A/N: Thank you!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Gundam Wing.
Chapter 3
Little Birds
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Decoding…
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XXXG-04: 02, please respond.
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AC 196 July 7
Pulling at the stylized silver cuffs of his immaculately-woven silk robes, Draco Malfoy gave himself one final once-over in the mirror. His reflection in the ornate mirror of the Welcome room stared back at him, not a hair out of place.
The robes themselves had been carefully chosen under his mother's discerning eyes. They were a silvery-blue that tended to glimmer like water under direct light, made of a light material that rested nicely on his lean frame. Draco had been ecstatic to see he'd grown several centimeters since the end of his fourth year at school. He was more lean than stocky, but a true wizard didn't need brawn – just finesse with a wand. An overall aristocratic look, and if Draco angled his chin just right, he could even give off the illusion of looking down his nose at his inferiors if needed. It'd be a useful technique this afternoon.
Just little over a month ago, his father had told him that he'd agreed to have Draco take part in a very important political initiative. On a superficial level, it was a publicity stunt; at its core, it was a strategic political move to ensure the continuation of the preservation of magical culture.
Newtypes.
The word had fallen from Lucius Malfoy's lips with vague disdain. The Muggles that had fled from the planet decades ago had accomplished something most absurd: they'd bred magicfolk among the star islands. Granted, they were technically Muggleborns – but the idea that they could use magic in space while the greater wizarding community on Earth could not was ludicrous. There were large pockets of the pureblood community that believed this was some trick, but they could not figure out how the Muggles were doing it.
The star island Muggleborns – these 'Newtypes' – were a major point of contention among those in the know. As Newtypes did not fall under the jurisdiction of any magical nation, they were not subjected to their laws; most importantly, they were not subjected to the Statute of Secrecy. According to his father, the Newtypes were already involved in many layers of their Muggle counterparts' government and militia. Although they kept their magical abilities hidden, in comparison to the Earth wizarding communities, many more top members in the Muggle government were aware of Newtypes.
His father had mused, and Draco definitely agreed, that the set-up of the Newtypes community was likely what would happen if Muggleborns ever got into power in the wizarding world.
The worst part was that the Newtypes had the advantage in this galactic powerplay, and they knew it. Newtypes had identified wizarding communities before the magical nations had even realized Newtypes existed; Newtypes had used their Muggle governments to force a political meeting; Newtypes kept whatever strides they had made in development of magic outside of the planet secret.
This unexpected threat had sent the wizarding world scrambling. Deciding to tread carefully, they acquiesced to meetings with Newtypes whenever and where ever possible. In the scheme of power politics, the wizarding communities were already at a disadvantage, requiring any meetings to be on-planet as they would not be able to ascend to the star islands. The Newtypes had granted the concession but it hung in the atmosphere of every meeting: the idea that Earth wizards had not advanced enough to compete with Newtype abilities.
Desperate to quell any ideas of superiority and hoping to convince Newtypes to follow the traditional path of magical communities, wizards turned their attention to Newtype youth. Influencing the incoming generation in the right direction would work to wizardingkind's advantage, and so they proposed a sort of project that, as explained in official meetings, would "build bonds between the wizarding community and the Newtypes community through friendship."
Forty students from magical institutions and forty Newtype youths would come together to share their history and culture. They would meet several times over the course of a year, fostering an understanding and cooperation of each other that would last for the rest of their lives. This event was titled the 'Constellation Conference', in honor of the star islands these Newtypes hailed from.
Naturally, the best and brightest youths would be chosen from the wizarding communities. The British Ministry of Magic had requested and been granted four open spots for attendees, in order to properly represent Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of course, Hogwarts had been slipping in terms of quality education with people like Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster, but his father had said that would be rectified this coming year.
Draco had been chosen as a representative of the British wizarding world, and he'd made sure to flaunt his newfound status to his friends. Most of the pureblood community was already in the know about Newtypes, although the Ministry had been careful to keep most information from being told to the masses. They'd let only the bare bones be published in the Daily Prophet: the star islands had wizards they called Newtypes. The public was mostly marveling over the idea that magic could be cast off-planet rather than seeking more information on the political maneuverings of Newtypes and the wizarding communities. It had been taken for granted that Newtypes would observe the Statute of Secrecy because they were magicfolk – so surely they were subjected to the same laws.
Draco was one of the few who knew that just wasn't the case. It didn't make much sense to him, honestly – why weren't Newtypes subjected to the same laws? They were wizards even if they were Muggleborns, so why could Newtypes get away with so much?
His mother had not been impressed by Draco's lack of clarity. How would we enforce our laws on them? She'd asked.
Draco saw immediately what she meant. Their magic did not work in space – and where did most Newtypes live? In the star colonies.
