A/N: Written as Chaser 1 for Pride of Portree for QLFC Round 8
Dystopian Voldemort!wins AU. What happens to Muggle-borns?
Optional prompts: (word) cruel; (song) Centuries by Fall Out Boy; (word) allegiance
Thank you to my teammates for betaing this for me.
Word count: 2886
Humming to herself, May hoisted the final box of new stock onto the counter and ripped it open. As she pulled out bundles of bright swimwear and sun hats, she tried to ignore the blistering heat of the Australian summer. Three years in the country and the climate still felt overwhelming.
Still, no matter how much she missed Ireland, she refused to live through a war only to be cowed by something as trite as the weather.
At the thought of home, her hand darted towards the wand concealed in her skirt pocket. Nobody was around to see her; within moments, a quick spell would have the wares unpacking and sorting themselves while she poured herself some cold water.
But she knew that magic wasn't the way; not anymore. It might have been quick, but it was by no means cheap; after everything that had happened, using magic in public was too big of a risk. If anyone caught her, it would be the end for both her and her family.
Sighing, she pulled her hand back out of her pocket and returned to her work. It will get easier, she told herself, hoping that it wouldn't wind up being yet another empty platitude.
She worked in peace for a few minutes until the door opened and one of her co-workers, a young man named Josh, slipped into the backroom. "How's it going in here? It's slow out front, so Allison asked me to check in on you. Do you need any help?"
"That would be great," she replied, ignoring the look of disappointment that flitted across his face. She knew what they all thought of her, and that he would prefer to avoid her as much as possible. But that didn't mean she had to go along with it.
"We need to get some actual ventilation back here," he complained as he moved into place beside her. "This sort of heat shouldn't be legal."
"It really shouldn't. Hey, have you gone swimming in the lake before? I was thinking of heading over for a dip after my shift…"
"Yeah; it's nice down there. Just don't go and pull a Harold Holt on us."
"A what?"
"Right, you're Irish; sorry, I keep forgetting how little you know about Australia. Harold Holt was a former Prime Minister who went for a swim and never came back. Of course, someone then named a swimming pool after him. Irony at its finest, right?"
She shuffled her weight from one foot to the other. It seemed strange to be able to joke around about death and politics as if they were hollow words with no real life connotations; to her, both concepts were far too real and painful to joke about. "Right," she said, but her voice was flat as memories sprung to life about those who hadn't made it out of the United Kingdom in time. "I'll make sure not to do that."
"I bet you have all sorts of interesting stories about Ireland," he prompted.
"Er, not really," May said, her mind still far away. "Life's the same everywhere, I guess."
After a long pause, he asked, "What sort of music do you like?"
His words cut through the fog of nostalgia, and she stiffened in response. After receiving her letter for Hogwarts, she hadn't seen much point in keeping up with Muggle affairs and trends. She had recently started studying second-hand school books to fill up some of those knowledge gaps, but there was still a lot that she didn't know.
"Lots of things," she said, stalling for time as she wracked her brain for the names of Muggle musicians. Remembering something she had read in a book once, she blurted out, "Like The Beatles."
Sympathy clouded his eyes as he nodded. "Can't go past The Beatles," he said, but she knew he was just being polite. All of her co-workers thought she was dim-witted; she'd even overheard a few of them saying it once.
"No, you really can't."
Neither of them spoke much after that. She didn't want to risk digging herself into a bigger hole, and he seemed to have decided that talking to her was more trouble than it was worth. By the time they finished shelving the wares and went their separate ways, she was glad to be rid of him. When she signed off on her shift two hours later, she hurried out without saying goodbye.
-x-
I miss home, May thought, striding along the pathway that led down to the lake. Her pace was brisk and purposeful as she weaved between chattering passers-by, trying to put as much distance as possible between her and her workplace. It was cool and beautiful and everything made sense.
But she knew that wasn't quite true. The Death Eaters' extremism didn't make sense. Their sympathisers' willingness to sit back as the nation was torn apart didn't make sense. The way that hatred had caught on like wildfire didn't make sense.
By the time she fled, nothing made sense.
At the end of the day, both the Muggle and wizarding worlds were cruel to Muggle-borns, each one punishing them for their allegiance to the other. She was no longer welcome in the wizarding world, yet her attempts to fit in there had fractured her relationship with the Muggle one. It was like she was a visitor to both nations but a citizen of neither; one world thought she was daft, and the other wanted her dead.
