January 8, 1997

I had never really thought of myself as a writer or political commentator, but Valencia's request for an explanation of the far-reaching impacts of current Ministry policy was an intriguing offer. She offered to pay me the standard rate per word, to edit it for me, and the opportunity to have a pen name of my choosing. I imagined Valencia did a lot of things for her paper directly, Semper Honestus was a very small paper with a shifting collection of freelancers.

Valencia flipped through my three page opinion piece on the mass incarcerations without a trial and the long term political consequences of the act. She was using red ink to make various corrections and cuts to the material while I admired her tiny home office that was covered in framed newspaper article copies of famous events from the last twenty years. A portion of it related to election scandals, another section to the many political scandals of the British Ministry. That Barty Crouch Jr. story was absolutely salacious. At least my father gave enough of a damn about his children to recuse himself from any crimes his children were involved in. I was sure he would recuse himself from comment if Annette became a serial killer instead of an Auror.

I had fantasized about following in my father's footsteps to become a politician when I was younger and more inclined to idealize Jack. Though I eventually decided that politics was not the future I wanted as my father's career gained more prevalence in the public consciousness and left me feeling like a performing seal. I did grow to love politics as a year long sport that perhaps shed more blood than Quadpot and how history helped tie the present issues of the day together into something resembling a coherent narrative of cause and effect.

"It's a good paper," Valencia's soothing voice made me jump. "It needs to be shorter and you tend to wander off on tangents. Keep it simple. People are dumb and need to be spoon fed information." She held out the paper for me to take. I winced at all of the red splotches and marks on the parchment. "Make the corrections and I'll take another look, but other than that it's completely fine."

I felt myself freeze in surprise. "Really?"

Valencia nodded, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. "You're very talented. You write like you're trying to write a book though, which is why I had to cut so much material."

"Oh, I just thought it was interesting background information."

"I can't run a series Aud, I'm a monthly publication."

"Of course, I understand."

"If you have a book in you somewhere, I'd be happy to read it."

I thought back to my journal where I kept little notes of interesting things interspersed with my journaling about my day to day thoughts. My workplace daydreaming when I had nothing to occupy myself with or was working slowly to avoid going to Umbridge for anything else to do. I had been reading a historical novel about the period where workers were fighting for their rights and a living wage, which was exceptionally tumultuous politically, socially and ethically. In America there was nearly a coup on the matter and union leaders took politicians as hostages to begin a period we called the Overthrow. The novel I was reading was about a potioneer who needed very specific ingredients to save the life of his company boss's pretty daughter while the strike was reaching its climax. It was a pretty inspiring look at how history and fiction could work together for a coherent narrative that could educate and inform.

I knew a bit about the Overthrow, corporations under MACUSA contract did not pay the workers of various dangerous jobs a fair or livable wage, many related to the upkeep of dangerous class five creatures for potion ingredients and the small dragon reserve we had in North America at the time. Well, people don't like seeing their coworkers get chewed up by an ornery dragon for a few Notes a day and decided to air their grievances. The companies did not like that, nor did the government when they all walked off the job and the president decided to force replace the workers with low-level criminals in an effort to break the strike while other members of law enforcement took the fight to the strikers directly. Some of the strikers had a cleaver idea to cut the head off the snake, as it were, and successfully took the Representative of Kentucky out of his bed and held him hostage for three weeks while they negotiated his release with MACUSA, other strikers and union leaders followed suit in other states. The wix who did the hostage taking were put to death in the aftermath as ringleaders and the fight ended for less than seven years before the second overthrow called the issue of payment back into the public eye and eventual success.

That might actually be a very good non-fiction book, it was not one I had enough personal connection with to do well, but I had a long term interest in political scandals… Perhaps a book about the various political scandals of MACUSA divided by century? It was easier to sling mud at people who were, for the most part, already dead.

"I… I think I might." I needed to change the subject, Valencia and I had other things to discuss today. "I found Alex."

Valencia froze, her face and expression similar to Lucinda's when I told her last week. A raw kind of shock and astonishment that made me feel both proud for doing something that was considered impossible and sad for not fulfilling everything that I wanted.