And so the wizarding communities would play nice, would agree to meetings and kickstarters, and say the right thing to encourage relations – all while planning how to get the situation back to their advantage. Draco would attend the Constellation Conference, would present himself as any refined pureblood wizard should, would rub elbows with his Newtype counterparts and influence them to the British magical community's advantage.
Draco straightened out his robes once more, then moved forward. The Welcome Room had been specifically designed for Floo arrivals, evident by the circular architecture and five fireplaces evenly spaced inside. There was a single large archway that faced into a wide, luxuriously decorated hallway.
The venue for the first ever Constellation Conference had been chosen by the Newtypes: Brussels. (The wizarding nation of Flanders had been ecstatic.) Draco didn't know the reasons for the choice and his father seemed to think it was Muggle-related, which had killed any curiosity Draco had about it. The venue itself had been set up by the wizarding communities, tastefully done in a theme of a star-laden night sky.
Draco followed the one path laid out in the corridor, entering the next room through a set of large doors that automatically opened as he approached. This room had an elegantly-curved ceiling that sloped into a charm that caused it to swirl with even more stars than the corridor. The constellations moved about on the walls, caricatures of their supposed tales that reacted to his presence mutely.
Draco's eyes were drawn to the odd assortment of individuals that stood just outside what he assumed to be the main conference room. Some were dressed in wizarding robes, special designation and designs that denoted their occupations: Aurors from different magical nations, each pinned with a badge that had them operating under the direction of the ICW. The others wore Muggle clothing that Draco thought denoted them as militiamen, strange metallic blocks holstered to their waists.
Several of the Muggle-clothed personnel were manning what looked to be two metallic archways, designed for only one person to pass through. There was a desk attached to each archway, where a single person sat and stared at something hidden behind the panes of the desk. A handful of people watched as Draco approached; those dressed in proper wizard robes smiled at him in encouragement but the others remained intimidatingly blank-faced.
"Are you here for the Constellation Conference?" a robed male asked him, eyes expectant.
Draco bit down on the impulse to snark back, instead mustering up a polite smile. "I am," he agreed diffidently. "I'm here on behalf of wizarding Britain."
A dark-skinned male in Muggle military clothes moved forward, holding what looked to be a square, metallic plate in his hand. Under Draco's bewildered eyes, the man moved his fingers over the face of the plate, lights and words coming to life under his hand.
A Newtype? Draco wondered, glancing between the man and the object he held. Was this a new invention of Newtype magic?
"Your name?" came the curt prompt from the dark-skinned male.
Draco stamped down on a twitch at the rudeness. "Draco Lucius Malfoy," he answered, tone lightly condescending.
The other male's lips briefly twitched before he quickly resumed his stoic expression. He looked up after pushing something on his strange device, amber eyes locking onto Draco's light grey. "You're checked in," he began smoothly, lips quirked into a vaguely amused smile. "Draco Lucius Malfoy."
The robed wizard cast an admonishing look at his counterpart. "It's customary to give your full name upon request," he spoke in Draco's defense, noticeably rankled. "Not everyone is familiar with military codes of conduct, Agent Shimon."
"I didn't say anything about it," the dark-skinned man – Agent Shimon - said airily. "There's no need to be so sensitive, Auror Jacobs."
Jacobs opened his mouth, seemingly ready to argue the point, before stopping himself. Setting his shoulders, he turned back to Draco with his encouraging smile back in place. "Please go through the security screening," he said, motioning to the metal archways.
Draco eyed the contraptions, realizing they were another Newtype invention. "What…are they?" he asked warily.
"They detect anything that may be hostile," Shimon answered. "This includes weapons, charmed objects, and illusions."
One of the archway desk personnel grinned. "By the way, if you've charmed on make-up or the like, it will come right off under these," the woman said. "So, you know – be ready for that. And don't throw a tantrum when it happens."
"They're kids," another spoke up. "They can't help but be emotional."
"Hormonal," another muttered. "I thought that French witch was going to hex someone."
Jacobs waved Draco through. He cautiously moved forward, stepping under the archway and nearly jumping out of his own skin when it let off a sharp, brief screech. The woman manning the desk did not look up from her screen, but she waved him forward – so Draco assumed the noise was nothing incriminating. Not that he was holding anything incriminating; all he had was his wand, after all.
Moving under the second archway was much the same, but then he was stopped by another man wearing the Muggle uniform. Draco was handed a pamphlet, where the day's timetable was listed on hard stock.