Still, she knew which one she would least rather be in. And that meant that Muggle Australia, as strange and foreign as it was, was now her home. The moment Fenrir Greyback killed Harry Potter and his friends after taking them prisoner at Malfoy Manor, he had decided that for her; it wasn't where her heart lay, but it was where her family was safe. And that was all that mattered.
Lost in thought, May left the path and started to cross the empty car park, only to stiffen as silence fell around her. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. She usually liked the quiet — it meant nobody was around to question her — but there was something unnatural about its totality.
Magic. Her hand slipped into her pocket to grip her wand as her heart pounded out a staccato beat. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and forced all signs of tension from her face and body.
"Drat," she muttered, seemingly to herself. "I left my swimsuit at home."
She turned around slowly.
A boy about her age stood at the other end of the asphalt. His arms hung by his sides, and his right hand held a wand that was pointed at the ground but could be brought up at a moment's notice.
"Hello, May."
His accent was unmistakably English.
"You must have me mistaken for someone else."
"I don't think so. May Gallagher?" After a pause, he added, "Does the word 'Ravenclaw' ring a bell?"
She sighed, and it felt as if she were exhaling every last trace of hope from her body. The lake was a popular hangout for young people, but no one would see a boy with a stick as a threat — and she suspected, from the way a group of teenagers walked towards them only to loop around at the last minute, that he had cast enough privacy and diversionary charms to keep them isolated for days. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but her voice cracked under the weight of the lie.
Bursting into action like a bull out of a cage, she yanked her wand out of her pocket and threw herself to one side. "Stupefy!"
But the sharp movement sent her spell off target, and it crashed into a nearby tree before fizzling out. Before she could try again, a jet of white light hit her, sending her wand spiralling out of her hand and into his.
"I'm not here to hurt you. My name is Justin Finch-Fletchley, and I'm a Muggle-born as well. I went to Hogwarts too, though I think you were a few years below me. I'm sorry for scaring you, but I didn't want to identify myself until I knew it was really you. I've never altered someone's memory before, and I'd rather not start now."
She didn't recognise him, but his name was vaguely familiar. Narrowing her eyes at him, she demanded, "If you're not here to hurt me, then give me back my wand."
He laughed. "As long as you don't use it against me," he said. When she nodded, he tossed it back to her.
She didn't put it away, but she didn't aim it at him, either. She wouldn't trust him with her safety, but she had to admit that he seemed truthful enough. When he pointed his down at the ground again, she copied the motion. "How did you find me?"
"When I told the local Auror Station where I was from, they mentioned that another refugee had settled here as well and gave me your name. It took me a while to track you down, since your name isn't in the phone book, but then I found where your brother goes to school and worked it out from there."
A chill ran down her spine at his words. "But we never went to the Aurors," she said, not ready to deal with the rest of his statement.
"There aren't many witches and wizards in this area, so they said they found it suspicious when a new magical signature registered on their scans. They didn't inform the state authorities in case someone decided to report you to the British Ministry, but they did investigate you."
She wasn't sure what she felt about the new information. She appreciated the fact that they'd looked out for her by making sure her whereabouts didn't get back to the Ministry of Magic, but she couldn't help but be unnerved by the idea that they had been able to track her down and spy on her without her noticing them. Maybe she wasn't as safe as she'd thought.
"Right. Well, that was nice of them, I guess."
"So what's your story?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested. "How did you get out?"
She hesitated but ultimately decided that it wouldn't hurt to tell him. "My family and I fled shortly after Dumbledore died. We caught a ferry to France and then took the train to Poland to wait things out. When the newspapers started reporting Harry Potter's death, I snapped my wand and bought a new one so they couldn't trace me. We wanted to get as far away from Europe as we could, so we caught the next flight out to Australia. Since we got here, I've done my best to live like a Muggle, only using magic when I have to. What about you?"
