6. The Choice

There are two primary choices in life:  to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them.

Denis Waitley

Tom awoke alone in a hospital bed somewhere he didn’t recognise.  It wasn’t Iraq, outside his door his could hear nurses chatting about a favourite author now in the next ward.  Confusingly, above his head attached to the bedhead railings a sign read:

Nil per venificus

His eyes roamed around the room looking for clues about his environment, taking in the old wrought iron bed frame, a window looking out onto blue sky, a chipped enamel basin and a small wooden set of draws beside the bed.  None of it made sense until he tried to move his leg wrapped carefully in bandages and laid out on top of the bed covers.  It was then he registered the aching hot throb that seemed to run all the way along his leg bones.  The pain also awoke memories of how he had received his injury and finally realisation of where he was.  The magic users hospital.  With that mystery solved, Tom fell back onto his pillows exhausted.

When his eyes opened again he noticed the details of his room.  On the window sill stood a large bunch of flowers and on the bedside draws lay his mobile phone.  With a shaking hand he reached for the phone and spent a minute or two focusing on the time and date on the screen.  Wednesday 3 April, 9.35am.  Two days since  Hogsmead. Tom wasn’t sure where the time had gone.  He opened his phone to call home and was surprised by a picture of Eleonore.  Surrounded by a flock of interdepartmental memos, she was looking up into the camera a smile lighting her pale eyes.  He remembered Mr Weasley taking the shot Monday morning, but he couldn’t remember seeing how lovely she looked.

He must have dropped off again because the next thing Tom knew Professor Flyrite was by his bed taking the phone out of his unresisting hand and the sky outside the window was overcast.

“Good afternoon Tom, I’m glad you’re awake, I have something for you.”  The Professor replaced the phone on the chest of draws and handed Tom two small pills and a glass of water.
“Antibiotics.  Just be thankful you have your own private G.P. otherwise these magical quacks could do nothing but watch you burn up from infection.”
“Private doctor?  Who?”  Tom asked weakly as the Professor urged him to take the pills.
“Why me of course, one of my many talents.”
“So no magical healing for me then?”
“‘Fraid not.  That’s why they’ve given you your sign, Nil by magic. You have the healers completely baffled.  They did a good job of stitching you up, seems they’ve had some practice, but when it came to dealing with an infection the best they could offer was Feverfew and Willowbark .”  The Professor chirped merrily as he checked first Tom’s temperature and then his pulse.  It seemed the Professor at least was seeing the bright side of Tom hospitalisation.
“Where am I?”
“St Mungo’s hospital for Magical Maladies.  I actually wonder if  they’ve seen anything as mundane as your splinter.
Tom glanced at his leg and it throbbed angrily in reply.
“How is it?”
“Hmmm, not bad.”  The Professor’s cheery mood dulled to professional understatement, “The stake did damage to the muscle and ligaments of the calf.  If we can get on top of the infection you’ll be out of here by the end of the week, but I fear that you will favour that leg for a long time to come.  You also had a nasty dementor attack which has the effect of lowering the immune system. Which reminds me…”  The Professor pulled a large chocolate bar out of his sport coat pocket, “That’s also medicine so expect you to eat that.”

Tom dully handed back the glass and lay back on the pillows.  The Professor’s brow furrowed in concern.
“I wouldn’t worry about it Tom, many a great wizard hunter has continued a productive career with whole limbs missing, a limp will do nothing but give you character and make you hate rainy days.”

But it will have me medically discharged from the army. Tom thought but couldn’t bare to say out loud.

Sensing his patients deteriorating mood the Professor changed the subject.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“I’m really tired Professor…” Tom whined uncharacteristically.
“You’ve slept for thirty-six hours, I’m sure you can spare a few minutes for this person.”  The Professor wasn’t to be put off as he opened the door and ushered the visitor in.
Tom tried to turn away from the door but all he could do was turn his head.  He was aware that he was being childish, but weakness, pain and a growing unease about his injury made him realise he didn’t care.

“Tom?”  It was Eleonore, and her voice sounded strained.  Tom turned back to look at her and surprised to see a robust looking baby squirming for release.  “May I, he’s heavy.”  She gestured to the bed and Tom nodded mute agreement.  Gently she placed the baby on the bed beside Tom, it’s chubby limbs slapping the hospital linen.
“Who ‘dat?”  Ask the baby, pale green eyes roaming all around Tom’s face.
“That is Uncle Tom.”  Eleonore supplied, “Tom, this is your nephew, Nathaniel.”
“‘aniel!”  The boy cried happily responding to his name.

Tom was overwhelmed.  It was one thing to know of the child’s existence, but a very different thing to actually have the boy in front of you, looking at you from pale green eyes.  Unknowingly, tears rolled silently down his face.  Baby Nathaniel’s chubby face screwed up in in childish version of empathy.
“Cryin’.”  He said to his mother in almost shock.
“Yes, Uncle Tom is sick so we’ve come to make it all better.”
With this knowledge, Nathaniel leaned down and grabbed a hold of Tom’s hand with both of his and gave it a wet kiss.
“All better.”

Tom laughed and forgot the pain for a moment, thanking Nathaniel for his care.
“He has your eyes.”
Eleonore’s face soured for a moment at the comment.
“He has his grandfather’s eyes.”  And then it soften again as her focus shifted to something better, “But his father’s compassion.”

The knot in Tom’s stomach grew and he allowed his eyes to wander away from Eleonore and her adorable child to the featureless ceiling.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see how you are, I thought that dementor had performed a kiss on you but I guess you muggles are made tough.  I’ve also come to say thank you.  Without you taking out Grech we couldn’t have got the dementors under control.  I guess we make a pretty good team.”
“Well you’ll have to catch your evil wizards without me for a while?”
“Done, the elder Grech along with the fellow you knocked out so spectacularly were taken in to the Ministry soon after we left the scene.  The Professor, George and Col tricked Gordon into confessing to spying for the group.  Col, as you can understand is distraught, but George is doing his best.”
“George?  Oh, the bubble wand.”  Tom made the connection and Eleonore nodded in confirmation.  “How about the doctor’s here, the Professor said they were suspicious.”
“Not so much suspicious as baffled.  The Professor has fed them a story of a experimental anti-jinx potion, but if that doesn’t hold them we’ll send in the Obliviators.”
“Obliviators?”
“We’ll modify their memories, problem solved.”  Eleonore replied blithely as if it were nothing to completely meddle in a person’s mind.  Tom wondered what John, the Police Officer, thought of such techniques.  Memory manipulation of innocent civilians, entrapment and trickery it sounded too much like the sort of things forces were accused  of during his time in Afghanistan. Not for the first time Tom realised that no matter how appealing it seemed, the magical world may not be where he wanted to be.

“I can see you’re still tired, we better go and let you rest.” Eleonore lifted her chubby boy with a groan.
“Beddy time.”  Nathaniel supported his mother’s statement in all seriousness.
“Could you get in touch with my family, let them know I’m all right?”  Tom asked as they went to leave.
“I don’t know, Tom.”  She hugged Nathaniel and he squirmed at the restraint.  “Mr Weasley let them know, I don’t really feel…”
“Please, Eleonore.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”

Eleonore and Nathaniel left soon after allowing Tom plenty of time for thinking.  The day outside the hospital window was looking dark and Tom felt it reflected his future pretty accurately.  No future in the army, no future with the Ministry, Tom eventually thought himself into a fitful sleep full of dark shadows and questions.

Over the next few days Tom had many visits from the Muddies, as they unofficially called themselves.  Col, after a very tentative first visit where Tom assured her he didn’t blame her for his injuries on no less than six occasions, was a regular visitor with chocolates or some treat from George’s joke shop.  Eleonore and Nathaniel were also regular visitor and it cheered Tom up to see a happy innocent face.  It was short lived.

Tom tried talking to his parents on his mobile about his future but both thought life without the military would be a good thing.  His mother was also distracted much of the time.  When Tom tried to ring her the phone was often engaged and he would have to wait for her to call.

Tom worried about Sen.  It had been days since he’s left her at Hogwarts and though he knew she’s been informed by Eleonore about her Granny’s death, he still felt guilty for not being able to do more to find her father’s family.  He wanted to know how she was doing in that half ruined castle and, though he didn’t admit it out loud, if she missed him.

So, the morning of his discharge with a borrowed walking stick, a pocketful painkillers and a good supply of galleons, Tom checked himself out of the hospital made the trip into Kings Cross Station and boarded the Hogwarts Express.  The trip was long and exhausting.  The seats, that had been comfortable enough the first time, were hard, or lumpy or uneven.  His leg constantly ached and being alone he had nothing to distract him from the pain.  It was a relief to leave the confined of the carriage at Hogsmead station and be met by a friendly face.

“Sergeant Tom Green, nice ta see ya again, sir.”  Hagrid boomed across the platform, “I’d ‘eard about yer brush with dementors. Nasty buggers.”  Hargrid shivered as if reliving a bad memory, but his gloom was only temporary.  “Sen’s bin askin’ afta ya, I s’pose you’ve come ta see ‘er?”

“Truthfully?  I don’t really know.  I do want to see Sen, but I have nothing new to tell her and…” Tom paused, unsure if he should ask, but if there was anyone who understood, it would be this giant of a man. “Hagrid, have you ever felt that you don’t really belong anywhere?”

Hagrid looked down quizzically at Tom.  Tom was unsure what he was looking at.  After his stay in hospital and the  long uncomfortable train ride that had left him pale and shaky, Tom wasn’t sure who Hagrid was looking at either.

