January 31, 1997

I truly hated this office.

Being alone with Dolores Umbridge was a weekly nightmare where she would give me a list of tasks for the week and explain to me in excruciating detail how these things needed to be accomplished, filed and generally just how to do my job. I had taken to spacing out during these hostage negotiation style meetings, nodding my head and making the appropriate agreeable noises was a lesson I learned at a young age and it continued to serve me well.

Since the gala, when I had politely declined to be Scrimgeour's puppet, Umbridge had not known what to do with me. Should she treat me with the usual pleasantries or perhaps begin again with a passive scorn? The possibilities seemed endless and seemed to rely on Scimgeour's general demeanor towards me on particular days. On days he was cold and ignored me, she was more scornful of my general existence, the rest of the time when I had the potential to be in Scrimgeour's good graces once more, Umbridge was cordial, false and disgustingly sweet as she asked about my career plans and made effort to give the appearance of managerial concern about my life and my work.

This time, she had invited me into her office for tea.

Dolores Umbridge was a frog-like woman clad in pink with beady eyes. She had an air of malignancy about her that set my teeth on edge with her girlish, ghoulish giggles to every funny little comment the Minister made. I did not like her. Percy said she was a delightful woman, but that was… well… honestly an incorrect opinion. Men had no sense for quiet malignancy because they never had to look for it or expect it in their daily lives.

Though, maybe that was an aspect of my upbringing under a politically ambitious father talking?

"Close the door please." She gave me an impression of a sincere, maternal smile and offered me a chair as she moved to sit behind her desk while the kitten plates meowed and purred at various intervals.

I hated this office. It was too pink, too gaudy and set my teeth on edge. It was like a mockery of what a little girl would think it was like to be the ruler of the world.

By the Twelve even the carpet was pink!

I was lucky there was nothing subtle about Umbridge, if there was I would have fallen hook, line and sinker for her sweet, cat loving persona and written off the warning I had received from Irene. At least I could tell Umbridge was more of an attempt at personhood than a success story of the matter.

She motioned for me to sit down, I did so, perching myself as close to the edge of the chair as I could manage without looking like a lunatic.

"Tea?" Umbridge summoned the tea kettle and a set of delicious teacups with pastel decorations from a nearby cupboard.

"No thank you."

She set a steaming teacup down in front of me anyway before sitting down herself with a wide smile.

I had to do my best impression of Percy to get through any meetings with this woman if I had to talk at all. Best to get this over with.

"Always a pleasure to see you Madam Umbridge, is there anything I can help you with today?"

"You'll be filling in for Weasley today, he's called out."

Called out? Good. He sounded terrible yesterday. I'm surprised I didn't see him trying to come in today.

"Oh, I hope he gets well soon. I take it the Minister needs me to take notes for him?"

"Precisely," She handed me Percy's planner where he kept the Minister's schedule. I had one as well, but Percy's was far more detailed than mine featuring names of department heads for each meeting, the scheduled trials (if one could call them trials) and an assortment of matters related to interviews with the Daily Prophet to assure the public of the Ministry's success.

Wait. This means I had to spend the day with Scrimgeour. Dammit.

"Perhaps the Minister would like me to find a stray clerk from the International office to fill in? I'm sure it wouldn't take long to find one."

"You wouldn't refuse a request from the Minister, would you?" Her voice soft and made my spine tingle at the implications before she even spoke the words aloud. "It's not a good look to refuse a request from the Minister of Magic himself is it?"

I've done it before, I can do it again.

Unfortunately, I did not have a quick or easy out today. Protesting it would just make me look petulant.

She sounded so slovenly about it I struggled not to roll my eyes.

"I would never! That would be so disrespectful and I cannot imagine trying to be in the Minister's position right now with everything going on. What I meant to ask was if there was anything you felt I needed to do that was time sensitive or important? I just don't feel that someone of your standing should be left out in the cold or forced to cover any of my menial tasks."

Umbridge giggled and I felt an implicit urge to pop her like a pimple. "Such a considerate girl. No, there is nothing of the sort you should concern yourself with."

One of the cat plates on the wall began to purr.

My mind told me to stay calm, keep the smile glued to my face and be the happiest, simplest, little ornament that ever came through this department and not trust this woman in any capacity in the present or the future. The other secretaries were beginning to think I might be able to last as long as Irene had working under Umbridge, though I had a feeling it was more the Minister's doing then any goodwill on Umbridge's part. I needed to maintain my private life. I had the potential to be a valuable pawn even if I was uncooperative.