"A group of us were camped out near Hogwarts in case Harry tried to overthrow the Carrows," he explained. "After Harry died, we weren't sure what to do. A few people escaped, but I had to get back to my family first. Then Death Eaters found us." His expression darkened. "They offered us our lives, and the lives of our families, in exchange for what amounted to our servitude. I couldn't see any other choice; I accepted. I soon started to regret my decision, but by then it was too late. Everyone who attempted to run after that initial exodus was caught and brought back for punishment and death. So I stayed…
"When my old friend Ernie contacted me to say he had been given access to the Muggle-born register, we acted. We gathered together everyone who could escape their pureblood handlers, and he removed us from the register and took the trace off our wands. Mum — she's an emergency pilot — snuck us all into the airport where she works. We stole a helicopter and she flew us to Portugal. From there, we ditched the aircraft and made our way over here."
"So there are more of us here?" she asked, her eyes widening at the thought of a whole group of escaped Muggle-borns. She had resigned herself to a life alone, forever on the fringes of both cultures, but if there were more people like her…
"Yes." He beamed at her. "There are about twenty of us — and I'm sure there are more I don't know about, just wanting to be found. We're going to travel across the country, trying to find anyone else who might have fled here. And Ernie just made contact with a group of Gryffindors who fled to Canada. He's going to ask them to do the same. Between all of us —"
"You could create a resistance."
"Exactly. Australia is so far removed from Britain nowadays that the country is relatively untouched by blood prejudice. Its magical population is spread out, so they will be hard to mobilise, but we want to create a new line of defence here. If Seamus can do the same in Canada, then we might get to the stage where we can start to fight back."
Her mind raced with possibilities. He Who Must Not Be Named had been so focused on the United Kingdom that he hadn't bothered to amass followings anywhere else. Any thoughts of an organised resistance had died with Harry Potter, but perhaps it wasn't as futile as everyone had thought.
"It would be a risk," Justin continued, "but it's worth it. Life is temporary —"
"Like cherry blossoms," she murmured.
"— but this here, how we react to defeat, is permanent. It's the thing that legends are made of, that fills history books, that lets the world see whether we're heroes or bystanders. The blood purists have been beating us down for so long; it's time for us to stand up and make them see that we won't forget and we won't ever give in."
His words were like a piece of cheese, luring her in — but she knew that that set up never ended well for the mouse. The promise of pride and triumph might have obscured the danger hidden behind it, but it would never negate it. "Every single star in the night sky would have to align for that to work out," she said. "Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter failed; how can we expect to succeed?"
"Because they won't expect defiance. Not from a bunch of kids they've already 'dealt' with."
She bit her lip. It was tempting; she wanted retribution, and she wanted to show the purebloods that they weren't any better than she was. And she didn't want the next generation to be brought up thinking that this kind of mentality was okay. But her family was safe — or, at least, as safe as they could be. Could she really give that up for a pipe dream?
"Imagine a world in which you could live and work in Ireland without fear of discrimination," he added. "Isn't it worth the risk?"
No. In that moment, she realised for the first time that she wasn't a girl without a nation, flitting around wherever the wind took her. She had her allegiance — to her family. Fighting back might give them a better life in the long-term, but it would endanger their present. And she would never risk her family's lives like that.
After the years of unrelenting cruelty that the wizarding world had heaped down on her, she wasn't even sure if she would risk her own.
"I'm glad you found me," she began, and she saw the light dim in his eyes as he recognised her change in tone. "It's wonderful to catch up with another Muggle-born and to know that there are more of us out there, and I wish you all the best... but I'm going to have to say no. After everything that's happened, I… I think I'd rather stay here. It's safer here; my family is safer here."
"Not if they invade here and are met with no resistance."
"I think that's a risk I'm willing to take."
Justin nodded. "Most people don't say yes right away. Change is hard; the status quo is easy. But, here, take this." He held out a piece of paper with a phone number on it. "In case you change your mind."
"I won't," she said, but she took it anyway. Just in case she ever needed help or information from this resistance of his.
With a few quick flourishes of his wand, he undid the charms surrounding them. The sudden blast of sound from the cars driving past sent her rearing back, but she got her bearings back in time to see him slip his wand back into his pocket and plaster a fake smile on his face.
"It was great to run into you like this," he said, his voice as chipper as a bird, as if they were old friends with nary a care in the world. "It's amazing how the years fly by, isn't it? We'll have to catch up again sometime."
"Absolutely," she replied, playing along.
As he walked away, she stared down at the small piece of paper. Then, with a weary sigh, she slipped it into her pocket and headed for home.