There were several books of magic that Dorcas had confiscated either bodily or magically but several still remained for different reasons. On Magic by Elias Sherman was one of them. Philippa had hidden it and when Dorcas had waved her wand and accio'd "books on magic, books containing the word magic, magical, wizard, witch, wandlore, wandcraft' etc etc. On Magic had stayed because it was enchanted. Written in the early nineteen forties, it was a tome written primarily for people like Philippa herself. Friends or family who did not do magic themselves but had some knowledge of it. It was one of the last books that Lupin had given her, found in bookshop in Tangenti Alley during their used book swap at the same store he had purchased cookbooks for Philippa using money he'd borrowed from Marlene. Another several books did not actually contain those words at all technically, because they had been written in other languages and had been translated, magically, into English. On Magic said something about this phenomena too.
The wizard must have a broad enough intention that magic has room to move around the object and manifest and yet enough specificity to do the magic itself. Magic effects and is effected by three primary drivers and several more secondary and tertiary influences. The most notable of these include the inherent skill of the wizard, his state or mood, and his training. The secondary greatest influences relate to wand craft and lore, some of which has been argued to be primary: his affinity to the wand, length of time married to the wand and familiarity and relationship to the person who might have once been married to the wand (ie a wand passed down from a family member they get along with at an older age is more likely to work than a wand purchased at a young age from a unknowledgeable salesman and wands hewn by proficient wizards for themselves being the strongest of all. The latter, of course, being the most dangerous option.
Philippa watched Dorcas sort through the stack of books she collected, some of which were her own muggle books and some of which were grandpa's and some her own left throughout the years. She set her wand on the floor and sat cross legged sorting through the not large but not unsubstantial pile. Philippa eyed the stack. What could she have done? It hurt to watch some of the copies removed. The cookbooks Lupin had given her hurt especially badly. But as the books were sorted, she realized some had not made it. She said nothing.
"Alright, these ones I have to take. You understand, right?"
There was an edge in Dorcas' voice at the last question. She had been distracted looking at some of the books themselves and Philippa saw she had taken one of the old books from when they were children, not magical at all in the literal sense amongst the others.
"What do you plan on doing with them. I can't imagine witches have a history of burning books, do they?" She hadn't meant it like that.
Dorcas snorted and turned to walk away. A ribbon conjured around them and the whole stack shrunk to the thinnest versions of itself and the load further lightened. Dorcas' fingers coiled through the ribbon.
"It's safer if you don't know."
"You're probably right."
Dorcas slowed as she walked towards the door the books swinging more dramatically for the change in weight. She opened the door.
"I'm giving them back to Lupin." Dorcas said as she shut the door behind her.
Philippa did not move for several moments. Then she went to the piano and sat there for several more. Then she went to the kitchen where she thought she might do the dishes but there were none. Dorcas must have done them on her way in. So she stood at the clean sink. And then when she was reasonably sure enough time had passed, she sprinted up the stairs rummaged through the closet and found two books. She ran back downstairs and opened a compartment in the piano bench and found another. There had been no occasion when she was younger to hide anything but Lupin, when he first brought the books over, insisted that some be hidden just in case and to hide them in "muggle places". Well, Dorcas had grown up muggle for a large part of her life. A seat cushion, a cereal box, in a closet were distinctly muggle hiding places. But a piano bench that didn't look like it opened was and wasn't and she wouldn't have. Even Dorcas growing paranoia would have kept her from there. Rummaging in their closet would have been beneath her too, she had glanced and half heartedly opened a box but it was organized and tidy and this wasn't a raid after all. Well, it was but the books were nestled in the large pockets of old coats or folded in scarves and stacked in the corners. Dorcas was removing magical artifacts, fusfium not standing, for Philippa's safety.
If someone found the same books, the same artifacts, they would immediately identify the house as somewhere where a wizard or witch had lived or that they might be related to someone with magic and everyone incorrectly assumed they were sisters already. If someone, or multiple people were looking for her, and they were, they would widen that circle and naturally that circle only included a handful of people a full half which couldn't defend themselves using magic.
