his head. He somehow looked short, even though James knew he was as tall as he was.
"I don't want to keep you." Lionel looked past James into the maze of colored cars. "Listen, I was completely out of line Saturday night. I acted foolishly. When I heard your fiancée claim you won a wand, something stung me. I did little dignity to my feeling by behaving the way I did. I apologize."
James stared at Lionel for an instant before rubbing his chin in embarrassment. He didn't dislike the wizard, but he wished he hadn't Apparated in front of him like this with such a speech.
"Don't worry about it."
Lionel gazed at James. "I know what you do is honorable. I just have to adapt to the situation." He looked down. "You are worthy of coming to our defense."
James smirked. "I guess you read the article in Ink and Magic?"
Lionel smirked back. "No. I never really cared for that periodical. A little edgy for my tastes."
James felt surprised for a second time. Lionel made a quick bow, backed up a step, turned on his boot, and Disapparated with another pop. James resumed his pace across the lot. He would never get used to the ways of witches and wizards, no matter how long he associated with them.