Constellation Conference
Friendship Under the Same Sun and Stars
*1:00-1:30PM: Check-In and Refreshments
*1:30PM-2:00PM: Welcome
-Speakers: Dorothy Catalonia and Johan Bertrand
*2:00PM-3:45PM: Introduction to the Wizarding World
*4:00PM-5:30PM: Introduction to Newtypes and the Space Colonies
*5:45PM-7:30PM: Dinner
*7:30PM-8:00PM: Farewell
-Speaker: Vice Foreign Minister Relena Darlian
Draco only knew the name of the one of the three noted speakers; Johan Bertrand was from a Flemish pureblood line which specialized in the import-export business across the Continent. From what Draco recalled, Johan was the second-born son and currently a seventh year in Beauxbatons.
This gave Draco an idea of the approximate age of the attendees. He himself was among the youngest, a majority of the wizarding nations choosing to send sixth or seventh years to the Constellation Conference. The Newtypes likely thought the same, and Draco suspected this 'Dorothy Catalonia' was the Newtype-equivalent to seventh years.
Come to think of it, is there a school for Newtypes? Draco wondered. His father hadn't known, and however Newtypes trained their children, they had yet to share that with their Earth-born counterparts.
Draco didn't recognize the Farewell Speaker's name at all, but the title meant it was some politician or another. He couldn't guess if they were a Newtype or a proper wizard, but he could probably figure that out once he saw them.
Entering the room after folding the pamphlet into one of his interior pockets, Draco's eyes moved about the large conference venue. It was a spacious room, as beautifully decorated as the corridor and entrance: a high ceiling enchanted to show a star-laden night sky, the soft glow of illumination lining the delicate arches ingrained into the walls, where a different star constellation swirled sedately. The atmosphere exuded magic and elegance, befitting to the tastes of the wizards who mingled inside.
There were supposed to be 80 attendees in total, and it seemed a vast majority had already arrived. They talked amongst each other, hovered around interspersed tables that held an assortment of beverages. It was an eclectic mix, to be sure: summer-styled wizarding robes worn by some, Muggle-style clothes worn by others. Draco scanned the crowd, trying to see if he recognized anyone.
Susan Bones was among the throng, sipping at a cup of some bright yellow drink. She seemed involved in a conversation between a witch with golden tattoos and a brunet male with an eyepatch. Roger Davies was also present, staring blankly as a Japanese wizard and a petite blond girl laughed over something said. Magical France had apparently sent over the Chastain twins; a pair of boys a year older than Draco, heirs to the Chastain fashion brand. They were conversing with a brunette, her hair pulled back into a braid that reached the mid-back of her Muggle attire.
"Hello there!"
Draco turned his attention away from where the majority of the attendees mingled, grey eyes alighting on the one who had spoken. A male smiled at him in greeting, his blonde hair a shade so light it was reminiscent of Malfoy coloring, eyes a vibrant shade of aquamarine. He was wearing Muggle clothes, some sort of white coat adorned with an unknown crest and a sweater beneath it. (It was a good thing the room had been charmed to keep the air cool, or the other youth would have melted in those clothes.) For a moment, Draco wondered spitefully if the other boy was part-Veela; there was no way Muggles had been able to produce someone so attractive.
"Good afternoon," Draco returned politely, pulling on his own professional smile. There was a gentleness to the Newtype male, which would be easy for Draco to exploit so long as he maintained appearances.
"It's a beautiful venue," the Newtype male observed, eyes skimming over the walls and ceilings. "I'm always so amazed at what wizards can do with their magic. There's an element of majesty to it."
Draco's smiled turned much more pleased. It was gratifying to know that, at the very least, these Newtypes could appreciate the finer arts of magic. "There are even more wonderous sights in wizarding Britain," Draco boasted, keeping his tone light as he held out a hand. "Draco Malfoy."
The Newtype male took his hand, giving him a firm shake. "Nice to meet you," he returned amiably. "My name is Syed Bukhari. I take it you're from Magical Britain?"
Draco nodded. "The Malfoy's are from the Sacred Twenty-Eight," he told Bukhari. "We're one of the most ancient and noble Houses."
Draco didn't think Bukhari really understood the importance of that but the boy looked thoughtful at the remark. "What is the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" Bukhari inquired after a moment, innocent curiosity in his tone.
"Magical bloodlines," Draco answered. That maintain their purity, he kept internally. "We're descended from long lines of wizards."
Bukhari's smile never wavered. "Bloodlines must be very important there, then?" he asked. "To be considered 'sacred'…"
"Blood is blood."
Draco jolted at the unexpected interjection. Bukhari glanced over at the approaching pair: a girl with a sweeping mane of blond hair and forked eyebrows, and a brunet boy with scars marring his right cheek and left eye.
"Miss Catalonia," Bukhari greeted, smile widening ever so slightly. "It's wonderful to see you again!"
Catalonia's smile reminded Draco of the photographs he'd seen of his Aunt Bellatrix, from before the madness inherent in the Black bloodline truly took her. "Your cousin would say the same thing, and he would have more reason to lie about it," she retorted.