“Look at me, where do you think I’d fit in.”  Hagrid laughed eventually slapping Tom on the shoulder which required Hargrid to then help him off the ground. “Sorry ’bout that, but you can see what I mean.  ‘ogwarts is de only place I ever really fit in.  You know wha’, I think you’ve cum to just da righ’ place.”

“Why’s that, Hagrid?”

“‘ogwarts is full of lost souls at the momen’.  You’ll fit righ’ in.”  He gestured to the broken and desperate people that were making their way to the thestral driven carriages.

They travelled as they had on Tom’s first visit, him in a carriage and Hagrid walking beside sharing stories about the animals and people (sometimes they were the same individual) of Hogwarts.  Unlike last time, Tom found himself drawn into the simple lives of all the creatures that made this very special place home.

There was no Headmistress to greet Tom this time, which suited him fine. He asked Hagrid for directions to where Sen would likely be.

“She’s bin spending time in the greenhouses of late, best try there.”  Hagrid direction Tom to a path that wound around behind the castle.  With his uneven gait made more treacherous on the gravel, Tom made his way slowly along the path and into the shade of the castle wall. 

The greenhouses were easy to spot just a little away from the walls down a grassy slope.  He could already hear the sound of children’s laughter coming from inside.  Walking up to the green glass wall, Tom  cupped his free hand to the glass and peered inside to see a group of children of various ages up to their elbows in moist dark soil at a potting table.  A woman, persumably one of the teachers by her dusty black robes and battered pointed hat, was directing the children on how to pot up cuttings from a purple leafed plant.  Occasionally a cutting would try and wriggle away from a small reaching hand which would necessitate the running and screaming of everyone until the twig was caught and plunged into a waiting pot.

Tom could see Sen, quieter than the other perhaps, but smiling when the other children’s attempts to catch the cutting were thwarted and even talking to the teacher or one of the children beside her.  Sen glanced around the greenhouse and spotted Tom’s face pressed against the glass.  For a moment she seemed startled, but then she realised who it was and her face was transformed by the largest grin he’d even seen on her too thin face.  She asked the teacher a question who, on seeing Tom outside, nodded and Sen left her place at the potting table and ran to the greenhouse door.  She stopped at the door, held back at the threshold by an invisible impulse.

“Aren’t you going to say, hello?”  Tom smiled holding his arms out wide for a hug.  It was all the encouragement she needed as she threw herself at him, knocking him, for the second time that afternoon, to the ground.
“You’re skinny.”  She said by way of welcome, not letting go of him in case he disappeared again.
“Oof!  I’ve been sick. Oww! “  He replied breathlessly as both his lungs and leg protested in harmony their individual pain swamping out most intelligent thought.
“Where ‘ave you been? You said you’d be back and that was ages and ages ago!”
Tom lay on the grass beside the greenhouse and thought it the most wonderful place in the world.  It was the most he’d heard Sen say in one go and it gave Tom heart that Hogwarts really was the best place for her.
“I know, I’m sorry.  Does it make it better to know the first place I come to after being sick is to see you?”

That brought on tears and Sen buried her sobbing face into his chest.  Tom wrapped his arms around Sen and just lay contented there on the grass.
“Sir?” Came a voice from the greenhouse.  It was the teacher, a short round woman of middle age who’s frizzy grey hair stuck out from under a battered witches hat. “Can I help you at all?”

Tom laughed at his own ridiculous position.  It was the first time in weeks and it felt good.
“You may have to help me up.”

Sen scrambled up, confusion crumpling her tiny face as she help Tom back onto his unsteady feet.  He thought he saw something else on Sen’s face, maybe a little fear?
“What is it, Sen?”
“You’re hurt.”  She stated as if it were the most impossible notion she’d ever heard.
“Yes, that’s why I couldn’t come back to you straight away, I was hurt in a fight with some bad wizards.”

Sen stepped back a pace or two, Tom was sure he could read fear in her dark eyes now.
“Did you think I couldn’t be hurt?”
She nodded.
“Why?”

“You didn’t before.”

Tom understood.  The night he found her with the group of kids and she created that ball of lightning.  The last thing she had said before falling unconscious were You’re not hurt.

Tom asked permission to take Sen for a walk around the lawns even though he would have preferred a seat.  The teacher, seeing Sen’s confused responses to Tom was hesitant but Tom assured her they would keep in sight of the Greenhouses and she agreed.

They walked away in silence, Sen sullen as usual hung back.  Tom remained quiet and just watched his tiny street waif until she was ready.

“Ma and Da are dead.”  She finally stated, arms crossed in front of her. “Black men came and  said they were taking Da because he was a mudblood and me because I was Half-blood.  Ma and Da had made me hide in the cupboard under the stairs but I could see through the door.”  She mimed a crack with her two hands, her eye peering out between.  “Pa fought, he hurt one of the black men, then there was a green light and they fell to the ground.  After the black men left I went to them but they wouldn’t get up.  I ran away.”

Tom remained silent but wrapped his free arm around her thin shoulders.  He could feel her shivering.

“Granny is dead.  The lady said you found out.  Everyone’s dead.”

“Not everyone, I’m here.”

“I thought…”

“You thought I couldn’t be killed because you didn’t hurt me?”
She nodded.

They walked in silence, Tom unsure how to deal with Sen’s fears.  It was in silence they came across a memorial down at the lakeside.  A white marble tomb surrounded on one side by black monoliths engraved with names.  On the tomb was the inscription:

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
1881 – 1996
A champion of commoners, of Muggle-borns and Muggles.

Tom remembered hearing from Will about Dumbledore the Headmaster of Hogwarts school that seemed to have such influence on the magical world.  Politics, science, education and defence, he had a hand in it all in one form or another.  He’d died when a group of rebels wizards infiltrated the castle, one of his own confidants his murderer.

He limped from the tomb to the black stone slabs and found that they were a memorial to those who had died at the Battle of Hogwarts only one year after the great man had died.  In a sort of dream he scanned the names, surprised to see a Weasley listed and remembered George’s brother had also died here.  Even though he knew it would be there, even though we was expecting, looking for it, seeing Will’s name engraved into the black stone was a shock.  Confirmation that his brother no longer existed in this world except as a memory.

Tom turned back to the tomb of Dumbledore and wondered how much of what that man fought for still existed.  The school was still here in it’s currently modified form.  Those like the Weasley’s who believed as Dumbledore did still fought as champions of commoners, of Muggleborns and Muggles and the new unit was a direct result of those efforts.  Will would have wanted to be part of the Muddies and Tom figured that Dumbledore would have approved of it. While the unit and groups like it continued the good work, could they truly be considered gone?

While Tom was deep in his own thoughts, Sen sat at the foot of the white tomb and traced Dumbledore’s name with her finger.
“Do you know who this is, Sen?”  Tom asked ask he leaned against the smooth surface of the tomb and slid down to sit beside her.
She nodded, “Dumbledore. Headmaster ‘ere.  Hagrid says he was a great man.”
“Yes, even I’ve heard of Dumbledore, he was famous.  Go to that black slab, the third one, and see if you can find William Edward Green.”

Sen got up and did as she was told as Tom sat leaning against Dumbledore’s tomb and contemplated what he would say next.  Soon he could hear Sen reading out the names until she got to Will’s.

“Do you know who that is?”
“You told Hagrid you had a brother called Will.”  She commented  and Tom was surprised he had remembered that conversation in the carriage that seemed so long ago.
“Yes, my brother.  Not famous like Dumbledore but they are both dead.  All these people listed here are dead.”

Sen walked around the monoliths in silence.  Tom couldn’t see her, but he could hear her footfall on the grass.

“They didn’t want to die, but they did.”

Sen walked back to where Tom sat and looked down at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“So why did they?  Why didn’t they run away and hide?”  She berated the monoliths as if arguing with her own parents.
“Because they were fighting for something they believed in, something that needed fixing.  Your parents fought for you and because you are here today I know they won.”

Sen’s face screwed up her grief too much for her tiny body.  She fell into Tom’s arms as she sobbed until she couldn’t breath and had to take shuddering gulps of air.
“I want to be dead.”
“No Sen.  I know you feel that way, but while you live, so do your parents.  Like these people here, while people continue to fight for what’s right they will never really die.  While there are people to remember.”

“I remember, I’ll remember.”

They sat there as the late spring light drained out across the lawn in front of the castle.  Sen’s cry faded into tiny sobs and sighs and eventually to slow regular breathing.  She had fallen asleep in Tom’s arms.  Loathed to wake her but knowing he could not have carried her Tom shook her awake and got both of them to their feet.  She was quiet, thoughtfully sombre as opposed to her belligerent self, as they walked up to the castle.  People were filing out of the Great Hall just off the foyer, one of them Hagrid.

“Sen, you missed a crackin’ supper.”

Sen shrugged to say she was too concerned about missing a meal, but Tom knew better.

“Do you think if we went down to the kitchens she could pick up a sandwich?”  Tom asked Hagrid having no idea where kitchens in the castle would be located.

“Sure, the ‘ouse-elves are always appy ta please.  Sen knows the way,” The giant gave the petite Sen a wink, “I’ve ‘eard talk of your late nigh’ feastin’.”

Sen did her best to look innocent and ,taking Tom’s hand, proceeding to guide Tom out of the castle foyer.

“Oh, one more thing, Hagrid.”  Tom stopped a thought coming to him, “Is there anywhere in the village with room for the night?”

“You’re staying!?” Sen’s face lit up with the news.

“I don’t have much choice, I missed the Express.  Besides, I’d like to stick around for a while if I may.”

“Sure der is. Rosemerta always keeps a couple o’ rooms for guests.  I’m off over there meself later, want me to let ‘er know your coming?”