"How is he?"

"Alive. Grumpy. Lucinda knows and we don't think he's been imperioused."

Valencia closed her eyes in thought, heaving a sigh. "Alex is a tough bastard. I can't imagine what he's had to do to get in this deep with this death clown posse."

I giggled despite the subject at hand.

"So, what happened?"

I relayed a short version to Valencia, that Alex and I had a fight, he would not be retreating from whatever he was involved in for the sake of the story he was chasing, and that yes, I had delivered her message as asked.

"He's an idiot."

"Thank you!"

Valencia looked at me thoughtfully as she brushed her brilliant red hair from her face and took off her glasses to place them on the desk.

"I think he was surprised you showed up in person. Alex is like a cat. You need to let him come to you. Well, to a point, sometimes you need to threaten him with a water pistol."

"What's a water pistol?"

"Oh, it's a toy for No-Maj children that squirts water, my foster family used theirs on the cat when he was on the kitchen counter. It worked great!"

Were they knocking the cat off the counter with the water? How would that work for children? It sounded dangerous.

It may be best to forget about it and move on.

"I haven't mentioned this to Lucinda, but the more I think about it, I become more afraid that Alex has been a bit… enamored by Voldemort's ideology." I bit my lip and took a deep breath, my throat tight as reality settled upon my soul and wrapped its fingers around my throat causing me to choke back tears at the next sentence I uttered. "Val, what can I do?"

Valencia stood up and came around the desk to pull me into a hug. "You be ready for when the fool sees sense, because he will and he'll need us when that happens."

"I want to drag him out of there!"

"Kidnapping is a crime."

"Not if we don't get caught," I wiped my burning eyes and sniffled loudly. "Alex would have too much explaining to do to the authorities if he went to them in any case."

"Then he'll go running back to finish what he started and you'll definitely never see him again." Valencia hugged me once again, the smell of her perfume reminding me of wildflowers and orange blossoms as she moved away. "I think meeting in person was a lot of pressure."

"He's running around with Death Eaters, I think he's perfectly able to handle me turning up in his life without notice."

"I'm sorry I asked him to do this. I didn't think the war would start and Alex would insist on sticking it out. I thought he would be smart enough to leave."

Thunderbird, Alex's house at Ilvermorny, was said to represent the soul of a wix. A place for adventurers who were driven by the brand of ambition that wanted to leave a mark on the world. Maybe we should have seen this coming? Every bone in Alex's body wanted to step out of our father's shadow by warning people about the evil in the world.

We were stupid for not truly understanding how intrinsic this pursuit was to who is was and the extent it was able to drive him.

Valencia thought a message from her would motivate him to drop the story and leave. I thought my being there would tip the scales when her words made him waver. We were wrong and I refused to repeat my mistakes.

Dealing with Alex was like trying to catch a clowder of cats. I would have to be smart. Alex was the cat, righteous causes were the mice and I needed to try and get him to jump into a box.

"It's not your fault. None of this is."

My brother is an idiot, truly we have no control over his acquisition of common sense in the last twenty eight years of this life, but if I had to blast him with an Aquamenti charm like a cat on a kitchen counter then so be it!

Oo0Oo0

January 10, 1997

My breaks were the few precious minutes I could escape the Minister's Support Staff Office and either scream in a very silenced closet or drink my horrible American coffee in peace and quiet. It was the latter today, I had received a letter before I left for work this morning from a very tired tawny owl who dropped the letter in my lap and stole my buttered toast off my plate before I could do anything about it. I had no time to read it at home and thought it would be nice to read while I was taking my morning break.

I had made myself comfortable at the table, the letter in one hand and my warm coffee mug in the other.

I could not hear Dolores hem hemming in my vicinity.

There was no noise to indicate the Minister was hobbling around the hallways.

I could hear Percy's footsteps coming down the hallway for more tea.

I opened the letter and noted Annette's sloppy hand writing on the envelope.

