Ravi Patel could hear the sound of the typewriter keys mixing with the voices coming from his boss's radio in the office. He had gotten used to it. Ever since he started working for Phineas Black, Patel couldn't remember a day when the journalist didn't spend at least a few hours listening to some of the Muggle programming, believing that the connection between the two worlds was too tenuous to be ignored.
The door was slightly ajar, and the young man could see that Black was amidst his creative chaos: in addition to typing, he occasionally paused to jot something down in a dark-covered notebook. What surprised the young man the most was knowing that, even so, his boss managed to pay attention to what was being said on the radio.
"Phineas," he called, causing the man to lift his face.
Black observed the young man for a few seconds. Patel was no more than twenty-five years old, yet he demonstrated a sense of responsibility that far exceeded his age. That's precisely why he had become Phineas's right-hand man at the newspaper. Black suspected that it was due to a gratitude that he didn't consider himself deserving of.
When the young man came for the job interview, he seemed a bit insecure. Phineas couldn't blame him. In addition to being born into a Muggle family, he was a foreigner; his parents lived in India and managed to send him to England to study. The young man's political convictions also didn't make him attractive to be hired, as he sometimes let slip his desire for his homeland to become independent from Britain. However, Black never paid attention to these prejudices; the intelligence and perspicacity of the young man impressed him, so he decided to hire him.
The truth was that Phineas had gathered around him many people who could be considered out of the ordinary for both wizards and Muggles. All his employees were of Muggle origin or were half-bloods. They weren't many, but they made a difference.
In addition to Ravi, Black could consider two more people among his employees as the soul of the newspaper. Pietro Mateotti, an Italian anarchist who fled Italy with his family because of fascism, was responsible for printing, and his main reporter, Williamina Goldie, came from a family whose women had a strong suffragist heritage.
Black preferred it that way. Those people had the necessary backbone to do the difficult work they had at hand.
"How can I help you, Ravi?"
"Pepe asked me to say that he managed to fix the press. It seems it was some sticky potion in the gears, but it won't delay the printing of the newspaper."
Phineas smiled. Good old Pepe always managed to work miracles. It wasn't the first time they had gone through that kind of situation; it was the second, just that month, that someone had broken into the newspaper and sabotaged the machinery. The Aurors investigating the case didn't seem to take it very seriously, though.
However, Ravi didn't seem to share the same relief as his boss.
"I don't know if we should celebrate. They're getting smarter and bolder, managed to bypass the security measures we installed here."
The older man ran his hand through his dark hair. He couldn't deny that the articles and reports they published had drawn the attention of unwanted people. Pure-blood radicals. With Grindelwald's growing influence on the Continent, British extremists seemed to be feeling safer to expose their ideals, often in an unpeaceful manner. Those sabotages could be just the beginning.
"Okay, Ravi, you're right. Willie said that Goddriac knows some people who could work as security guards here at the newspaper."
The Indian finally let himself relax, even if only minimally. Williamina's fiancé, Goodfellow Goddriac, might seem at first glance like a irresponsible bon vivant, but underneath that façade was a serious and reliable person. If he could arrange for someone to take care of the newspaper, they could feel safe.
"Speaking of Willie," Patel spoke up, "she sent a message. Managed to convince the new Minister to give us an exclusive interview. The Prophet's people will be green with envy."
Black laughed. When Goldie wanted something, she always got it.
"I hope Spencer-Moon is more incisive regarding Grindelwald as he promised," Phineas said, in a more serious tone. "I foresee very dark times for all of us, Ravi."
"Any news on the Muggle radio?"
The journalist shook his head.
"Not today, but things are deteriorating rapidly. The Nazis are gaining ground. Last year was that abomination. Kristallnacht... such a pretty name for such a heinous thing."
Ravi turned his head, looking at the radio, as if the device could bring some answer to their future.
"The Muggle Minister? Isn't he doing anything?"
"I know he has good intentions, but Chamberlain's appeasement policy will be our grave," the older man retorted bitterly. "I wouldn't doubt he'll leave power the same way Fawley left ours. What worries me the most is that the wizarding community doesn't realize that our path and that of the Muggles are strictly linked. The storm that will fall upon them will also hit us with its fury."
Phineas's expression was heavy and tired... There was so much to consider and so little he could do. His despondency didn't go unnoticed by the younger man. Patel genuinely liked his boss almost like a father. Phineas was the first to truly see him as a person, without prejudices or restrictions. He never judged him for his Muggle background, for being a foreigner, for his skin color, or for his beliefs. Perhaps he had been the first true friend he had in years.
"Boss, go home," he said. "Your family is waiting for you. Pepe and I can take care of the newspaper."
Phineas's face cleared, and a glint passed through the journalist's eyes.
"You're right, I'll finish the article and go home. We can only save the world one day at a time."
"Mommy, I'm tired," Marguerith said, rubbing her eyes.
Rosette let out an almost inaudible sigh. She had spent the whole afternoon at St. Mungo's. Betelgeuse had a severe throat infection. She carried her sleeping daughter in her arms while holding the hand of her younger twin.
"We'll just stop by the pharmacy to buy Bete's medicine and then we'll go home. Just a little longer, Marge."
The girl nodded as she sucked her thumb. She wanted her sister to get better soon so they could play again.
Rose entered the establishment with her daughters, looking for an attendant.
"Excuse me," she called.