Tom, now being dragged away by the joyous Sen, replied he would be grateful.

The crisscrossing hallways inside the castle were confusingly similar and even with his good sense of direction, Tom was soon lost. If it hadn’t been for Sen as his guide he would have feared finding the foyer again before Midnight.  Eventually they ended at least one level below ground level in a hallway that looked very similar from all the others except for a large still life painting of a bowl of fruit.  Sen reached up, standing in the very tips of her toes and tickled  the underside of a pear. It giggled, jiggling in place until it turned into a door handle that Sen could just reach.  The whole painting swung in to reveal a vast room dominated by four long tables.  Around the walls stacked in gleaming rows were pots and pans of all sorts all glowing in the warm light from a massive open fire place.

Occupying this obviously industrious area were dozens of small creatures that were a head and shoulder shorter than Sen.  Each had huge wing like ears and nearly all of them seemed to be dressed,or undressed, in what looked like tea-towels with the Hogwarts crest stamped on them.  Almost everyone of these bright eyed creatures cooed and ahhed at Sen ready with snacks and tidbits from the night’s meal.  Because so many of them were paying attention to Sen, Tom was made a aware of one sitting alone on a small stool beside the roaring fire.

Not dressed in the Hogwart’s tea-towel, it seemed to wear the rags of what had once been a neat two piece jacket and skirt.

“Hello?”  Tom sat on the edge of the bench and leaned down to little bundle of rags and limbs.  It stirred, large brown eyes focusing slowing on Tom.  When it realised who was speaking to it, it made an effort to stand, using the brickwork around the fire and support.

“Oh, good evening, sir.”  It squeaked with a voice slurred and furry. “Is there something you’d is liking from Winky?”

“Is that you’re name?”

The creature nodded it’s overly large head making it lose balance and nearly topple.  Instead a empty beer bottle was kicked loose from it’s place beside the stool and it rolled around accusingly.

Tom had seem this seen many times in the army.  Sometimes, for whatever reason, soldiers gave up hope.

“Stand up straight soldier and look me in the eye.”  He glared Winky.  Her huge eyes widened in fear and she quailed against the brickwork of the fireplace, “Listen to me carefully, are you listening?”

The oversized head bobbed up and down rapidly making the bat-like ears flap comically.  Tom was aware he was gaining an audience.

“Who’s in charge here?”  He asked the room in general and an elderly creature in the Hogwarts tea-towel stepped forward.  Though less than half the size of Tom he held himself with dignity clearly showing he wasn’t afraid of Tom.

“Sir, this is house-elf and wizard business,” He said firmly but respectfully in a voice several octaves lower than Winky’s, “Muggles need not concern themselves with the likes of us.”

“Do you know who I am?” That was surprise, he’d only been to Hogwarts for a few hours between both visits and had never even seen one of these little creatures before.

“We has heard of you Sergeant Tom Green, sir.”

“So you know I work for the Ministry.”  That gave the elder House-elf pause.  Like most people, it seemed house-elves didn’t like official nosing in on what they considered their business.

“We is here to please, sir.”  The house-elf capitulated with a slight bow of the head.
“Excellent.  What is your name, sir?”  Again the house-elf was surprised and Tom wondered if the House-elf ever been called, sir.
“Ur…I is Gage, sir.”

“This does not seem to be normal behaviour for a house-elf.”  He pointed to Winky who was still clinging with terror to the brickwork, whimpering quietly.

“Not at all sir.”
“I want to understand, Gage. What has happened to Winky?”
“Winky is a disgraced elf, sir.  She is a bad elf to her family.  Now they is no more and she is alone.”

Tom smiled sadly and shook his head.  Another lost soul.  Hagrid wasn’t lying when he said that Hogwarts was full of them.

“Could we speak privately for a moment?”  He asked Gage.  Instantly the dozens of other house-elves including Winky disappeared and the kitchens were deserted except for Gage, Tom and Sen.
“Er…right.  Do you want to help Winky?”
“Yes, sir but she’s…”
“Yes, I know disgraced.  Well, you can think of me as her punishment if you like.  I want you to do exactly as I ask.  To start with feel free to speak badly of me and make her hate me…”

With each word Gage was become more agitated, nervously twisting the tea-towel that covered him into knots until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I couldn’t possible, sir.  A house-elf’s only reason to exist is to serve their masters.  To slander a master…”
“Ah, but you see, I’m not one of the master am I, I’m just a dumb muggle.”

The paradox of a individual, not a master, working in the roll of a master was taking it’s toll on old Gage.  His ears swizzled this way and that trying to make sense of what seemed to him to be contradictory information.
“Look, Gage.  Just follow my lead you can do that can’t you?”

Relief swept over the house-elf’s  entire body and he seemed to sag into his usual confident pose.
“Yes, of course sir.  Whatever you say, sir.”

Winky and the rest of the house-elves were recalled back to the kitchen with a wave of Gage’s nimble hands.  Winky was back at her place at the fire cowering this time behind her stool. Tom though he could detect a little anger in her large brown eyes.  Good, he needed it.

“Winky, get up, stand up here, come on.”  He bullied Winky to stand in front of the dozens of other house-elves that stood silently in a ring around them.
“Do you think it’s right that you should sit around while the rest of your kind work hard to make Hogwart’s a place fit for wizard habitation?”
Winky starting sliding to the floor again, crumpling under her own depression.  Tom grabbed her arm and physically pulled her back to her feet to the shocked of everyone watching including Sen.
“Do you?”
“No-no, sir.”  She wailed.  Tom shook the wailing out of her and once again put her back on her feet.
“Neither do I.  I’ve seen soldier’s like you, lazy pieces of nonsense that think they world owes them something.  Well it doesn’t!”  He roared and once again the house-eves listening all shook their head and complained amongst themselves how badly he was treating poor famililess Winky.
“I’ve whipped them into to soldiers and you’ll toe the house-elf line or die trying is that understood, Winky?
Her knees buckled and she feel once more to the ground in a howling pile of rags.  Tom once more pulled her up.
“Winky, I’m not leaving her tonight until I get an answer, do you understand?”
“Ye-e-e-es!”  She balled, baleful red-rimmed eyes flicking up to his defiantly.
Very Good, Tom thought and let her go to talk to Gage.

“Gage.  She is to clean herself up and make herself presentable. She is to be given twice as much work as the other house-elves and she is to be kept at it.  You may have to assign other house-elves to make sure she sticks at it, I don’t care.  She has to make up for her self-pitying laziness and disrespect to all house-elves.  I will be back tomorrow, and the next day and for as many days or weeks as it takes to make sure that my orders are being followed.”  He turned back to Winky who’s mouth hung open in horror.  “Don’t think this is going away, Winky .  People have tried to help you but you’ve failed them and yourself.  Now it’s my turn and I can tell you, I don’t walk away from a task once I’ve started.  You will do as you’re told or face me.  Understood!”

She nodded her head, ears flapping so they created a breeze and made the fire crackle angrily.  Without another word Tom stood and walked out with Sen following a few paces behind with her parcel of food.  When they were out of the kitchens and waking back to the foyer, Sen finally spoke.
“How come you was so mean to Winky?” Sen’s was angry, righteously angry and that too gladdened Tom’s heart.
“Sometimes you have to be mean when those you love do dumb things.  Your parents punished you when you did something wrong, didn’t they?”
“Well…yeah, but Winky hasn’t done anything wrong, she’s just sad.”
“She thinks she’s done something wrong and that because of it she doesn’t deserve to live.  You can understand that, can’t you Sen.”

That gave Sen pause as she thought of what they had talked about that afternoon.
“You didn’t yell at me though.”
“Well, sometimes people need hugs and sometimes people need a kick up the ar…bottom.”  The teaching of tough love to an eight year old was a new experience for Tom.  The usual jargon did not apply here.
“You won’t kick her though!?”  Sen was scandalised and Tom laughed.
“Not really.  I’ll make you a deal.  You can watch me help Winky and make sure I don’t do anything too mean, okay.”

This sounded suitably grown up and Sen agreed.  She led him back to the foyer where they parted for the night with a hug and a promise that he would be back in the morning.

Tom limped his weary way to Hogsmead his head full of thoughts and bewildered as to how he somehow acquired the responsibility for another life when he couldn’t seem to get his own into order.  He was at the outskirts of Hogsmead before he’d found an answer to that riddle.

The Three Broomsticks seemed fuller tonight, but it was really because Hagrid took up the room of a whole crowd that made it seem so. The proprietress, Rosmerta spotted Tom first and welcomed him back, tutting how thin and grey he looked and found him a large bowl of stew and a bottle of the butter beer that Tom had grown fond of on his last visit.

“You’re room is ready whenever you want it.  Not much call for it nowdays so stay as long as you like.”  Rosmerta gestured to the stairs leading up to where Tom would find his lodgings for the night.  Tom thanked her and took his food to where Hagrid sat alone looking out over the empty pub.

“Mind if I sit with you, Hagrid?”
“I’d be glad of de com’any.”  Hagrid sighed, “Not ta same a’ll this place.  Use to be ‘ard to get in some nights it being so crowded.”
Tom nodded and sipped the beer which took all the aches and pains of the day away.  He sighed contentedly and leaned back into his chair.
“Still go’ ta be ‘appy wit’ wot we got.  Lovely girl, Sen. She find ‘erself a meal den?”
“The house-elves were very generous.”  Tom had a thought, “Hagrid, you’re good with creatures.  What do you know about house-elves?”
Hagrid laughed loud enough to make dust fall from the rafters.  It was a truly happy sound and Tom couldn’t help but smile at it.
“‘ere that Rosmerta, ‘e asked wot I know ’bout house-elves.”  It seemed it was a good joke as Rosmerta joined in with her own happy laugh.  “Wot I don’t know ain’t worth worryin’ ’bout.”  Hagrid informed Tom.  Tom bought Hagrid another pint of the fire whisky he was drinking and settled back to learn about the life and culture of house-elves.