Bukhari chuckled lightly, then turned back to Draco. The Slytherin boy was just starting to realize that it was a bit…eerie, how Bukhari's smile never faltered. "Malfoy, this lovely lady is Dorothy Catalonia. And… Colton Dumare, isn't it?" Bukhari looked at the dour-looking brunet boy for confirmation, which he received in the form of a short nod. "This here is Draco Malfoy. He's descended from one of the most ancient and noble bloodlines of Magical Britain."
Dorothy Catalonia's gaze fell on Draco and he was under no illusion that it was benign. The very air around the girl seemed charged, and her lilac-colored eyes were clearly sizing him up: from the tips of his silvery-blonde hair to the finely-tailored robes he wore. Bukhari was distressingly vague in his introduction of her; Draco had no way to gauge her status among the Newtypes, aside from the fact that she was a key speaker and apparently shared a perplexing relationship to Bukhari's cousin.
"A pleasure, Malfoy," Catalonia said, voice smooth. Pansy would have envied her composure, legitimate silk hiding daggers in her very tone. "We've heard a bit about wizarding bloodlines, haven't we, Colton?" she turned to the brunet.
"That Larsen witch wasted oxygen to explain it," Dumare replied scathingly. "Like we're supposed to be amazed by in-breeding."
Draco's hackles raised. "Excuse me?" he bit out.
"Really now," Bukhari intervened, tone mediating. "No one said anything about in-breeding. Historically, many royal lines practiced intermarriage."
Catalonia turned her smile on Draco. "Please forgive him, Malfoy," she began, motioning to Dumare. "He wasn't ever taught to play well with others."
"I was, but I must have had the lessons knocked out of me when the Alliance exploded my home," Dumare returned dryly.
Draco felt completely out of his depth; true, the Dumare boy was covered in scars – but his home was attacked? By what? What 'Alliance' was he referring to? Somehow, though, Draco knew it better not to admit this ignorance to the three present; the feeling of being stranded in shark-infested waters was dawning ever stronger in him.
"Our esteemed Vice Foreign Minister would want you to at least pretend you're enjoying this, Colton," Catalonia pointed out.
"I'll smile for the photo-op," was Dumare's bland response.
Bukhari laughed lowly.
"So Malfoy, have you met anyone else?" Catalonia asked. "I haven't met anyone from Magical Britain yet, aside from you."
Draco tore his glowering look off of Dumare. "Roger Davies and Susan Bones," he said, indicating to the other two British wizards in the room. "We attend the same school. And aside from those I already know from the wizarding communities, Bukhari is the first Newtype I've met."
"First impressions of Newtypes?" Catalonia asked, eyes keen.
His eyes skimmed the crowd once more, this time focusing on the Newtypes. Much like their wizarding counterparts, they were of various races and sizes, but there seemed to be something noticeably different about them when they stood in direct contrast to the wizards and witches they mingled between.
Perhaps in the number of those who seemed to bear some sort of wound? There was the boy with the eyepatch Susan Bones had been talking to, then Colton Dumare and his facial scars, but there was also a redheaded girl with a prosthetic arm, a brunet boy who walked about with prosthetic legs…
Pointing out various physical disfigurations was unlikely to earn him any brownie points with the current crowd though, so Draco decided to mention something else he'd noticed instead. "Braids are currently in fashion?" Draco observed. A fair amount of the Newtypes, both male and female, had their hair pulled back into a single braid tied with a single band. Draco wouldn't have even noticed, had a few of them not congregated together.
"You're half-right," Bukhari agreed in good humor. "A single braid is the current style for those from L2. A popular figure from their colony cluster wore his hair in a braid during the war."
What war? Draco thought.
"Oh ho," Dumare sneered. "Do you know about it, Malfoy? The Eve Wars?"
Draco froze, unwilling to admit his ignorance but knowing he wouldn't be able to say anything if they pressed him about it. This was another example of the advantage Newtypes had over the wizarding world: they'd gathered as much intel as they could about the wizarding world, while wizards had next to nothing on Newtypes or the Muggle affairs in which they had been involved.
The three Newtypes were eyeing him, knowing without him saying anything that he had no idea about their so-called Eve Wars.
"No need to fret, Malfoy," Catalonia said, laying one pale hand on his arm in a consoling gesture that was anything but kind. "For you wizards, we'll operate on a learning curve."
There was blood in the water, and Draco became keenly aware that it was his.
AC 196 July 11
Adjusting the cuffs on his simple white button-up, Remus glanced uneasily about the Leeds Bradford International Airport once more. It was a bustling place, surprisingly busy given that most people tended to use spaceports nowadays.