Dear Audrey,

Annette and I had begun exchanging letters, they were cautious things on both sides. I did not want to say anything that could get back to our father, or anything that would worry her more about the situation here. I wrote to her of silly general topics, asking her about her classes (she was excelling), her friends (Angeli Gomez seemed like a very nice girl), and her latest research into the occult (sigh). I was afraid to broach the topic of boys for a whole host of reasons, namely because I did not want to think about what kind of strange person she would bring home. Probably a mortician or a murderer.

I found a section of the Ilvermorny library that is dedicated to death rituals. Did you know there were some monks in Japan who practiced self-mummification through starvation?

I blinked slowly and reread the last sentence before moving on.

I'm writing a paper about it for one of our free topics. I want to give Ms. Willow a scare. You know her, she's a very nice lady but she also thinks we're babies.

Ms. Willow was a very nice, elderly teacher at Ilvermorny. Where Umbridge meant her sweet talk in a patronizing way, Ms. Willow was just very grandmotherly. Annette was never going to shake this woman. She had seen too much.

Dad told me not to mention it at the dinner table, he says he can tolerate my ritual murder talk but the self- mummification were a bit much. His secretary looked green as a cabbage, that just means he's got a weak constitution. I can't remember if his name is Chad or Thad, dad can't remember either so I don't think it's too important.

Poor Chad.

School's okay, I'm kind of bored though. I haven't had a chance to beat up Ethan Greene again, he's scared of me so he keeps his distance from me and Angeli. If he puts a foot out line in my sight again I'll beat him worse then the last time. I'll know more magic by then, so maybe there won't be a problem in challenging a fourth year to duel and I won't have to waste a good carving board by breaking it over his head again.

Annie no!

Angeli says that if I wait another year, I can join the dueling club and beat Ethan Greene in front of all of his little friends. I can't wait to make him cry.

Love,

Your Favorite Sister

P.S.

If you get a chance, can you send me one of those Death Eater masks?

I dropped Annette as a baby, she fell out of my grip as I was moving her away from a room Tinsy was cleaning and she landed on her fat head. Maybe that's why she was like this?

I heaved a tired sigh, I intended to respond to the letter over lunch today or at least start the process. I could ask about the… mummies. It would break some of the ice hanging over our correspondence. I enjoyed talking to Annette, but I never knew what exactly I was going to get with her.

My eyes came to rest on Percy who was nonchalantly making another cup of tea at the counter a few feet away. My attention was drawn to his shoulders as I watched him, taking in the tall straightness of his posture and the tension I could sense had come to rest in his shoulders. I wanted to do something but I was not sure what.

This place we were in was truly odd. We were something more than friends, more physically affectionate (on his part, I struggled with that a lot) and we could talk about almost anything, but we could not do that during our breaks. We still called each other by our first names, which was admittedly odd within the Ministry environment where other people called me by my surname, but people wrote it off as being so close in age and my being a friendly American stereotype. It was the little things, Percy's usually brusk tone with me during working hours would immediately become something softer when we were out of the building, mostly walking around London's many parks.

We had not even seen each other's flats yet.

Percy turned to look at me and I froze.

Get a grip, Aud. You've already kissed the man.

"Aren't you on break?"

I held up Annette's letter, "I'm trying to start a letter to my sister."

"Oh."

I held it out to him. "How would you respond to this?"

Percy glanced over towards the door before taking the letter, his fingers brushing mine sent a tingling sensation up my arm that made me blush. He was already reading the letter so I hoped he hadn't noticed.

I felt Percy needed to know early that my kid sister had the potential to grow up and become a murderer.

I had put some thought into this over the last few days. It might be best if he knew about the oddities of my immediate family in some capacity. If Annette was enough to scare him off, then maybe this relationship was not meant to last and it would be kinder to let him find someone with a normal family that was not the Graves family's unique brand of dysfunctional.

I'm just going to put Annette out there and see what he says.

"I'm not sure how to reply to this. Annie has some… unique interests for a twelve-year-old."

Percy's eyes widened slightly as he took in the contents. The expression he wore was slightly confused as he finished. I let him take it in before speaking.

"I'm not sure if I should start with the mummies or compliment her grades."

He was rereading the letter as if he could not entirely comprehend what he had just read.

"Really, I'm open to suggestions."

"Start with the mummies, that's fascinating."