It was late the next morning when Tom could be found back in the common room eating breakfast.  The morning light streaming through the diamond paned windows and door warmed the white washed walls and bare wooden floor and filled Tom with a moments peace.  It had been late when Hagrid finally wandered back to Hogwarts after filling Tom’s head with all the knowledge he needed to help Winky .  A culture built upon service with a strict hierarchy was not that removed from the culture of the army that Tom was use to .  He was now more convinced than ever that he could help Winky and maybe find her a position where she could be of service to a family group once more.  It was while he was meandering through the plans in his head that the sunlight was broken by a presence walking in front of it.

Annoyed at the loss of the light Tom forgot his breakfast for a moment and saw standing before him the last person he expected to see.

“Good morning Eleonore, would you care for breakfast?”  She ignored his polite invitation to sit down, so Tom sighed at the loss of the sunlight and went back to his meal.
“I went to see your family yesterday.  They said you had come to see Sen.”
“And so I have.  Mum didn’t happen to give you…”
Eleonore picked a small overnight bag off the floor and dropped it on to the table in front of Tom.
“Excellent.  I can see why Mr Weasley has such faith in you, always thinking ahead.”
“Yes, and not because I’m good at chasing injured muggles all over the wizarding countryside.”  She scolded, but Tom was in too good a mood to be put off.  “How come you’re so chipper this morning, last time I saw you everyone was hiding the sharp objects in fear you’d do something drastic.”
“Blame it on good company last night, an excellent breakfast and the restoring power of the highland morning sunlight.”

It seemed, by the quizzical expression on Eleonore’s face, that his good mood was scaring her.  She changed the subject.
“Oh…good.  All ready to come back to the Ministry then.”  She stated expecting no argument.
“I have a few things I need to finish here and then, I don’t know, maybe I won’t be coming back to the Ministry.”
Now Eleonore did look worried.  Lines marred her usually smooth brown forcing strands of strawberry blond hair out of their usual neat french bun.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m very serious, Eleonore.  My presence is a threat to the magical society it may be best if I disappear.”
“And what, go back to your nomadic existence with the army?”  She replied crossing her arms in front of her.  Tom shook his head.
“No, my injury makes me ineligible for active duty and so I will be seeking a medical discharge.”
“So what will you do with yourself, bum around the magical community making a muggle nuisance of yourself?”  she scoffed but soon realised that Tom, for all his lightheartedness that morning was in earnest.  “You are serious.  Tom, haven’t you seen your place is with the Muddies?  Mr Weasley has gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure your nature stays unknown.  He had the Fidelius Charm cast, not a small feat.  We had to get someone from the Department of Mysteries to perform it.”
“Fidelius Charm?”
“The secret is locked within the soul of a secret keeper.  It can never be revealed by anyone except the secret keeper themselves.”
“What? Surely those outside the Ministry can’t be affected.”
“Anyone and everyone.  If the Greches did tell their juicy gossip to someone else, that third party is now no longer able to spread it further.  They are, on the other hand, still able to act on that information themselves.”

It was Tom’s turn to scoff now.  A single spell that stops anyone telling a secret?

“Don’t believe me?  Give it a go, I’d like to see how the spell works on you.”  She replied smugly.
“Are you sure you want me to test this here?”
Eleonore’s answer was to sit down, a defiant spark lighting her pale green eyes.
“All right,” Tom took a breath and one last glance at Eleonore.  She waited expectantly.
“I am transpolar which means I reflect all spells cast on me.  This makes me immune to magic.”

The sensation was odd, sort of like being underwater.  He could hear the words being produced by his vocal chords, they reached his mouth as expected, but once they left his body they muffled and were incomprehensible.
“Nothing, just some mumbling that could be anything.”  She beamed, “The magic couldn’t stop you from saying it but it could stop me or anyone else hearing it.”
“How about writing?”
“Writing too, also code, picture-grams, semaphore, sign language, smoke signals any form of communication you can imagine.  Now you can see there is no reason why you shouldn’t come back except help us stop those who already know.”

It was a convincing demonstration but Tom’s head was too full of what he wanted to achieve that day to worry about the Ministry overly much.

“Perhaps.  Let me have time to think…”
“What’s to think?”  Eleonore was starting to sound worried about Tom’s intentions
“I just need time to work things out.  I’m not going anywhere, Eleonore, you’re family now, remember.”
“Hmmm, so you keep saying.”  She replied, a smirk showing her grudging pleasure at his words.

They sat in mutual silence.  Now that Eleonore was no longer blocking the sun, Tom had they light again and they both seemed to enjoy it’s warmth.  Tom finished his breakfast and Eleonore made an excuse to leave and get some “Real work done”.

Tom walked back to Hogwart’s with the intention of cornering Hagrid on one or two points from last night.  He found Sen and asked her direction on where Hagrid lived.  While they walked toward the dark border that was the start of the forest, Tom told Sen all the interesting things about House-elves he learnt the night before.  Sen was fascinated, especially as she had decided to take her role as Winky’s guardian seriously and wanted to do a good job.  She was asking questions about the use of irons by house-elves for self punishment when Tom’s attention was drawn to a collection of tents set up haphazardly along the edge of the forest.

“That’s where da families live.”  Sen informed Tom when he asked her, “The ones that got no other place ta go.”
“How long have they been here?”
“Longer dan me, some have bin here for more dan a year.”

Tom roamed his expert eye over the tent city and concern creased his brow.  Tents were piled up on each other while others were set apart, some were built on slopes that seemed ready to collapse the structure and still others were pitched inside the forest.  There seemed no order to the paths through the city and Tom’s nose could tell there was certainly no latrine system set up.  Water supplies seemed to be coming from the Lake, which was fine, but a brown stain on the land showed that waste was running back into it which was not.  If disease wasn’t already an issue it would  be by summer and the place must be almost impassable in winter.  Overall, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Forgetting all about Hagrid, Tom limped towards the tents unsure what he could do to but knowing something need to be.  People within the camp were not interested in hearing about picking up and moving. They’d had to move from one place to another for more than two years.  Tom sympathised with their need for stability but knew they would be facing something just as bad as civil war once cholera hit the camp.

“Sergeant Green.”  A woman’s voice called from behind and Tom turned from his current hopeless conversation to see Professor McGonagall stride up from the lake.  “It seems I cannot go anywhere today without you being mentioned.”  She looked frazzled and put upon.  Her usually thin lips had vanished into a disapproving pout, her eagle sharp eyes pinned him to the spot.
“Ah, good morning, Headmistress.”
“No it is not!.”  She barked, “Firstly, I get an early morning wake up call from Gage, the House-elf.  It seems that you have upset the entire house-elf staff and they’ve asked that you be banned from the kitchens.  How you’ve managed to upset house-elves I have no idea, but I will now have to ask you to stay away from the Hogwart’s kitchens from now on.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused you…”
“Secondly, my Care of Magical Creatures teacher was in no condition for breakfast this morning.  It seems he spent the night talking with you at the Three Broomsticks.”
“Yes, I needed Hagrid’s expertise…”
“And then, after having to deal with angry mermaid who are complaining about run off from the refugee camp…”
“Ah, that’s not my fault…”
“No, yet here you are.  Sergeant Green, what have I done to deserve you?” Professor McGonagall glared at Tom and even though she was slightly shorter than him at least twenty years older he felt like a little kid.
“I am really sorry for my part in your distress, but I can help.”
“Help, Sergeant Green.  Yes, you can leave.”
“I mean about the tent city.  My background is in the army working directly with refugees much like these people here.  I can set up the camp properly and reduce the run-off issue.  Let me make it up to you after causing you so much trouble.”

Professor McGonagall looked torn between wanting to kick this troublesome muggle off her school property and wanting to solve a  very serious issue.
“How quickly could you fix the situation?  I…I wouldn’t want to keep you from you duties with the Ministry.”
“It would go much faster with some magical assistance.”
“You have someone it mind?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.  Winky, the house-elf.”

A light of realisation dawned in McGonagall’s eyes and a small smile loosened her thin lips.
“I see.  Of course, being banned from the kitchens you will require you to have direct authority over Winky.”
“I’m afraid so, Headmistress.” Tom tried his best to look contrite.
“Gage!”  Professor Mcgonagall called out to the air. There was a pop, and Gage the house-elf stood beside her, eyeing Tom suspiciously.
“Winky is required for a task in the school grounds.  She is to be under the direct control of Sergeant Green for…”  She looked at Tom contemplating her words, “…as long as necessary.”

If Gage disagreed with this order he gave no sign of it.  He bowed low and disappeared.  A second later, Winky was standing in the bright sunlight, her eye slitted against the glare, her appearance markedly improved from last night.  Her old rags were gone, instead she wore an assortment of clean hand knitted articles from a woolly red hat with a pom pom on top to odd pairs of socks. What was more, she was sober, though obviously not enjoying the experience.

“You wants Winky?”  She squeaked, hunched over, cringing in fear of Tom.
“I do indeed.”  Tom said gruffly, “You have been assigned to me for as long as necessary.  You will follow my order now, is that understood?”
“Sir…yes, sir.”  She whined.

