13 January 1970
"We've not long yet," Philip informed Alfred as they sat next to one another reading-Alfred reading an old copy of Gibbons Stamp Monthly, Philip reading Big Maggie. "We'll be arriving in New York City tomorrow."
"This has taken longer than I thought," muttered Alfred as turned a page. "By the way, how do you know?"
"I asked the captain," replied Philip. "If you think it was that stewardess I was with a few days ago, you're very mistaken."
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Saying 'you were with her' is a giant understatement, my friend," he countered.
"You are aware you can be very sarcastic, right?" asked Philip in curiosity.
Alfred nodded. "Half the Aurors have told me that."
"What do you think about this newest attack?" Philip asked, changing the subject and carefully pulling out a copy of the latest edition of The Daily Prophet, disguised to ensure that the Muggles on board paid it no notice.
"The 'hidden stands', I see," noted Alfred.
Philip nodded in confirmation. "There was another attack last night. Here."
Alfred took the paper, opened it and began reading. "Holy shit," he muttered. "An assassination attempt on Eugenia Jenkins?"
Alfred continued reading, making sure not to say anything aloud in case the nearby Muggles heard him:
'Three wizards wearing black cloaks and white masks Apparated into Diagon Alley, as the Minister of Magic announced her willingness to enter into talks with the organisers of the Squib Rights marches, and opened fire with Killing Curses at the Minister. These were intercepted when Head Auror Cerberus Langarm conjured a brick wall around the Minister, before ordering Aurors Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour to engage the assailants and the Magical Law Enforcement Squad to evacuate the crowd, while he escorted the Minister to her home.
'What followed was a fierce duel between the two veteran Aurors and the masked would-be assassins, which was brought to a swift end when Auror Scrimgeour, 34, was hit in the chest by a modified Jelly-Legs Curse that caused his rib-cage to soften and collapse, necessitating his evacuation by Auror Moody, 35, to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.'
Alfred paused at this. "Rufus," he muttered worriedly under his breath. He and the long-haired Auror were definitely friends during Alfred's time in the Aurors, though Alfred still had Moody as his first choice to be best man if he ever got married.
Gulping, he continued reading the article to ensure his friend was not dead.
'The arrival of additional reinforcements finally forced the masked assailants to retreat and evade arrest, but not before one of them sent a strange spell into the sky which created the image of a skull with a snake slithering out of its mouth. According to interviewed eyewitnesses (who asked to remain anonymous), the apparition bore a strong resemblance to a similar one created outside the homes of attacked Muggles in late October last and late November last, leading this reporter to conclude that these attacks are all being perpetrated by the same small group of wizards.'
Alfred snorted cynically. He and the others in the Auror Office had come to that conclusion shortly after the death of the Muggle publican, and had felt somewhat miffed that neither Crouch nor Jenkins had kept this out of the public eye, believing it could have possibly helped in the investigation. He was pleased, however, that someone had decided to say it.
'Deputy Head of the DMLE, Bartemius Crouch, condemned the attack as "a vicious and indefensible attack on the Ministry, on British Wizardkind and on our way of life!"
'Auror Scrimgeour, as of this writing, is still in a believed critical condition at St Mungo's, with 2 Healers monitoring his condition and 4 others working on a way to solve it.
Alfred sighed in relief at reading this, though deep down there was still the dread that the Healers would be unable to help him and that Rufus might not survive.
'The Minister arrived home safely and has no intention of staying away from her workplace, and has refused to allow this attack to deter her from holding talks with the Squib Rights leaders.
'Although the Ministry has not given signs that it will do so, The Daily Prophet will issue a reward of 300 galleons to any witch or wizard who sends us information that may lead to the arrest of the perpetrators of last night's attack and the previous attacks. We at The Daily Prophet do not, and never will, condone violence in any manner against any groups, and will do whatever we can to ensure that such crimes do not happen again.'
"Well?" asked Philip curiously.