I needed a drink.

"That does make me feel better about the matter." I checked Percy's ledger and turned to some notes with today's date written on them. "I assume I am to assist the Minister with his meeting with the journalist from the Daily Prophet this morning?"

"And whatever else he needs."

I would take an annoyed Scrimgeour over a day with Umbridge.

"Of course, Madam Umbridge."

Oo0Oo0

The conference room just off the Atrium was crowded with people from the Daily Prophet and various important offices in the Ministry. I could see several department heads who would be staying after the Minister left to answer questions of their own on a smaller scale. The air was filled with the scratching of notes and a low rumble of muttering between the reporters. Scrimgeour generally preferred smaller interviews with his favorite Prophet reporters, finding those meetings more personal, but sometimes he needed to offer encouragement to the masses and that usually involved a more public display and an open platform.

I did not understand why Percy enjoyed his job as much as he did.

Well, maybe I could to some extent, Scrimgeour was masterful at making everything he did look above board under the pressures of war and as he spoke I almost felt comforted by his words and the conviction of his speech. A presence that radiated power and demanded respect of himself and the office he represented. Blunt and direct like every old Auror my grandfather had introduced me to growing up. Though Scrimgeour's ability to redirect a conversation and slightly cover the truth of a matter with pretty words reminded me strongly of my father.

I shuffled my notes and refilled my inkwell to continue my notations for the records. I sat off to the side of the room where I could see everything and everyone. My chair pressed against the wall, half hidden from view by a large plant so I could periodically check the time so I could give Scrimgeour the signal to end his part of this meeting and move him on upstairs to his meeting with the department Percy's father managed with that stupidly long name.

"The current arrests are being detained for questioning and their trials will be scheduled for a later date," Scrimgeour's voice boomed through the room as I noted the names of the reporters who asked each question and the questions they asked. I was told it was for statistical purposes and to help with speech writing. Percy's methodology, he was detail oriented to the point where it was almost painful.

Percy has a genuineness to him that does not mesh well with politics. Sure, politicians can be very honest and forthright when they feel inclined to be, and they may be so in the day to day affairs of life, but they know how to wear a mask and when to do so. I'm not sure Percy has ever figured out how to wear a mask, if he has maybe I just see through it.

Really, I'm starting to think I've had an exceptional education.

Scrimgeour was moving into his closing statements, the good bits for the Daily Prophet to use in the latest piece about the Ministry's efforts in the war.

"The Death Eaters are being handled, with each arrest we trim their numbers and take another step towards victory against You-Know-Who. This Ministry remains committed to total victory over this threat and shall emerge victorious."

I hoped that was true.

"Those who support our enemy, this threat to our stability will be brought to justice. Our law enforcement offices are working tirelessly to find these sympathizers and remove them from our society by any means necessary and bring them to justice with the full support of the Ministry!"

A cold chill moved through me as Scrimgeour continued with an impromptu speech of sorts and my jaw clenched so tightly that my teeth ached. I had to relax, Alex had made his choices and he was adult enough to deal with the consequences. I was not going to help him in this. I would not!

But some part of me knew that I would.

The disappointment had faded, not entirely but enough to begin to heal. I loved Alex. The work he did was admirable. It was not a matter of politics, it was a matter of familial affection. I felt like a bridge of some sort, between my brother and our family should that time ever come, Alex and Lucinda, and between my brother and every law he was probably breaking in his pursuit of this story.

"Our victory will be absolute!"

I really missed my secretarial duties.

Oo0Oo0

February 1, 1997

I knew where Percy lived, we exchanged letters mostly to arrange walks and the like (Hermes was a delightful, well behaved owl), but we had never been inside each other's homes. It seemed a large line that we would cross at some point soon due to the war pushing us indoors and out of the No-Maj world we had taken refuge in at various points. It was really a matter of if we wanted to cross that line on our terms or the world's.

I would prefer to cross it on mine.

The bag on my arm shifted slightly as I opened the door to the Percy's building. It was nice, slightly run down with a vaguely dated touch in the way wix enjoyed. The woman at the desk was a friendly woman who reminded me of the lady who managed my block of flats with her warm smile as she cross checked the list of visitors that Percy warned me had been implemented this summer. She nodded and waved me on to the lift. I knew he was on the fifth floor, oh what was the number? 5-C! That was it.