Tom outlined his plan based on his military experience and selected a site on flat ground further away from the lake.  He proposed a grid system with two wide main roads crossing in a plaza area in the centre for communal gathering.  Latrines were to be placed furthest away from the lake preferable in clay soil to minimise run off back to the lake and a system to bring water to the tent city would need to be established.

When the Headmistress had heard the plan she was pleased and left Tom, Winky and Sen to put it into action.  Winky on the other hand dragged her feet as if every task seemed to be a serious effort.

“Winky, come here.”  Tom barked from a vantage point overlooking both the old and new camp sites.  Winky did as she was told grudgingly.
“What do you see in the camp down there, Winky?”
“Proper magical folk, sir.” Tom ignored the personal swipe and continued.
“Look closer, house-elf.  These people have nothing but what they are carrying.  Many have lost their entire families, people like Sen here.”  He gestured to Sen and the house-elf had the good grace to look embarrassed.  “In only a few weeks when the warm weather arrives these people will be threatened by more than just losing their homes, they will lose their lives to disease if we don’t do something about it right now!”

Winky’s eyes grew round at the responsibility of the task they were about.
“They need your best efforts if they are to survive, do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Everything you tell me to.”
“More.  You are smart house-elf, I expect you to think of ways of improving on my plans, specifically I want you to think of a simple way to get water to the camp for the refugees to use.  Sen will help you while I inform the camp what’s to occur.”

The work required to build the camp was extensive and even with Winky’s magic, took all day.  Firstly, magically shuttling round pebbles from lakeside they cobbled up the two main streets, the largest called Via Principalis and the other split into two names, Via Praetoria and Via Dacumana and lined them each with larger stones also from the lake.  Where the streets intersected, Winky and Sen created a large basin from more river stones made water tight with house-elf magic.  This was filled by a magicked bucket that carted itself from the lake and back until the basin was full to the brim.  A grid work of smaller pebbles marked the space for each tent so there allowing enough room for guide ropes and for people to walk. Latrines were dug up under the forest canopy in heavy clay soil where any waste could be absorbed by the forest itself instead of running off into the lake.

Winky started the work slowly in her usual whining way that jarred even Sen’s nerves.  When Tom heard Sen complain more than once about Winky’s work he stormed over as best he could to the new camp site and yelling and growling until Winky’s work picked up or Sen told him he was being too harsh.  As the day progressed and more of the camp was completed her work picked up and Tom found he needed to go over and yell at her less often.  She even started adding details that neither Sen or Tom has asked for including making little wooden out-houses to go over the latrine holes.

When Tom gave the group of refugees a guided tour of the new site they were very please with what had been achieved in such a short time.  They seemed particularly pleased that the streets were named in the old language of magic, which Tom only knew as Latin but was happy to take credit for.  While Winky was away doing other work he asked some of the kids to say thank you to Winky personally and she seemed to glow in their praise.  It spurred her on to cultivate some land and plant a late spring crop of mangle-wurzles and other odd vegetables for the refugees to look after and enjoy.  That sealed the deal for the refugees who quickly returned to the old camp to pack up and move to the new site.  By nightfall there was a new tent city filling out the grid work of pebbles.  The refugees built a fire in a large cauldron in the main square and for the first time since having to leave their homes years ago, there was music and laughter.

Winky brought food and drink down from the castle kitchens which added to the party atmosphere, though Tom was very clear with Sen that Winky was to have no drink herself except the water from the new well.  Finally, Professor McGonagall came down to see the finished site and was very pleased with the work.  She thanked Tom who generously gave the credit for the hard work and clever ideas to his subordinates.  Sen smiled blithely and danced with the people of the tent city but Winky seemed to have change dramatically over the day.  She was exhausted, sitting on the edge of the well watching the fire and dancing.  But she seemed to have grown taller and her face seemed to have lost a lot of its careworn look.  The hard work had put a glow in her cheeks that had nothing to do with alcohol and for the first time in what Tom assumed had been a very while, a smile was to be found perpetually marking her entire face.

“Sergeant Green, I have a favour to ask.”  The Headmistress said after completing her tour of the site, “Hogwart’s is to commemorate an important event in a few weeks time, the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.”
“An important memorial. I hope that I’ll be allowed back into Hogwarts to see it.”  Tom replied with a smile as was given one in return.
“On the contrary, I’d would like to ask you to organise it.  There are few who disagree with muggles being part of magical society, but many muggle families also lost loved ones at that battle, I would like this anniversary to be a muggle affair.”  A knowing look past between them and Tom knew she was referring to Will.
“I would be honoured, though I guess Mr Weasley may have other plans for me.  I really have been too long in getting back.”
“Actually, it was Arthur who suggested the idea to me.”  The Headmistress smiled cheekily and Tom saw the childlike side of the stony faced Professor of Hogwarts.
“Well then, I accept, on one condition.  There seems to be another group missing from this memorial.  Hagrid tells me that house-elves fought in  the Battle for Hogwarts.”
“Well yes, but…”
“Don’t you think they deserve to be remembered as well?”

Professor McGonagall looked over toward Winky curled up under a crocheted blanket at the base of the well, fast asleep.
“Yes, it seems that the smallest and weakest always get overlooked.” She sighed and turned back to Tom.
“I think we can do something about that.”

The next morning while once again eating breakfast at the Three Broomsticks, Tom called out Winky’s name.  With a crack that made Rosmerta working in the kitchen drop a plate, Winky appeared in the same woolly outfit as the previous day and a new determined look upon her face.  This was new as she’d never shown any emotions previously except self-pity and fear.  Tom took it as a good sign and gave his orders for the day while continuing with his breakfast.

“And what if Winky don’ts do as you says?”  She squeaked in her reedy high-pitched voice.

“I’m not giving you a choice.”  The growled and she quailed stepping backwards, recovering and pulling herself together.

This is an improvement,  Tom thought, on that whining mess from two days ago.

‘Winky is a good elf…though she is…free…?”  This last she said almost not believing it herself, a look of shock clearly visible in her over sized eyes.

“Are you?  I believed you thought such freedom disgraceful.”

“Better free than a servant to a great muggle like you!”  She exclaimed in a voice so high Tom had difficulty hearing it.  Instantly thin hands whipped up and covered her treacherous mouth.  She had offended against her sacred house-elf code and Tom was ready when she went to slam her head forcibly into a chair seat.  Quickly he picked her up by the woolly collar of the jumper she was wearing  so she dangled safely out of harms way.

“Not on my watch you don’t.  You may not respect me house-elf but you respect your code and the orders given you by a magic user.  The Headmistress has given you to me which means she give me the authority to  decide what you should and should not do.

“So, I forbid you to commit self harm or put yourself in a position where another may harm you either deliberately or by accidentally.  You will eat when I tell you, sleep when I tell you.  You will go when I tell you and you will stay when I tell you and this arrangement will continue until I say it stops.  Is that understood?”  Tom shook the hanging house-elf until her eyes spun in their sockets.  He hoped he had covered all the loopholes with which Winky could harm herself.

“Yes…sir.”  She replied dizzily and Tom returned her to the floor with a plonk.

“I want names of house-elves that fought and died at the Battle of Hogwarts.  I will also need a book on wizard etiquette and forms of address for official visitors…”  Tom stopped, noticing Winky’s surprised stare.  “What is it, house-elf?”
“You is wanting the names of house-elves that died at the Battle of Hogwart, sir?”
“Yes, glad to hear your listening.”  He glared at her hoping she’d get the hint this was not up for discussion.

She did.

And thus the weeks progressed.  Winky did as she was told with little of her old whining.  In fact, Tom felt that she no longer felt sorry for herself, but resented the fact she was taking orders from a muggle .  Tom dealt with every sour look with a smile knowing she was improving under his authority.  What was causing him grief was his leg.   It never really healed completely, the Professor opinion being that the Dementor attack exacerbated the injury, but Tom wasn’t sure his reckless few days directly out of hospital had played a part.  He now rarely left the Hogwarts area only making one trip back to the muggle world to order a few items to help with his plans, to see his family and to formalise his resignation from the army.

After a long day of chasing up tradesmen and tailors, being interviewed by his superior officer as to why he was leaving a career in the army behind and checking in with the Muddies at the Ministry, Tom limped back to his parents house and flopped onto the lounge too exhausted to move further. He had always looked forward to some future retirement day with anticipation of being his own man spurring him on to new adventures.  In reality, signing the discharge paperwork only reinforced to him that he now had nowhere he belonged.  The darkness of depression rest heavily on him and there didn’t seem to be any point to moving further.

His mother on the other hand was a bundle of energy.  Zipping here and there through the house, muttering to herself  she didn’t notice her son was home until she had walked past him several times and almost tripped over him once.

“Tom! You look a wreck.”
“Why thank you for the warm welcome home.”  He repied sarcastically, making his mother worry.
“I really don’t know why you men have to push yourselves so hard.”  With a word and a hand she got him to his feet. As she helped him climb the stairs to his room she mumbled about “…having so much to tell you too…”.  He wanted to ask about her exciting news but bed beckoned and he was asleep before she’d returned with a glass of water to take his painkillers and a soothing hot pack for his leg.

The week of the memorial  started clear with a constant breeze skidding even the laziest cloud from the sky.  Summer was starting to make an appearance and its promise was bittersweet to Tom.  Soon Tom’s time at Hogwarts would be over and he would have to make a decision about his future.  That he still had done nothing to help Sen was also troubling him and gave him concerns about her future as well.

But all thoughts of the future were quickly extinguished from Tom’s mind the morning he went down to Hagrid’s hut with Sen.  A delivery had arrived on the Hogwart’s Express and Tom has asked Hagrid to take delivery and help install it at the white tomb site.  Even before they had reached Hagrid’s front door Tom was almost knocked off his feet by a set of earth tremors that drummed through the ground setting even the trees of the nearby forest shuddering.  Flocks of black birds cawed and screeched in panic as the sound of trees being torn apart far beyond the boundaries of forest.