That was not the response I was expecting.

Percy seemed to take in my expression and flashed me a smile. "Your sister sounds… Interesting."

"She is. She wants to be an Auror."

She deserves a better family.

"That's a respectable career. A friend of my brother's joined the Aurors a couple of years ago."

"I have money on Annie becoming a serial killer."

Percy chuckled.

"Annie'll probably end up in the Crime and Motive department. I don't think a blood soaked crime scene would shake her."

The smell might, but the sight would not.

"Is she in her second year?"

"Yes. She just knows what she wants and spent a little too much time with Grandpa. I think she needs to go work with our cousin Martin the mortician. He and his family own a funeral home, crematorium and cemetery called Graves by Graves."

Percy tilted his head slightly like an owl, he seemed confused about if I was joking or not. I was not joking. Cousin Martin was a nice man, who ran a steady business. He did offer a very small discount for family members that was well used and maintained the family tomb for the cremated members.

"What does your brother do?"

"He's somewhere in Europe, traveling, working in a bar or something."

I'm not ready to talk about Alex and I had doubts that Percy could handle that mess with grace to either myself or my brother. Nor was I feeling charitable to Alex after seeing him for the first time in six years and had no desire to taint any meeting I hoped the three of us would have in the future with my quietly simmering rage and sadness over Alex's choices.

"My brother is a bit useless."

"I'm sure he's good for something."

Raising my blood pressure.

"Of course he is, I wouldn't know for sure because we're not close. He's a lot older than me and we both have our own lives. Have you heard from Eddie lately?"

Percy nodded, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose. "Eddie sent me a bunch of pictures of the beach with an antagonizing note about sunlight, tranquility and a lack of dark wizards." Percy rolled his eyes. "The letters were very self congratulatory about how wonderful being married is and how he's getting on with Pearl's family and learning the business. There were three paragraphs just about his wife."

I choked back a laugh, remembering Eddie's obsession with Pearl from happier times swarmed my memory with things I had forgotten in the storm of drama from the last several months.

"Well, at least they're happy."

What I really meant to say was: At least one of us is happy at their job.

Percy passed me Annette's letter, his fingers brushing mine in the process once more, causing my stomach to flip awkwardly as I tried to not look at his freckled face that seemed to have an alarming hold over me at times. His voice was low, somewhere over a whisper as he leaned closer to me. "We still on for later?"

I nodded slowly, my breath caught in my chest.

He stepped away, none the wiser to my struggle to do something flirtatious and stupid in a workplace setting. We had not kissed since the gala, both of us in the same mind about building something a little more stable than lust. Though, my quickly crafting fantasies were interrupted by a noise that made me want to commit war crimes.

"Hem hem."

Dolores Umbridge stood at the door of the break room with her pink knit cloak over her shoulders to starve off the office chill. Percy and I snapped to attention as if we had been hit but stunning spells.

"Hello Madam Umbridge," I said with a steady voice. "How can I help you?"

"Could you come to my office after your break? I need you to run and errand to the library and find somethings from the law section."

"Of course, ma'am."

She looked between the two of us, gave a courtesy greeting to Percy before telling him the Minister needed him to take notes in the courtroom before departing as quietly as she had arrived with Percy following her back to the office with a rushed farewell to me.

I scrawled an opening paragraph to Annette before sliding it into my purse to be finished at home and bracing myself for another afternoon of chasing down senseless things for whatever scheme Umbridge was cooking up in her creepy office.

I was not ready to quit the Ministry yet, but maybe it was time to start thinking about what my life after it would look like.

Oo0Oo0

Author's Note: The monks that practiced self-mummification are very real and it seemed the kind of thing Annette find interesting enough to write Audrey about.

The Overthrow is a callback to the some of the original union strikes in the US, the Battle of Blair Mountain to be more specific. I would have loved to touch on scrip - a form a (fake) money that coal mines used to pay their workers that was only effective in company towns. So the workers were basically slaves to the company. That would have been a lot to fictionalize, especially in a country with such tight oversight to keep the magical world quiet, so I settled for simple underpayment for dangerous work. The early 1900's were crazy for a whole host of reasons.