Hi. I promise this is the most OC-heavy I get during this story.

Chapter Two:

Sophie:

"Well, if it isn't my sister the witch!" my brother Paul announced loudly as we sat down at a café.

"Keep your voice down," I hissed.

I chose a tourist trap as my brother would stick out anywhere else with his iced hair in spikes, earing, chain necklace, over tattered jeans, and a band shirt. With me in a brown muggle business suit and my brown hair in a chignon, I might be mistaken for his parole officer.

"Like anyone would believe I'm chatting with a witch," he said with a laugh. "Let's throw you in the Thames with a duck to see if you float!"

"Paul, you need to get out of Europe," I said seriously. "A wizarding war is coming and I'm not sure I can protect you."

"But I'm not a wizard," he said. "Who would want to mess with a muggle comic shop manager?"

In truth, my brother should have been the one to have magic. He was obsessed with Arthurian legends from an early age. Paul was thrilled when I got my letter from Hogwarts when he was eight. He devoured my school books, but never expressed jealousy as he hated homework and preferred to see the wizarding world through my eyes. I loved my brother dearly even as many of the kind I associate with find him obnoxious.

"You-Know-Who is back," I said. "He attacked the ministry and one of his adjacent followers nearly killed the deputy headmistress at Hogwarts."

Paul put his elbows on the table and cocked his head. "That's interesting. Did you treat the deputy headmistress? Her name was McGonagall, right?"

"Yes." My brother had a good memory for details and asked once if I petted her cat form.

"What has you puzzled about her? You're an open book sis. What's bothering you about it?"

"McGonagall is a seventy-five-year-old witch of mixed parentage. Three stun spells to the chest should have killed her, and she was hit with four."

"Sis, have you ever wondered where magic came from?"

"Please don't ask me again to find out if Jack Kirby is a wizard. Recreational drugs are what gave him the ideas for comics, not magic."

"You don't know that for sure. But anyway, take this series of comics called the Inhumans. It is theorized that aliens did genetic experiments on homo sapiens thousands of years ago. These alien traits manifest when exposed to a mist. McGonagall sounds Scottish."

"That may be the craziest thing you've ever suggested, and you once showed me a comic where the God of Thunder was turned into a frog."

"I'm serious, Sophie! The human genome isn't completely mapped out. Our parents are our doctors, yet your 'kind' constantly uses magic to explain the unexplainable. It sounds like a cop-out to me."

I sighed. "You're not wrong, Paul."

"I'd go digging if I were you. Every muggle idea is rooted in magic somewhere like Merlin being a Slytherin. Ask uncomfortable questions, and explore strange ideas. Use what our parents taught us about how to conduct experiments and do some research of your own."

"Except for the fact, that there is a war coming to the wizarding world. I've arranged for Mum and Dad to take positions at the Mayo Clinic in America. There is a job in the mailroom at Marvel for you also."

"No," he said firmly. "I have my mates and Elizabeth. Liz and I are finally in a good spot."

"I don't think you get how serious this is. This dark wizard will kill anyone associated with muggle lineage. I'm going to try to stay at St. Mungo's long enough to protect muggle-born patients. Then I'm going under."

"I can't abandon my life. I'm sorry sis. You know what I've been through. I'm not going to ruin what I have fought so hard to earn."

"I could hex you into leaving," I said.

"You don't have it in you. I remember from your books you have to believe in the spell for it to work."

He was right. Hexes were never my strong suit. I knew how to reverse them, but performing them was something else.

"Please, Paul. Think of Nan."

"This is not World War II. This is a war among your people. I'm not putting my life on hold for something I have nothing to do with."

Paul stood up. I stood up also.

"Then this might be the last time I see you for a while," I said. "I can't risk hurting you by association."

"I guess that's how it's going to be," he said. "I know you're looking out for me, but I'm a grown man. It's not on you if I get hurt."

"Nothing will change your mind?"

Paul hugged me. "Take care sis."

We parted ways. I couldn't look back.