Philippa understood what Dorcas was saying but not what it meant. Not really. She had seen Dorcas do magic of course. She had witnessed lots of magic by then but she did not understand fully what the war meant. She did not really understand Dorcas' job. Lupin let her know. All the magic that Philippa had seen so far had been nice, good. It was probably the only reason she agreed to let grandpa go to St. Mungo's at all. The care. They could fix things that a muggle hospital couldn't and grandpa became stronger and healthier there, though Philippa never got to witness that. He was also old and there was, really no spell against soul exhaustion. Every bit of real magic she had encountered had been performed by people she loved, people who loved her. Sure, she had read about curses and horror of certain spells, types of magic but they existed in the abstract and, in many of the textbooks, the academic writing did something to distance what it could actually mean. For all her close reading, the terror of the idea of those spells, that type of magic was still eclipsed by the magic she had seen, magic she dreamt about. The breaking glass, the fear in Dorcas face, the feeling of-, all of that lessened at the thought of the first days and moments of witnessing magic firsthand. Of grandpa laughing with joy at witnessing Dorcas do magic too. She felt lighter thinking about sitting at the table and being taught by Lupin, discussing theory, asking questions she had never imagined might be difficult to answer.
Lupin knocked at the door. Usually, she didn't open the door anymore. If he needed something or to talk, he could knock another way. He'd been serious about not wanting to disturb her. That day, she opened the door.
"Come in."
Philippa prepared and warmed some food. They ate in silence, Lupin having learned that he couldn't argue his way out of food or her cooking, which was a relief. He liked when he could deal without the pretense of a thing. He washed the dishes.
"She took the books. My books."
He nodded, listening.
"She said it would be safer."
"She isn't wrong. It will be safer." He said drying his hands off.
"She's going to give them back to you."
He smiled a wan smile. He looked so old.
"Do you want them back?"
Philippa considered. Lupin wouldn't lie or exaggerate. Dorcas wasn't prone to that either but maybe she was too close.
"How bad is it? The war. How bad is it really?"
Lupin somehow looked even older as he inhaled. He pulled a chair from under the dining table and nearly collapsed onto the seat. That would have been enough of an answer for her but he controlled his breath as she sat down slowly. Unsure that she wanted to know now.
"Dorcas is very busy. She still has to go to work too. Report to the Ministry." He said almost to himself. He looked up at Philippa. "You're training to be a ward sister?"
"A nurse. There's a shortage."
"If it gets bad enough…"
"Will it get worse?"
Lupin looked up ashen faced.
"She's an auror. There's a shortage of them too."
Philippa became a little light headed. She pressed her palms together under the table. Kept her voice steady and even.
"Who are you fighting? Are they from another country? Do they have a name? I mean it has to be a largish group? It's Lord Vol-"
"Wait." He stopped her getting more energized as she began to ask the name. He had almost wanted to laugh at the first question. Who was he fighting? If the war was turning friends against each other… "No, they don't have a name as such. Sometimes they're others, the otherside. Sirius sometimes calls them the Aristocracy." He snorted unimpressed.
Philippa waited for him to continue. She watched as a shadow passed over his face. He wanted to continue. He wasn't saying what he wanted to say in the way he wanted to say it. She knew a version of this look but usually he was ruddy faced and joyful. She could almost perceive the gray coming off of him in wafts.
"The increase of killings all over England? All those people hospital?"
Philippa nodded slowly.
"That was us. Them." Lupin corrected. He thought silently.
Philippa could hear the steam coming from the tea. She could hear the hum of the sun outside and she wanted to ask if they, not the other side but Lupin's side, Dorcas' side, the good side if they were winning. Would the war end soon with all of them having done what they needed to do to end it? Were they going to finish the war but she already knew the answer. She could feel the heat of the oven though it was no longer on. She was acutely aware of the gas main that fed its flame. She could hear the hiss and burble of gas traveling though the entire district to everyone's home though she didn't know, she couldn't place where it had come from, its origin.
Philippa started to inhale deeply to steady herself when Lupin who was gazing, if anything, at the steam coming from the tea, spoke again.
"Us." He had decided eventually.