It was a simple door, dark blue and not ostentatious with a small silver owl knocker that helped mark this building as a wizarding complex. Percy would laugh and tell me it was called a flat, I asked why and he did not seem to have an answer for it but told me he would find out.

I glanced at the door behind me where loud music was playing somewhere beyond and winced at the rollicking banging of drums and… violin? What the hell?

I rapped on Percy's door and shifted awkwardly as I waited, moving my bag from one hand to another, the faint noise of a radio show audible when the neighbor took breaks from practicing in the room behind me.

"Who is it?" The voice from the other side of the door sounded raspy and congested.

"It's Audrey and you sound terrible."

There was a clatter of noise from the other side of the door, as if things were flying across the room and clattering against other objects, a displeased screech from Hermes adding to the symphony before a moment of silence that Percy was quick to break with a security question.

"What was the name of that book you were complaining about last week?"

"The Fall of Rome and the Death of Democracy Volume Two. What was the legal loophole you found the other day?"

"That wandmakers who wish to import American cedar wood must first warn the Minister directly. There is no mention of this law being enforceable if the wizard is not a wandmaker. Hold on a moment." The door lock clicked and whirred back into place before the door opened to reveal a very pale, very sick looking Percy.

"Hi! I brought you some soup."

He motioned me inside and I hustled past him as he closed the door with a sniffle as I took off my cloak to hang on the wall peg. I waved at a ruffled, fluffy Hermes who was giving Percy a hard stare from his cage. Such a cute bird!

It was a small flat, bigger than mine but not by much and had a scent of illness hanging in the air. I noted the nice bookcase full of books ranging from volumes of magical law to a collection of mysteries on the opposite wall of what appeared to be the living room. The room seemed very clean, no sign of dishes or anything truly personal such as pictures or weird knick knacks. It was just an impersonal, spartan space with a white wall and brown furniture that could have belonged in a rental or hotel room aside from the book collection. The most interesting thing about this room structurally was the fireplace. Beyond the living room was an opening to the kitchen where I could see a table with a pewter cauldron resting on it with some ingredients nearby. Had he been making his own remedies? That's not something you do when you're sick, that's how you screw up a recipe by being fever fogged.

Like my apartment, Percy's had a very short hallway. Unlike mine, his seemed to only lead to the bathroom and the bedroom in the back. I at least had a very small storage room where I hid an assortment of leads about Alex from before I found him, now it acted as a kind of war closet where I was tracing Death Eater activity in hopes of maybe finding Alex one last time.

Percy's slippers scuffing on the floor called my attention back to him as he fixed the locks and spells. There was smoke from a pepper-up potion coming out of his ears, his hair was flying in several different directions and made him look as if his head were ablaze. Percy sneezed loudly, taking me out of the illusion as he turned to look at me. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and a pair of dark blue sweatpants with socks and well-worn slippers. If he were not ill, I would think him an old man.

It was so odd to see him in something other than work clothes, a very dramatic change to see him in what were functionally pajamas. I had never seen him so disheveled, it was like peeking behind a curtain to see something forbidden and secretive.

"Welcome to my home. Do you want something to drink?"

Not from your diseased hands.

I looked over at the couch that had a blanket thrown hastily over the back, that must have been where Percy was when I knocked. That couch was too short for a tall man to lay on comfortably. There was a low sound of voices from the radio atop the small shelf and the glass floor lamp that Percy used instead of a proper floor that he kept inside the fireplace.

"How about you point me to your kitchen and I'll heat this up for you." I held the bag up with a wry smile. "I don't intend to stay long, and I got the potion ingredients you asked for."

Percy looked at me with a confused and increasingly stressed expression. "No, no, you're a guest."

"You're sick, unless you're trying to infect me too?"

Percy put his hands up in front of him, surrendering the fight for the moment. "Fine, I'll save the courtesies for next time."

I felt myself flush at the mention of a next time.

"I'll bring food or something."

"Oh, you can cook?"

"I meant takeout, but I can cook a bit."

Lies.

He doesn't need to know I'm mostly living on jam, toast, takeout and whatever leftovers I can get from Thornell after I'm invited over for dinner. It's not bad, I live on my own and leftovers will last a couple of meals a week at most. Cooking is hard for one person. I'm an adult. I should be able to cook my own food but I have discovered I am actually not a good cook.

What I did to those eggs was a crime.