Remus thought it was good fortune that Muggle fashion had not undergone any drastic changes. He couldn't wear the same things as back in his younger years – not that they fit – but simple khakis and a white button-up were enough to blend into the crowd. He'd shaved off what facial hair he'd grown and gave his hair a simple trim, so in Muggle attire, he looked like any other busybody, if a bit on the exhausted side.
He wondered if he looked like a father.
Heart hammering in his chest, Remus took another shaky sip from his bottled water. After he'd received the letter, he hadn't really known what to do. In order to arrange a meeting with his…family member, the Preventers had listed a 'website' – Remus thought that had something to do with those Muggle computers but he'd never been able to use one longer than 10 minutes before it started short-circuiting – to go to in order to contact his estranged family.
There had been the alternative of visiting his local Preventers branch but Remus was still trying to piece together what exactly Preventers was; so far, he'd gleaned they were some kind of international law enforcement agency but Remus still wasn't sure why they were in charge of the FRA. His plan to visit his local branch had been nipped in the bud when Preventers reached out to him first.
Remus had set up a Muggle telephone line for his home for whenever he had to take up a Muggle job. It was cheap to maintain (and honestly easier than Floo), and as long as he didn't use it for long conversations, there wasn't really an issue. So he'd picked up the call, honestly surprised at the austere voice on the other end identifying themselves as an employee of Preventers.
Duo Maxwell had contacted Preventers first, wanting to arrange a meeting with him. Preventers had forwarded the request, calling Remus at his publicly listed telephone number. That had been a nerve-wracking conversation, as Remus was viscerally reminded that Duo Maxwell didn't live on Earth. It was fortunate the youth had offered to meet Remus in his city of residence, because Remus honestly didn't know what he'd do if he had been requested to venture out into the space colonies while a wizarding war was brewing.
The Preventers had forwarded Remus to a civilian extension of the program, which handled meeting arrangements between identified members of the FRA. Remus knew he had been useless throughout the whole thing; the L2 native had apparently arranged his own lodgings and traveling, so the only thing Remus had to do was suggest what to do in his town. The civilian agency had not been impressed when Remus couldn't offer them even a handful of possible locations in their first conversation. He'd had to call them back the next day, after doing a runaround of his neighborhood and awkwardly meeting his Muggle community members.
This was how Remus cobbled together an itinerary that the FRA surveyors had approved and forwarded to Duo Maxwell. Remus had combed his bank accounts, both Muggle and magical, for this; he may live humbly but he'd saved quite a bit from his time as a Hogwarts professor. He wasn't rich, not by any stretch, but living a modest life and taking on the odds and ends of employment meant he wasn't living the life of a waif.
Remus planned to splurge a bit for this. The agency had informed him that Duo Maxwell planned to stay in Yorkshire until the 20th of July; that was nine whole days Remus had to spend with him. As an emancipated minor, Remus figured the youth must be able to support himself, and Remus was curious behind the reasons why.
What had happened to Duo's mother?
Remus wondered if he had any right to ask.
The board posted above the tunnel exit for new arrivals flashed, flight US7355 moving to the top. The small crowd clustered in disparate clumps perked with brimming energy at the change, and Remus himself was swept up into it. Heart hammering in his chest, he pulled out the small but adequate name sign he'd made.
The people came out in a trickle, luggage rolling behind them as they made their way through. Remus felt his gaze drawn to every teen that stepped through, fingers numbing as nervousness lapped through his veins. With every newcomer through the Arrivals exit, Remus thought he may experience a minor heart attack.
Remus wondered what his expression showed to those who passed him; they would glance from the sign he held to his face, knowing smiles gracing their lips as they continued forward. He wasn't dressed for business, after all, which narrowed down the possibilities to 'family reunion'. And wasn't that what this was?
Remus was here to pick up his son.
What was Duo Maxwell like? The FRA-given information Remus had read through had only the necessities and a standard profile picture; there was nothing about what Duo liked, or what he did in his free time, or where he'd been, what he'd seen, who he loved and how he laughed. If Remus had thought going years without seeing Harry had been horrible, going years without knowing even the smallest thing about Duo was devastating.
Fingers tightening around his sign, Remus forcefully steadied his breathing. There was no point having a panic attack when he hadn't even seen the boy yet. That would be a disastrous first meeting and Remus wanted to leave a good first impression.
"Goodness, dear," a kind voice interrupted his thoughts. Remus jolted, head swiveling to pin wide eyes on the elderly woman who stood next to him. She was smiling up at him despite his reaction, warmth in her eyes as she glanced from the name sign he held to his face. "You're going to crush it if you keep holding it like that," she pointed out.
Remus reflexively loosened his grip on the sign and it fluttered to the floor from his nerveless fingers. Cursing quietly under his breath at his own clumsiness, he darted down to pick it up, heat flaming over his cheeks. The woman only chuckled at his quickly dissipating composure.