…

I was finishing my muggle record camouflage spell at St. Mungo's when a woman with a red braid that looked like a snake poked her head into my office.

"It's done," she said. "You're brother's halfway to America with a stack of comics in his satchel."

I couldn't hex my brother, but I knew people who could. I pulled an envelope out of a secret compartment in my desk.

"Four sets of passports and work permits, for the dragon sanctuary in Romania," I said. "I also included money and the name of the best healer in the area."

"Thanks. Look I know you feel bad, Sophie, but muggles don't always know what's best for them. You did the right thing."

I wouldn't look at her. "I need to get back to work."

"Wait. I found a package addressed to you in his kitchen, I thought you'd like it."

She handed me a flat rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and left.

What was curious was the handwriting wasn't Paul's. Careful of jinxes, I opened it with my wand.

It was Volume One of The Inhumans. I open I flipped through the pages and noticed handwriting on the copyright page:

Paul's theory is closer to the truth than you want to believe. Keep digging."

Someone had been watching. Someone knew.

As intriguing as it would have been to pursue this concept, I was a Ravenclaw, not a Gryffindor. My flat had books mapping Japan, Portuguese language books were in my office, and letters from South Africa were in my secret compartment. My scheme for concealing muggle identities at St. Mungo's was so elaborate, that they'd have to steal the enigma machine to crack it. I was a strategist, not a fighter.

Our nan on mum's side is from Germany and spent most of World War II trying to outrun the Nazis. When You-Know-Who came into power, my mother used the Holocaust survivor's network to send her to America to avoid re-traumatization. I don't know what Paul doesn't understand about the similarities between Jews and muggles. It might have something to do with how he doesn't live it every day as certain patients refuse care from me when they find out my parentage. World War III is never as far off as people think especially when it is on the verge of breaking out under our noses.

I put the graphic novel in with the things I'd be taking overseas. Gran had friends in Canada willing to take me in without asking questions. The plan was simple: I was taking a holiday in Brazil with no plans of coming back. Looking through the graphic novel, the images were gloriously weird. I put it away and prepared to act naturally.

Before I left, I looked at McGonagall's latest care report, since I saw her a month ago. It was noted she was already walking several distances at a time without needing her cane. McGonagall's recovery was an extraordinary miracle that was going to be left in the rubbish bin to prepare for what was coming.

For a little while at least.

Minerva:

I have a recurring half-dream-half-memory of being lost in the cemetery by my father's church. The fog was thick and I could hear a baby crying somewhere. As an adult, I realize many magical creatures might have produced that sound to lure me. I didn't know where I was, but that did not scare me. I am wandering among the headstones, with a sense of peace. The fog becomes thicker, to the point where I could see nothing but white. I feel no fear as I reach out to touch it. When the cool soupy air touches my fingers, the smoky air swirls around me until it hangs on me like a gown. The fog clears, the baby stops crying, and I look up and a series of infinite constellations unravel before me. It is a dream of pure joy and I don't even know how real it is.

As the fall term approached, I wondered what to do with the cane when I was through with it. Banishing it was the obvious option, but it didn't feel like a proper sendoff. I wouldn't dare pollute the lake with it. After some thought, I decided to leave it in the swamp Filius left as a memorial to the Weasley Twins. Time would come when most students would have no idea why a cane was there. It was a threat as well as a warning.

Dumbledore left most of his administrative duties to me as I knew he was preparing for war. What outsiders often fail to understand is the bravery of ordinariness. Hogwarts needed someone fully committed to things such as supply inventory. Someone to ensure Hogwarts was still a safe haven for young minds. My job did not require praise nor do I go looking for it.

I knew Ms. Wilson was as curious about my recovery as I was. The Ravenclaw in me wanted answers, even if they sound ridiculous, but the Gryffindor saw there were more pressing battles ahead. If I survived this war, I may be willing to pursue such fanciful thoughts. But right now, I had school to protect and darkness to face as threats greater than four stun spells approached.