"Rufus, for now, is alive," replied Alfred. "I'm sure you knew, seeing as you must have read it already. But I like saying it for myself. He…he's never seemed the type to get hit by something so severe. We all assumed that he could be the only wizard that could survive a Killing Curse, on account of having survived a lot of mad shit, but this really, truly puts things into perspective."
"How?" asked Philip again.
"I lost a leg. He's gotten his ribs turned to jelly. It sounds silly, yes, but when you really think about it, it's actually quite disturbing. At least my leg could be fixed-or at least, replaced. Suppose they can't do anything about Rufus's ribs? He might be stuck in that damned hospital bed for the rest of his life then. He might actually die, and just imagine how the public reacts to that."
"Because no Aurors have killed on duty since the war, correct?" assumed Philip.
Alfred nodded. "To be fair, it took France 14 years before that happened to them, so I'd say we did quite well."
Philip groaned. "Considering what we've just read, that is probably in poor taste," he said in a chastising manner.
Alfred nodded. "I know," he agreed. "Old habits die hard."
"Well, seeing as Martha's future father-in-law died five years ago, I'd say you're in the clear when taking about him to her fiancée," replied Philip as he quickly rose from his seat.
"Where are you going?" asked Alfred.
"The privy," replied Philip as he began to run awkwardly.
Alfred rolled his eyes in response.
14 January 1970
Alfred was standing out on deck, waiting to see America expectantly.
He wondered if this was how the immigrants from decades before felt when the made the crossing to the New World, this feeling of expectancy and hope to start anew.
'Don't do this,' he told himself in his head. 'You're sounding sentimental, Alfred. Stop it. You're an Auror-to be more accurate, you used to be an Auror. There shouldn't be any sentimentality left in you after Auror training.'
He exhaled and put his hands into the pocket of his coat as the wind and air became colder.
"So you go in, sit down, wait for the interviewer to enter, and when he sits down, begin," he muttered under his breath, reminding himself of what he was to do upon reaching Ellis Island.
He heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw it was Philip.
"We've only a few minutes left before we see the city on the horizon," informed Philip.
"Thank you," replied Alfred, turning back to watch as New York City came into view.
Even though he had seen the city in photographs and on screen, the majesty and size of the buildings still amazed him when he saw them come closer.
And then he saw the Statue, standing high in the harbour, as if welcoming newcomers to her land.
"So," he breathed, "that's how they felt."
Alfred walked down to the slush-covered pier from the ship, Philip behind him.
"You'll make sure my things aren't stolen, right?" asked Alfred.
Philip nodded. "You have my word. If anything happens, you can be as angry as you like."
"If anything's stolen, I'm shoving my left leg all the way up your arse until you vomit the polish," replied Alfred.
Philip winced at the thought, before noticing a man in a trench-coat holding a sign with the words 'Alfred Pennyworth.'
He tapped Alfred's shoulder and pointed at him. "I think you go with him," he said.
"Alright," replied Alfred. Turning around to shake Philip's hand, he continued. "If I don't pass this, I'm sorry in advance for wasting your time."
"Don't be," said Philip, tipping his hat at Alfred as the ex-Auror walked away to the man in the trench-coat.
"You are Alfred Pennyworth?" asked the wizard.
"Yes, I am," replied Alfred.
The wizard held out his arm. "Come with me, please."
Alfred took his arm. "Where are you taking me, exactly?" he asked. "Interrogation? You look the type."
The wizard escorting him shook his head and directed him to cross the street, heading the direction of an empty alleyway. "No, Mr Pennyworth, I'm here to bring you to Ellis Island."
Once they were far enough into the alleyway, they stopped. After looking around for a brief moment, the wizard asked "Given your…condition, is it alright for you to Apparate?"
Alfred nodded in the affirmative.
"Well then, may you please hold on to my arm?"
Alfred did as his 'guide' asked and within seconds, felt the all-too-familiar feeling of Apparation as they disappeared out of the alleyway.
AN: I own nothing.
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