Percy cleared away the cauldron that was sitting on the kitchen table with a wave of his wand, sending it into a cupboard along with the common ingredients he had apparently been using earlier.

"You know you're not supposed to brew when you're sick," I summoned a pot from a nearby cupboard, placing it on the stove before dumping the contents of the soup container into the pot and turning on the stove. "That's how you go gray."

"Pretty sure that's an old wives tale crafted by a poor apothecary."

"The other version I heard was giving your lover pox."

"That's the American version then."

"Yes, though my aunt's an apothecary and she says that the truth of the matter is some ingredients not mixing well with particular diseases or something like that."

Percy sighed, "I like making potions, it's cheaper than getting someone to do it for me so I can pick it up six hours later."

"Point taken, but not the one I was making. What would Elizabeth say?"

That earned a chuckle from Percy as I leaned back against the counter. "Probably that I need to take better care of myself."

"She was such a nice lady. I'm glad she doesn't have to see everything that happened in the last few months, but I do miss her."

The smell of something burning caught my attention. I forgot to add water! I used a aquamenti charm to add water to the mixture, the air drying around me from the spell.

It did not appear Percy had noticed, he had his head in his hands as he tried to go to sleep at the table.

"If you need to see a Healer I can help you get to the hospital?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No." He looked over at me and smiled. "I've missed your company."

"Hermes isn't enough to entertain you?"

The soup came to a boil and the owl made a noise when I said his name. My face was warm and I did my best to pass it off as the growing heat from the pot.

"He doesn't talk back."

I stayed for an hour, long enough to make sure Percy ate and took another dose of pepper-up potion. Even if he would not say it, I was sure that was all of the visiting he could take. We left with pleasantries at the door, his warm hands lingering on my shoulders as he helped me with my cloak and I fought an urge to kiss him for the first time since the gala by remembering that he was sick and that his disease was one thing from him I did not want.

Oo0Oo0

The pecking at my window was incessant and growing louder and faster with each minute that passed. I swung off the couch with a groan and opened the curtain, expecting to see one of the pigeons doing something stupid or Hermes with a letter.

I did not expect to see a raven with a letter in its beak.

Wait… this bird was familiar. I know this bird.

I opened the window quickly.

"Erebus!"

The raven dropped a folded parchment on my couch before stealing the remaining piece of toast I had left on my plate.

The parchment had my name on it in an untidy scrawl, like someone had written it in a hurry and not had access to an envelope. Which was probably the case. The handwriting was tight and sloppy, but my name was discernible by the barest possible margin.

The raven settled in my windowsill, preening proudly and making a self satisfied noise.

"You're such a pig."

Erebus ignored me as he hopped from side to side in the window.

"No hellos for me? We used to cuddle."

Actually, I was holding Erebus against his will and had a couple of scars to prove it. The bird's tolerance for human affection was only the span of four minutes, the patience was halved for an eight year old girl who wanted to put little hats on him for parties with her stuffed animals.

I opened the parchment and was taken aback by the contents.

I'm sorry.

Can we talk?

The paper shimmered in my hands to show me a date, time and location for the meeting. It was a small shop in Diagon Alley that sold second hand books. A neutral place where neither of us was encroaching on the other's territory and perspective of the world.

I would go. There was no question about that. Alex was my brother, despite his flaws, and no one else could truly understand growing up in the Byrgen House under the Graves family's legacy of service and sacrifice. Jack cast a long shadow, but he had one over him too in his own father.

I took a deep breath before facing the raven who watched me with a thoughtful expression.

"I'll be there."

Erebus nodded, accepting my reply before flying out the window into the early evening light.

Oo0Oo0

Author's Notes: I try to write Umbridge as a version of every toxic lunatic manager I ever had, the quiet malignancy, some degree of micromanaging, etc. I do need to tell my library stories.

I like to think that birds other than owls can be used to deliver messages (because generally owls are considered a stupid sort of bird, but they are so pretty and I like them very much). Ravens are messengers in mythology and live in all parts of the US, so they are the default messenger bird, though their high intelligence makes them more difficult to charm for mail delivery then owls, but in turn ravens can repeat a message verbatim if it is short. Erebus is named after the Greek primordial god of darkness and shadow.

I also like to explore the dynamic of the Graves children as a contrast to the Weasleys during this period, where they are in disagreement, they are reaching out in some capacity or under some duress, self-imposed or otherwise.