It was all Tom could do to keep his balance handicapped as he was.  He grabbed hold of Sen for support and in preparation of pushing her out of harms ways when it arrived.  Sen herself, seemed unperturbed by the cataclysmic event and was looking eagerly into the forest for something. 

Tom was about to ask when he spotted a head floating above the tree tops a short distance away and getting closer.  Tom looked again.  It wasn’t much of a head, a round face with a piggy nose and two small black eyes surrounded by a mess of hair and two flap-like ears.  It looked somewhat like the moon, but the day was to bright for the moon.  As the face floated closer, Tom could make out a stubby neck and shoulders through the thinning trees.

It was a giant.  Not just a huge human like Hagrid, this was a full blooded, sixteen foot tall giant.  Of all the things he had seen and experience in his time with the ministry, all his experience in foreign countries and cultures, nothing prepared him for sheer scale of the monster in front of him.  This was the creature that had killed his brother and sent shivers through every magic user he knew.  Weaponless, alone and crippled, he had never felt so exposed.

“Quick, up to the castle, as fast as you can.”  He ordered Sen, spinning her around to face back the way they had come.  Sen, confused and a little hurt by her mentor’s behaviour, didn’t move.

“It’s a giant, run!”  Tom searched the open grass for cover but there was nothing nearby except for Hagrid’s hut.  Grabbing Sen’s hand he hobbled his way to front door as fast as he could.

“Yeah, it’s Grawp.” She said waving at the monster to gain it’s attention.  Tom lunged for the waving hand too late,  the giant had spotted them, a big vacant smile rending open on its childlike face.

“Get inside, quick.”  Tom lifted the protesting Sen up the steps and pushed her inside the open door slamming it shut behind him.

It was dark in the hut.  Tom could make out little of the interior with his eyes but his nose was overloaded with different smells from the fetid funk of curing skins to the pungent odour of drying herbs and liniments. Hagrid was not in his hut which was a good thing as Tom was sure if he had been present there would have been issues with claustrophobia.  As it was, knowing that the giant was just outside the stone walls somewhere, was unnerving. A panic was rising in Tom that he’d never experienced, a few deep breaths in the odorous air of the hut did nothing to focus his thoughts.

“Tom…”  Sen started to ask in her normal voice which sounded too loud and Tom stoppered her mouth with his hand before she could go further.  He made a gesture for silence as he listened to the pounding foot steps falter and stop just outside. Tom could swear he heard sniffing and inexplicably bird cries.

Bang!

The door to the hut swung open and a large shadow filled the door.  Tom quickly grabbed a frying pan that had been hanging from the roof and brandished it in preparation to attack.

“Tom? Sen?  Wot ‘re ye doin’ in ‘ere?”  Hagrid’s distinctive accent came from the shadow outside the door and Tom lowered the frying pan.
“Hagrid!  There’s a giant!”  Tom said gesturing with the frying pan to somewhere outside.

Hagrid inexplicably doubled over  his roaring with laughter.  He waved both of them out of his hut unable to speak.  Sen quickly skipped out of Tom’s clutching hand and out into the sunlight.  Outside Tom was made aware of the bird cries again, a flock of birds all calling and screeching together, squealing and crying out like they were trapped in a cage or net.  With Hagrid desperately trying to catch a breath between bouts of uncontrolled laughter and Sen slipping out of sight into the noise of screaming birds Tom had no choice but to face the madness outside the hut.

With his walking stick in one hand and the frying pan in the other, Tom painfully leapt through the doorway, rolling as he landed and was back on his feet facing whatever nightmare was awaiting him.  The scene was so unbelieveable that at first it didn’t make any sense.

There were no birds, just dozens of children of various ages screaming and laughing as they attacked a giant happily sitting on the grass in front of Hagrid’s hut.  They swarmed over the monster like insects, crawling through its shaggy hair, swinging from ropes tied to its arms, climbing on hessian clad legs and sitting on its shoulders.  Sen from among the rabble, called up from the ground to the enraptured giant who scooped her up in a hand like the bucket on a large mechanical digger and gently placed her in a pocket of a shirt made of tent canvas.

“Augh, Tom.”  Said Hagrid breathlessly, “You’re a laugh.  I don’ t’ink you’ve met me brother, Grawp.”

Brother? Tom thought incredulous looking from the mountain of muscle before him and back to the not insubstantial Hagrid.  Hagrid noticed the look.

“‘alf brother, in truth, we ‘ad de same mother, Fridwulfa a rare fine giantess.”  Hagrid looked at his brother foldly as it played, Tom now realised, with the children at its feet.  “He live in da woods mostly, but I asked him out ta ‘elp us with your special order.”  Hagrid nodded to a large bundle wrapped and supported in a wooden framework. “‘e’ll be able to put it in place in no time.”

“No.”  Tom said flatly stepping away from Hagrid, his expression fixed and his face pale, “Sen! Sen please get down.”  Tom called to the bulge in the giants breast pocket. He found it was increasingly difficult to keep control of his voice that threatened to betray him and the bubbling fear that had manifested in his chest.  The bulge squirmed and Sen’s head peeked curiously above the the pocket. “Now Sen, please.”  He begged, waving her down.  Grudgingly she left the pocket, climbing down the giants chest to its lap and jumped to the ground.

“Der’s no ‘arm in ‘im sergeant.” Said Hagrid hands out open in front of him.  Tom recognised the mollifying body language, non-threatening but persuasive, it wouldn’t work on him.

“Look, we’re not talking about one of your tame monsters or a domestic magical creature.  I deal with people from all cultures and races everyday, but that thing is nothing but a beast, a killer and I won’t have it anywhere near Sen or the Memorial including the service understood Hagrid ?”  The words came out in a blur of near panic.  Part of Tom knew this was the wrong response, that he needed to calm down, but an overriding urge to run and hide from the giant undid all his experience and training.  What was worse, confused and now scared, Sen started crying and Tom picked her up, infecting her with his irrational fear.

“Now see ‘ere…”  Hagrid started but Tom was already limping away, cradling the sobbing Sen.

William Edward Green.

Tom stared at the gold embossed words on the granite surface of the memorial.  He’d come straight here from Hagrid’s hut.  After Sen had calmed down he told her about how Will had died at the hand of creatures like the giant Grawp.  She protested that Grawp was kind and gentle and looked after all the little ones but Tom still extracted from her a promise to stay clear of the giant.  Once more in tears, angry and scared at Tom’s behaviour, Sen left him and Tom had sat looking at the name of his fallen brother ever since.

Looking back at his actions Tom was thoroughly ashamed of how he’d behaved.  He prided himself on his ability to keep cool, to never respond negatively to a situation and to never ever allow his personal feelings and belief taint his view of a person or event.  It now, in this peaceful sunlit spot seemed so ridiculous, but if he imagined the monster striding across the intervening grass from the forest goose-flesh erupted  all up and down his arms and he shivered.

“Oi!  Tom!” Hagrid calling his name made Tom started from his thoughts and he leavered himself stiffly to his feet.  As in reflection of those images of Tom’s mind, Hagrid now stomped around the lake side, the wooden frame strapped to his back with hairy yellow ropes, a shovel in one hand, a pick in the other. “Give us a hand would ya?” Hagrid puffed and Tom scrambled to oblige. They worked for several minutes in silence carefully lowering the crate from Hagrid’s back all the while Tom looking to Hagrid for any sign of his mood.  The usually open though heavily bearded face was inscrutable.

“You know ‘e fought on our side against de udda giants at the battle.”  Hagrid said quietly as they both stared at the crate and its shrouded contents.  Knowing that information did not make Tom feel any better.  Though he was a ally, knowing Grawp had personally killed fellow creatures made Tom’s irrational fear rational.  He didn’t know if he’d ever come to terms with his feelings about the giant, but he knew he owed it to Hagrid to try rebuild their relationship after the damaged he caused.

“Hagrid, I am sorry for the way I behaved, it was inexcusable, you deserve my humblest apology.”

Hagrid embarrased by Tom’s heartfelt words didn’t look at him, just kicked around the tools at his feet as if they were twigs.  “You don’t afta ‘plogise ta me, it’s only natural ta be ‘fraid of giants, maybe for you more than most.”

They stood in silence for a while both contemplating thoughts that were either too large or complicated to be given words.  Silently, Hagrid picked up the shovel and the pick and handed the later to Tom.  Tom took it gratefully and they set to work.  The job that would have taken the giant Grawp minutes to accomplish took Tom and Hagrid hours and they were both thoroughly filthy and exhausted at the end.  Hagrid went to perform his other duties and left  Tom sitting on the grass absentmindedly rubbing his injured leg.  He looked up at the new white marble memorial stone, it’s golden lettering gleaming in the midday sun, and made a decision.
“I think it’s time. Winky?” He said to the air and she appeared with a pop beside him, a harried look making her eyes bulge more than usual
“I have a job for you Winky.”  Tom stated blandly, trying not to smile.
“Yes sir.” She sighed wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
“Tell me what you think of that stone Hagrid and I just put up?”

Being asked for an opinion was not something that house-elves were use to  and Winky gave Tom a quizzical look.  He just stared back keeping his expression unreadable.  From his position on the ground Tom could see Winky’s curious expression dull as she read the engraving of more than two dozen names of Hogwart’s house-elves.  Her face then move smoothly though a myriad of emotions including surprise, shock, pleasure and even guilt.  Tom made to grab Winky as she looked as if she would punish herself against the stone at any moment.  To his relief, she just turned back to him, her overlarge brown eyes soft with tears.