"Waiting for someone special, I take it?" she guessed.
Remus nodded, holding the sign back up to face the arriving crowds. "M-My son," he stuttered out of a dry throat. "We- It's the first time. The FRA…" The words fled from his throat, the situation almost too overwhelming; he had a son and his son wanted to meet him.
"Oh, the FRA!" the woman repeated, joy lighting her features. Some of the others standing by turned at the exclamation, smiles dawning over some of their faces. "Congratulations, dear! Oh, that is the best thing I've heard all day!"
"Congratulations!" a man called out from nearby. There was a smattering of repeats from those who loitered close, kind sentiments echoed by passers-by. Remus hadn't realized the FRA was so publicly recognized and was more surprised at the overwhelmingly positive response it garnered.
"How old is he?" the woman asked.
"S-Sixteen," Remus hazarded. Duo's age had been approximated, after all – another one of the endless questions Remus had about his own flesh and blood.
"Don't worry, dear," the woman said, resting her hand on his arm in a supportive gesture. "This will be one of the most important moments of your life, but I know – call it a mother's wisdom – that it will be your happiest too."
Remus blinked back tears he hadn't even known were forming. "I- Thank you," he said softly.
The woman gave him another encouraging smile. The Arrivals crowd began to swell in numbers as the bulk of passengers finally appeared, conversations loud in the air as people moved forward or were reunited. Some who had overheard Remus's circumstances gave him passing well-wishes as they left, and the kind old woman squeezed his hand in farewell before she left with a middle-aged couple who'd greeted her with smiles and hugs.
Gripping his sign and scanning over the flowing crowd, Remus felt he almost saw the difference in the air: the Muggle world was not tainted by the likes of Lord Voldemort. Here, now, they reveled in the peace they'd achieved after their own war; they celebrated with strangers, found hope in the family they'd never met, weren't afraid of that next step forward.
Always, always forward.
Remus glanced from one face to the next – and then he saw him.
Duo Maxwell took after his mother.
Remus was there maybe, in the gentle shape of the chin and the round quality of his eyes, but there was a beauty to Duo Maxwell that Remus could not believe he had given him. The clean arch of his eyebrows, the long eyelashes that framed the vivid violet eyes Remus remembered so well, and the lithe figure clothed in a priest's garb tucked into black combat boots; Duo Maxwell was viscerally beautiful.
It was as the boy moved forward that Remus saw the meter-long rope of hair sway from side to side behind his back. Duo Maxwell moved with an unmistakable grace. It was there in the posture, in the straight set of his shoulders and the easy way he ambled through the crowd without bumping into wayward bags. He did not move with the curse of lycanthropy hanging over his shoulders or with the concern of his blood status as a phantom on his back.
The boy's entire face lit up as he caught sight of Remus and his little name sign, purpose now leading his steps as he drew closer. And unlike Remus, whose lips quirked up in wry attempts at goodwill, or his nameless mother who'd been as tired as a war-torn werewolf – Duo Maxwell smiled.
It was one of the most beautiful things Remus had ever seen.
"Hey, I'm Duo Maxwell," the boy said as he approached. His voice was light and friendly, a perfect match to his smile. He held out one hand, the other holding a black duffel bag over his shoulder. Remus reached out to grasp it on reflex; the grip was strong, callouses lightly moving against Remus's own hand.
An American accent, Remus noted dazedly; perhaps that was how they spoke in the L2 space colonies. Remus could not claim enough knowledge about the infamous 'star islands' few wizards dared to tread. "N-Nice to meet you," Remus managed out of a dry throat. "I'm Remus Lupin."
For his part, the youth just seemed amused. "I figured," he said, tone light and teasing. Remus could never have imagined any child of his being filled with such wonderful lightness. Cheer and good humor practically exuded from the boy.
Remus couldn't help but stare. "Yes, of course," fell from his dazed lips.
The wizard was unmoving for a long moment, frozen under Duo's violet eyes. The boy walked about with an ease Remus could not imagine, and the shock that had put a stopper on the more extreme of his emotions began to dissolve into the swelling tide.
Duo's lovely violet eyes widened at the sight of Remus's own amber eyes welling up with tears. "Uh-" Duo began, alarm coloring his tone.
Remus didn't let him finish, sweeping the startled teen into a hug. Fragile bones and the hard lines of muscle froze under his hold, but Remus could not register it under the pounding in his ears and the sheer joy blooming in his chest.
Duo Maxwell is his son, and he's wonderful.
AC 196 July 13
They say to truly understand a culture, look at their art.