A tall man with brown hair and a prominent square chin turned around. He had a harsh and unfriendly expression.
"Good afternoon," Rosette continued, undeterred. "I would like to buy this medicine."
She handed the prescription to the attendant. He looked at the woman's hand, impassive.
"No," he replied, curtly.
"How come?" Rosette asked, bewildered. "My daughter is sick, I need the medicine."
"I know who you are, Mrs. Black, I know what your husband writes. And we don't sell to people like you."
Anger surged within the woman's chest. He couldn't do this to her; it was practically a crime to refuse medicine for a sick child.
"Are you going to deny me this? I don't care if it's improper, but I'll make a scene if you don't sell it to me."
The man let out a heavy, deep laugh.
"You can do whatever you want. Who do you think they'll believe? You're just a blood traitor's wife."
"What do you suggest I do?"
The attendant shrugged dismissively.
"Perhaps some shop in Knockturn Alley won't mind serving scum like you."
Rosette felt her body start to tremble with anger.
"Are you suggesting that I take two small children to one of the most dangerous places in the city?"
Before the man could respond, Rosette felt Marguerith's little hand squeeze hers.
"Mama, I want to go home."
The fear-filled eyes of her daughter made Rose give up the argument. She stormed out of the pharmacy.
It didn't take long for her and the girls to arrive home. After tucking Betelgeuse into bed, she went to prepare dinner while Marge played in the living room.
The front door of the house opened, revealing Phineas Black's figure. He hung his hat and coat on the hooks by the entrance. Upon hearing her husband's footsteps, Marguerith got up, abandoning the doll she was playing with.
"Daddy, you're home," the five-year-old girl jumped towards the dark-haired man.
Phineas scooped up his daughter mid-air, spinning her into a hug.
"I missed you too, Marge," he said, planting a kiss on the girl's cheek.
"Will you tell me a story, Daddy?" she asked.
"Did you obey Mommy today?"
She nodded vigorously, determined.
"Then, after dinner, I'll read to you."
Heading towards the kitchen, he noticed his wife coming towards him. Rosette's downcast and sober expression made him worry. He put the little girl down.
"Marge, my love, go play in the other room. Daddy needs to talk to Mommy."
"Okay," she replied, practically running out of the room.
Phineas approached his wife, embracing her and planting a kiss on top of her head.
"What happened, Rose?"
She closed her eyes, letting his warmth comfort her. She allowed the tears of anger and indignation to flow freely down her face. Phineas felt his wife's sobs reverberate through her body. He pulled away slightly, observing Rose's tear-stained cheeks.
"I'm here, my love."
"I couldn't buy Bete's medicine. She's running a fever... I did what I could... I..."
The man released his grip on his wife and guided her to a nearby chair. Rosette allowed herself to be led, almost apathetic. She was too tired... She wished she had been stronger to protect her daughter, but she felt so weak, small, and helpless. What more could she have done without putting herself and the girls in unnecessary danger?
"The pharmacy attendant refused to sell me the medicine," Rose spoke, beginning to compose herself. "Because of the things you write..."
Phineas took her hands in his; ever since he chose to defend Muggle rights, he knew they would face situations like this. He had tried to prepare Rosette for it, but there would always be worse days than others.
"I'm sorry, darling," he began. "I really wish you didn't have to go through this, but doing the right thing isn't always easy. Dumbledore said..."
Rosette suddenly stood up.
"I don't care what your friend said, or didn't say... It's very convenient for him, protected within Hogwarts."
"Rose, you know that's not true... What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do?"
She sighed, massaging her temples.
"Right now, I just want you to buy Betelgeuse's medicine."
"That I can do," he stood up, preparing to leave.
When he returned, Phineas found Rosette in the twins' room, watching over Betelgeuse's sleep. The girl was breathing heavily. He placed the medicine on the dresser, approaching his wife who hadn't taken her eyes off the girl for a moment. He placed a hand on Rose's shoulder, and she simply moved her own hand to rest on top of his.
"How is she?" Phineas broke the silence.
"The fever went down, and she managed to eat a bit," Rose replied softly, almost melancholic. "There's stew for you in the kitchen, and Marge is in our room, waiting for you to read her a story. She was almost asleep when I put her in our bed, but she insisted on waiting for you."
Phineas said nothing; he just allowed himself to cherish that moment with his wife and eldest daughter. He didn't sense any anger coming from Rosette, only sadness and worry.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too," she replied, finally lifting her face to meet his gaze.
"I suppose you'll want to spend the night watching over Bete?"
She nodded. Phineas kissed her on the forehead, leaving the girls' room. He walked slowly to the room he shared with his wife.
Marguerith was lying on the canopy bed, clutching a book. He took it from her arms, noting the title: The Tales of Beedle the Bard. A discreet smile crept onto his lips. The first book he bought in Rosette's hands. He placed the book on the bedside table, covered the girl, and planted a kiss on her forehead.
He took off his shoes and lay down, staring at the white canopy. In the end, he had gone to Knockturn Alley to buy the medicine. He considered going to the pharmacy to confront the attendant, but he would leave that for the next day; bringing his daughter's medicine was a priority, and he didn't know what result he would get if he had opted for a confrontation.
Phineas wondered if the world had always been like that, and he hadn't noticed, or if the world was deteriorating at a dizzying speed. No matter how much he pondered, he couldn't find an answer.