“You did this for house-elves?”  She asked in an awed breathless voice.
“All who fight to protect their homes deserve to be remembered. I’m sorry I can only mention the few who ended up giving their lives.”  He replied gently in a way he been unable to before now.
“House-elves do not look for honour and glory.”  Winky replied mutinously and Tom felt that this was the cause of the guiltily expression.
“Very few of us do.  I know very few of those magicians of the other stones were looking for glory the night of the battle, they were just protecting their homes and families.”

Winky sagged and Tom guessed she was reminded that she had no home or family of her own.

“Winky, our time together is coming to an end.  You do good work, I was impressed how you looked after those people in the tent city.  You have been clever and resourceful in all the tasks I’ve asked from you. Mr Arthur Weasley of the Magical and Muggle Unified Defence Division in the Ministry of Magic has heard of your work and asked me to offer you an choice.  Either stay here at Hogwarts as you are or take up an opportunity.”
“Choice?”  Winky’s ears shot up in surprise, “Winky is to be given a choice, sir?”
“You said yourself that you are a free elf.  Freedom has it’s own burdens, one of those is choices.  Are you willing to listen to my suggestion?”

Winky’s face wrinkled in confusion as she tried to understand what was happening.
“You is not hurt or yell at Winky anymore?”  She asked timidly.
“If you take Mr Weasley’s offer you will be my co-worker and if I harm you in anyway I will have to answer to Mr Weasley himself.”
Winky smiled mischiefly at the thought.
“But Winky, ” Tom added, “You will be responsible for all the people who work for the division, you will need to look after them and keep them safe to the best of your abilities and…”  Tom paused to gain her full attention, “…you will need to keep their secrets.”

Again the ears flapped straight up in surprise, “Like with a family, sir?”
“Exactly like a family.  That’s what the Muddies are, one very unusual family.”

Winky’s ears were nodding before even the words came out of her mouth, “I would like to hear your Weasley’s offer.”  She said tentatively and Tom got to his feet.
“Walk with me Winky.”

The few hours before a big event can last for days or flash past in minutes.  Tom being busy overseeing the Memorial did not have time to spare for discussions on relativity, but when the thestral drawn carriage pulled up in front of the castle that afternoon he spotted several relatives who required his immediate attention.

For the first time in Hogwart’s history the Hogwart’s Express had been pressed into service transporting non-magical family members of those who’s loved ones had fought and died at the battle of Hogwarts.  He had been unable to meet them at the station, but Hagrid had been more than willing to chaperon the muggles into Hogwarts.  Tom could see him talking to his parents  and another elderly couple who shared their carriage.  Mr and Mrs Green waved at their son as Hagrid pointed him out and lead the entire group down the lawn.

House-elves and Hogwarts staff bustled everywhere finishing last minute tasks.  White chairs had been laid out in a semi circle in front of the tomb and memorials on a freshly mown patch of lawn.  A dais had been set up beside Dumbledore’s tomb and a speakers stand bearing the Hogwarts quartered crest place on top.  White flowers had been made to bloom, by the herbology teacher Professor Sprout, that morning edging a mown path from the castle to the site and around the chairs and memorials.

With a whistle and a wave he gained the attention of Sen and greeted his parents.  Both Mr and Mrs Green looked wide-eyes around the grounds of Hogwarts taking in all the sights that they had only ever heard about before.  Tom gave his mother a hug and shook his father’s hand before turning to the elderly couple with them.  Before he could introduce himself, a squeal went up from behind and the couple ignored Tom’s handshake and ran down the hill.  Sen was screaming her grandparents names running with her arms held wide until they finally met and embraces in a confusion of hugs and kisses and simultaneous words and lots of laughter.

Tom was stunned into silence.
“I told you I had a lot to tell you.” Beamed Mrs Green taking pleasure in her son’s astonishment.  “And you thought I was just chatting with my friends all day didn’t you, admit it.”
Tom denied the claims with a laugh a hug and a kiss, demanded the details of the story.
“There are a hundred and two phone numbers listed with the surname, Po.”  She started, taking her husband on one arm and her son on the other, “And I rang each and every one of them.  Unfortunately, none of the Po’s I talked to were Sen’s Grandparents. It seems they were unlisted.”
“But one of the Po’s you spoke to knew the Grandparents?”  Tom asked and earned himself a playful slap.  “You’re spoiling my story, but yes.  I spoke a Kevin Po in Warrickshire and told him about Sen and her parents.  He told that story to his family who then starting ringing distant relatives and sure enough, a second cousin of his grandfather was the Po we were looking for.  Sen’s Grandparents got in touch with me and…”  She pointing to the scene of reunion and gave both of her men a playful hug.
“Mum, you’re amazing! But why didn’t you call me, I could have let Sen know?”
Mrs Green pouted childishly, “Oh, I wanted it to be a surprise, besides I think they’ll forgive me.”

“What could you possibly do that requires forgiveness Mrs Green.”  It was Eleonore who was walking up from the lake with Nathaniel in her arms.  She with the other Muddies had come in early to help with the service and had promised Tom that she would come and say hello to his parents.

Tom was surprise when Eleonore’s steps faltered as a look of concern past over her face as she stared at Mrs Green.  He glanced at his mother who’s face had lost all colour and who’s eyes were bulging, fixed on the tiny bundle that was Nathanial.

“He’s…Dan, can you see?”  She shook her husbands arm as the old man squinted at the baby squirming in his mother’s arms.  Releasing the arms of her men, Mrs Green stepped up to Eleonore and Nathaniel and reached her hand out to Nathaniel’s face.  The little boy, curious at this new stranger, grabbed her outstretched hand and promptly stuck her index finger in his mouth.  Mrs Green gasped and looked up into Eleonore’s eyes.
“It’s William, he looks just like William.”

Eleonore’s wide scared eyes caught Tom’s.  He nodded reassuringly as he pulled his father up to take a closer look at the baby.  Eleonore looked like she wanted to run away from this confrontation, but she really had nowhere to go.
“Important you said, Tom.  She was very important to us, to Will.”  Tears were now streaming down Mrs Green’s face a deliriously happy smile on her face. “Oh yes, you are very important to us Miss Winterbottom, you’re one of the family.”

Eleonore’s usual perfectly controlled mask crumbled under the older woman’s unconditional acceptance.  She nodded her agreement and slowly passed the confused but delighted Nathaniel to his grandmother.
“Mum mum.”  He gurgled and the family laughed.
“Grandmother.”  Eleonore choked out through her own tears. “That’s a new word for him, Grandmother and Grandfather.”

It was hard to leave his family at this time, but Tom had a memorial to run and the special guest where starting to arrive.  A young couple only a few years out of school, were admiring the new memorial stone talking sociably with Winky .  The sight of seeing two magic-users holding a genuine conversation with the house-elf was heartening and as he walked past he took note of their conversation.

“It’s just wonderful, Winky, recognition for house-elves sacrifice after so long!”  The young woman with dark curly hair exclaimed. “It’s only the beginning.”
“And I like your hat too, Winky.”  The red headed man, who had to be another Weasley, said pointing to the pom pom hat that Winky habitually wore.
The young woman smiled at the young man and took his arm in her’s.

The Muddies and teachers of Hogwarts brought the guest together and Tom took his place on the Podium.  As he waited for silence he looked out at the crowd, the sea of faces picking out those of Sen and her grandparents, his parents and Eleonore.  He glanced across the sunset tinted water to where Grawp sat, the tiny form iof Hagrid in comparrison beside him.  A thrill of fear ran down Tom’s spine at the sight of Grawp but this time he was able to ignore it and bows the the figures across the water.  Grawp, with one meaty hand waves back in reply.

Taking a breath, Platoon Sergeant Thomas Green, late of the British Army turned to the crowd of expectant magical and non-magical people gathered.

“ Honoured guest, family and friends of the fallen, survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts.

This moment, this hour, this day, we dedicate to our dead.
Individuals, whose passing into the silent land, we will honour by ourselves becoming silent.

The minute silence we will observe is a tradition born in the non-magical world that allows those left behind to dwell upon a name, or a face or some small precious memory of those through their sacrifice can not be with us today.  For each of the fallen had a family and friends whose lives were enriched by their love and diminished by their loss.

And yet, although denied the full span of human existence, who can doubt their achievement.  These men, women, and elfs have given us a legacy on which to build our future society.  One not separated into magical or non-magical, pureblood or muggle born, human or humanoid but of one society that values the gifts of determination, of compassion and most of all, of service.

Our silence today is a promise to remember all who have been lost, to give thanks for their belief and commitment  and to demonstrate the value we place in their sacrifice.

While we still remember them, value their efforts and continue in the self same struggle they died for, can our loved ones really be said to be gone?  No.  They live on in our deeds, our trials and triumphs.  Today, by recognising both what has been lost to us and what has been gained, we declare, of all our fallen: They are not missing. They are here”.

Epilogue

 

Monday morning in the Muddies office was the usual briefing meeting, but this morning there was an expectancy in the air.  It started when Tom Green, back from his break after being injured, limped into the office in full military dress uniform and carrying a box that he would not disclose to anyone.  As the members of the Muddies gathered in the board room, Tom requested the chair for the day and called everyone to silence.

“This is a special day as we will welcome the latest member of the Muddies into the family.  She has suffered the worst that life can offer all for the sake of belonging to something greater than herself.  Today we put an end to that suffering by giving her a positive and compassionate place among us.  For her sake this welcoming is to be a ceremony, formalising her place with us as befits her peoples customs.  So please, hold any applause and discussion to the end.”