Dorothy agreed, to an extent; art said a lot about a culture. It was a medium that said a lot about a culture in what was represented and what was not. People who'd spent their lives among the fresh mountain air drew with the strong vitality of the woods; people from the desert played with the colors of the unforgiving heat; people who dwelled among the sea of stars could often got lost in the dark. People could learn a lot from art, provided they knew how to appreciate it.
But Dorothy was not raised for art - she was bred for social influence, and politics were a complete shitshow.
Dorothy believed in the idea of pacifism, it was just the getting there that was a bit tricky. It'd been hard to wrap her head around the idea of pacifism earlier in her relationship to Relena Darlian; war was endless and miserable and she'd seen enough as a cog in her legacy's war machines to not believe in something so ideal as pacifism.
But that was the thing about the Eve Wars: that there, at the end with blood on everyone's hands, they as a people realized White Fang didn't need to make a war so devastating that everyone gave up on war.
Because they already had.
For Dorothy, it had taken stabbing a Gundam Pilot through the abdomen. The blood spooled around the wound had not even begun to cool when Dorothy finally realized she'd had enough of war and wanted it to end – not as she had thought before, where she'd aimed to die in a truly foolish blaze of glory, but rather that she just wanted war itself to end.
Dorothy was so, so tired of burying people.
But no matter how war-weary they were, peace didn't come just because they wished it did. Peace had to be earned, peace had to be maintained – and so while she may no longer be able to pilot a mecha, Dorothy had other ways of working for the ideal Relena preached.
Because Dorothy was bred for social and political influence, and most importantly – those now in power knew it.
"Oh, dare my eyes deceive me?" Dorothy crooned, framed in the doorway of Relena's marble white office. It was one of her smaller offices, in comparison to the spaces she held among the colonies, but the Brussels office had the strictest and strongest securities possible. It helped that detail-oriented Heero Yuy had checked the security himself, and likely had incorporated a secret escape passage behind some marble panel because paranoia was not a state of being for him, but a passion. "You truly mean to reward me, don't you, Relena?"
Relena Darlian sat behind her whitewood desk, face partly turned to Dorothy's entrance and small smile pulling her lips up – an obvious sign to those who knew her well that she was smothering laughter. Her eyes were crinkled just enough in the corner to cue Dorothy in that her friend wasn't going to intervene.
Which was what Dorothy had hoped for, because it was just so tragically hard to get Quatre Raberba Winner in attendance.
The blonde boy was seated prim and proper on the guest couches, teacup and saucer in hand. The darling of L4 looked every bit the CEO in his personalized charcoal-gray suit and patterned silver-and-blue tie, and he was smiling in Dorothy's direction as if he was genuinely happy to see her.
Honestly, he could have been genuinely happy to see her. Gundam Pilots were strange.
"Dorothy, it's been so long," Quatre said in greeting, setting his teacup down and rising. "I'm glad to see you well."
Dorothy strode forward, heels clicking against hardwood floor. "Oh, such a sweet-talker as always," she cooed. "Congratulations on securing the Sahara construction deal last month. I was most impressed; really, if anyone ever looked at your accomplishments, they'd wonder when you sleep."
Quatre's smile was beatific. "I owe the success of the deal to the people I work with, not just myself," he replied honestly.
"I imagine so," Dorothy agreed. "It'd be worrying if it was all because of you, Preventers Chief Strategic Advisor Winner."
Quatre's smile never broke. "I hear your recent work is quite remarkable as well," he intoned. "Vice Foreign Ministry Advisor Catalonia."
Dorothy flipped errant locks of her blond mane over her shoulder. "I've had a new title added: Terran Magic Liaison Officer," she smirked. "I suspect you already know that if you're here."
Quatre nodded, resuming his seat as Dorothy turned to Relena. The Vice Foreign Minister looked unaccountably amused by their interaction, which was good; she'd been stressing out ever since knowledge of the Earth Sphere's magical communities came to light.
That was another thing about the Eve Wars – those who'd been involved in it had learned from the blood shed in its course, but what about those who hadn't been involved? War drummed in the blood of men, Dorothy knew, and now there was a chance they'd exchange their bullets for curses.
"Quatre is here on behalf of Preventers," Relena said, glancing at the blonde male. "And not as L4's Newtype Representative."
Dorothy cocked a hip, tilting a curious look Quatre's way. "How are the arrangements for that working out?" she asked.
"Aloysius Morrow is acting as Representative in my stead when I have other engagements," Quatre responded. "I plan to have my name stricken from the next election, as the Newtype population for L4 has increased considerably in these few months. There will be a greater pool of candidates."
"You were a write-in vote," Relena reminded the boy in good-humor.
Quatre sighed. "I'll do what I can if I'm requested, but my plate is very full. I just don't have the time or energy," he said.
"Will Syed be running?" Dorothy asked. "He was excellent company at the Constellation Conference. I could see your striking resemblance."
Quatre's smile softened at the mention of his maternal cousin. "He's been helping to organize Newtype youth groups among the colonies," he said. "I don't think he plans on running in the near future but there's a definite possibility for him later."
And wasn't that just the most amazing thing of all? Syed Bukhari was only a year older than them, and now – he had the chance to be something more than an actor in war. Dorothy could see why Quatre held such affection for the young man.
"He won't run if he believes you are competition," Dorothy pointed out. "His loyalty is…inspiring." Quatre had a nasty habit of making loyal followers where ever he went. The Maguanacs were one thing, but now it felt like the rest of star system was slowly falling in line. Between him and Relena Darlian, Dorothy often thought pacifism really was feasible.
"He will come into his own," Quatre said serenely.
Dorothy took her seat at the guest sofa across from the blonde. "Which brings us to the reason I'm here," she started with a knowing smile. "The First Constellation Conference."
It had been reported to ESUN and colony leaders as a social event, meant to forge ties among young Newtypes and their wizarding peers. As most political events were, its true purpose was multi-layered and unsaid.
Chief Strategic Advisor Winner had theorized it would act as a platform for the Earth Sphere's magical communities to make their first move. They were held at such a weighty political disadvantage that they would have no alternative but to use their children to further their political goals, and one way to subtly take back power was to influence the younger generations of their political counterparts. Convince the children of their worldview, and eventually, everyone would fall in line.
Newtypes decided to go for a different approach.
Although Preventers had been provided intel from various sources about the Earth's magical communities, the information was disparate and at times, hard to understand. It was difficult to gauge another community's culture and ethics from sheets of data, and so they opted for a different method: listen to what their children said.
Children took time to form their own social and political ideologies, and in the meanwhile, they relied on parroting what their parents said. What children knew and understood of the world around them relied heavily on school and parental influence, and so the Newtypes thought to gather the children from all across the Earth Sphere's magical communities and hear what they had to say.
What did wizards and witches know about their so-called Muggle counterparts?
What did they know about the colonies?
What did they think about each other?
And like good little songbirds, they mimicked the words of their parents and teachers.
"Ignorant for most, across the board," Dorothy began. "The best that can be said for them is that the ones from Eastern Europe tend to know a bit more about Muggle current events, wary of having a repeat of the wizarding counterpart to Nazi Germany. The Iranian delegation were intent on reminding us that they were known for their advances in the fields of mediwizardry. L2's representatives seemed interested."
"They would be," Quatre murmured. The plague that had rocked the L2 colony cluster over a decade ago was infamous.
Dorothy tapped her lip in thought. "There's a social hierarchy decided upon 'blood'," she recounted. "Those born from wizarding lines seem to enjoy a higher level of prestige. Those from Muggle lines are not regarded as 'inferior' per se, but there's a subtle prejudice." Subtle in the sense that none of the purebloods in attendance had said anything overt, but those with a keen mind could read the undercurrent.
"The Preventers reports mentioned that," Relena spoke up. "And Secretary Reid said that Magical Britain had a war around 15 years ago over it as well."
The mention of Magical Britain made Dorothy perk up. She'd spent some time at the Conference with one Draco Malfoy; he was nice to look at, honestly, but it was clear that every time he spoke, it was with his father's words. Still, it had presented quite an interesting picture when L3's Alex Troye had reported what he'd heard from the British witch Susan Bones.
"Magical Britain seems to be a bit of a hotbed," Dorothy started cautiously. Immediately, both Relena's and Quatre's looks turned sharp. "There's something brewing there that they're unable to agree upon."
Relena's tone was patient; her eyes were not. "Don't mince your words, Dorothy," she ordered softly.
"Currently, it's only fear," Dorothy said. "But we know - all too well - how easily men's fears turn them to war."
-..-
-..-
-..-
-.
WFhYRw0KDQoNCg==
Decoding…
REVMVEENCg0KDQo=
Decoding…
Delta.
Decoding…
Decoding…
XXXG-02: Status all clear. Now let me fucking breathe.
-..-
-..-
-..-
-.
End Chapter 3
A/N: You know what's fun to write? Remus's rose-colored lenses when it comes Duo.
-Notes on the Constellation Conference:
Draco's gonna learn, even if that means being under Dorothy's sadistic mercies.
Relena really does believe in the message of it but is also astute enough to know how else it can be used.
-Notes about the Gundam Pilots:
People know only that there were five young pilots but not their actual identities. Duo is the only special case, given his publicized capture - but that was only a rather shoddy picture so people would be hard-pressed to recognize him on sight.
-Notes on Newtypes:
There's a lot of rapid developments in both understanding and governmental structure with them, and so information is pretty one-sided. They're using that to its full advantage while they can.
Thank you for reading! Please be kind and drop a review.