The Muddies had heard the rumours that a house-elf was to join them but very few of the witches and wizards had given the rumours credence and the non-magical among them was unsure what all the fuss was about.  A bubbling of whispered conversations broke out around the table only to be extinguished by a stern look from Tom.

“Winky, could you join us please?”

With the accustomed pop, Winky was among them, as usual in her woolly attire, her bat-like ears poking out the holes in her pom pom hat.  She looked like she wanted to disappear when she saw the crowd of faces staring down at her, large brown eyes blinking rapidly, small nimble hands wringing in concern.

“Winky, I’d like you to say after me the following vow.”  Tom said loudly enough for all in the room to hear.  Winky just looked at him and nodded.
“I, Winky the House-elf, “
“I, Winky the House-elf,”  She squeaked so high that many close by had to cover their ears to its painful shrillness and those at the back could not hear at all.
“…solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to the Ministry of Magic…”  Tom continued prompting Winky silently to speak up louder.
“…and that I will, duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend the Ministry against all enemies and will observe and obey all orders of the Ministry’s officers set over me.”
Winky repeated the words and those closest gave a cheer.  Tom once again quietened them with a stare.

“It is the custom among house-elves to forgo clothes when they take on a position in a household.  As Winky is not be a servant in the unit but rather a co-worker, I propose a different form of attire than the usual tea towel or pillowcase.”  Tom gestured to Mr Weasley who very proudly opened the box Tom had brought in that morning, unfolding the encasing tissue paper and withdrawing a tiny uniform in Ministry of Magic colours, emblazoned with the Ministry’s double M motif.  These with great seriousness, Mr Weasley presented to the house-elf who looked at the clothes dubiously.

“Clothes, Sergeant sir?”  She looked up at Tom with a hurt expression, “You promised not to hurt Winky anymore and you is giving her clothes?”
“Winky.”  Tom stood erect in his pristine military uniform every line crisp, every button shining, “These are not clothes.  This is a uniform and there’s true magic in its wearing.”
“Magic?”  She looked at him a little less dubious and a little more curious.
“Yes.  For whenever you wear it, you will know where you belong.”

With this Winky gasped as the full realisation of what she was being offered sunk in.  With great care she gingerly took the uniform from Mr Weasley’s outstretched arms.  At this Tom gestured to the Muddies and Winky was overwhelmed by the roar of congratulations and applause.  Stunned and surprise she disappeared from sight, uniform and all from the meeting.  Applause turned into good natured laughter and Mr Weasley quickly got the unit back under control.

“Settle down everyone.  Thank you Sergeant Green and welcome back yourself.  For those who do not know, Tom has recently retired from the muggle military and is now, as of today, a permanent member of this unit. Please, a warm round of applause for our returning hero, Tom Green.”

Once again applause and not a few cat-calls from Detective Valenti and George Weasley from the back of the room.

The meeting quietened after that and the general business of the unit dealt with.  After the meeting Tom gestured to Eleonore and they went a little to one side to talk.

“Sorry to have argued so hard to get me back now that I’ve brought a house-elf into the ranks?”  Tom jested with Eleonore while she kept her face stony serious.
“House-elves are highly magical, intelligent and resourceful creatures and I think, with time,  she will be an asset.  Shame the same can’t be said for you muggles.”
“Oh, so you still don’t want us around then.  Fine, I’m sure the paperwork is still on Arthur desk shall I just go and tear it up?”  Tom made to leave but with little effort Eleonore dragged him back
“Don’t be ridiculous, I knew you’d never leave.”
“Oh, and how do you figure that when I wasn’t sure for a long time there myself.”
“Well,”  Eleonore expressonless visage broke with a charming smile that melted more than a few strong hearts that were looking on and set Tom’s spinning in his chest.  “I wasn’t too worried.  You haven’t finished your work at  the Ministry.  You were never in position to walk away.”

Tom smiled looking around the board room at those still lingering after the meeting.  Col and George in one corner cooing over a tiny fluffy creature that was George’s latest present to the punkish computer tech.  John Valenti  collecting his notes from the meeting  giving Tom a thumbs up sign.  The Professor chatting to Perkins about an article in that morning magical newspaper.  Eleonore was right.  He hadn’t finished his work with these people and that thought made him smile all the more.

This is an unofficial, not for profit site, and is in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books or Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied.

5. The Muddies

You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch, therefore bear you the lantern.

William Shakespeare

Date:  2 April

Ministry of Magic – Magical and Muggle Unified Defence Division

A report by Sue-Ellen Dodder Col (Colossus)
in regards to current security breaches, dictated to a Quick Quotes Quill in the presence of Detective Sergeant John Valenti (DSV).

I really screwed up.  I want to make that very clear from the start.  But I did it for the very best of intentions.

I did it for love.

John says I should start from the beginning, but you don’t really want to hear about my hippy parents and their organic tofu producing empire.  You don’t really want to know about my brother, Sidney, except to say he liked to bring his Pureblood friends over to see how a typical muggle family live.  No, you really want to know about Gordon.

Gordon Grech went to school with my brother.  School being Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  They had never been friends as they hung out with different crowds, but Gordon came with a mutual friends to an end of school party Sidney had put together.  It was at that party that I first noticed Gordon.

Not that he noticed me.

My parents though him skinny, I thought him aesthetic, like an artist but with cleaner hands.  My brother thought him slimy, but I thought he was clever and resourceful.  He asked me to be his girlfriend on the 15 March at about quarter past two.  I know because I’d just got back from a nice chat with the Prime Minister.

He’d told me I was  to join the Ministry of Magic, if I wanted.  If I wanted!?  I’d always been so super jealous of Sidney being magical; of course I wanted to!

And then a wizard I had fancied says he’s been thinking of me.  That the twelve months since we last met have been empty without me.  What was I to say, it was like some magical miracle.

DSV:  All very fascinating Col but for the report we need to know when and why you starting passing information to Gordon Grech.

[Detective Sergeant Valenti in his slim cut Italian suit fold his arm and grumpily leans back in his chair]

Col:  I didn’t pass on anything…at first, anyway.  He had stayed over the night I got the Owl for the breakfast meeting.

DSV:  Tell us about that?  What did he do?

Col:  Well he was a bit odd really.

DSV:  Hmmm, go on?

Col:  He has this thing about feet…

DSV:  I didn’t mean…!  I meant what was his response to the Owl?!

Col:  Oh.  He seemed excited.  He said he’d go in with my only it was too early for him.  Gordon works for Staff Recruitment and Retrenchment at the Ministry.

DSV:  So he knew what the letter contained?

Col:  Sure, I read it out loud.  He gave me the impression he already knew what it said as it was his department that had hired me so I didn’t think it was a big deal.

DSV:  Did you think it might be a big deal when the letter tore up in front of you?

Col:  Oh, don’t go on John.

[Tear well up in Col's dark eyes like deep forest pools]

Are my eyes like pool?

DSV:  Forget the pen, Col.  What happened after that?

Col:  I left early on my omni-bike to catch the train.  It’s omni because there are many bikes in the making…

DSV:  We get it, Col.  So you followed the directions in the letter.

Col:  Yeah.  That’s when we had the dementor attack and Eleonore saved us.  Oh, and Tom tackled me.  An all round pretty exciting start to the morning. Really, knocked the sleep right out of me I can tell you.

The Professor turned up soon after and we left you and Eleonore arguing on the street.  Did you ever apologise for trying to arrest Eleonore?

[Col's faces breaks elfishly into a cheeky grin]

DSV:  Just get on with your report.

Col:  Okay.  So, we went to breakfast with almost the whole unit.  I mentioned Gordon’s name though no one seemed to know him.  That seemed odd at the time because Gordon had let slip a few times that he was quite high up.  He actually lead me to believe that I had him to thank for my appointment in the first place.

[Col's face crimsoned prettily at the memory of her lover's deception.]

Oh,…er, thank you Q3.

Anyway.  The first six days at the Ministry were a real snooze-fest.  Magical law classes, history of the magical world lectures, magical health and safety…it was all I could do to keep awake.  This I mostly achieved by dancing, which you guys found a little distracting or creating theoretical quantum computer code in my head.

There were a few highlights.  The visits to the Muggle Artifact Augmentation Workshop (MAAW) was a revelation for me.  It was in that badly lit space that I found my place in the Ministry.  It was here that I realised I could  bring information technology the the magical world and magic to the muggle world.  The amalgamation of the mundane and the magical would be a massive leap forward and I wanted to be in on that.

Another reason MAAW was so appealing was George.

The only other Weasley I had had any serious contact with was Percy, George’s older brother.  I had taken Percy to be the example for his Pureblood family.  Stuck up, arrogant and completely disinterested, he looked down on anything muggle as if it were all made of mud and sticks.  Well, Percy might be like that, but his family aren’t.  First Mr Weasley welcomed us like family to his new unit, Mrs Weasley his wife, cooked us breakfast and was very sweet to all of us except Mundungus who probably deserved it.  And then there was George.

Battle scarred and damaged on levels I don’t understand yet, he could have been hard and distant with us.  Yet, he was charming and sweet, warm and welcoming and totally passionate about his gadgets.  He’s a genius.  I was smitten.  Damaged, sweet and brilliant, that must be how I like them.

Err…who will be reading this?

DSV:  Mr Weasley and any management above him that demand answers about the recent leaks.

Col:  …maybe we should cross out that stuff about George…

DSV:  Your relationship with George is important to this story isn’t it?

[A decidely evil smile spread across the DSV's youthful features]

Col:  …um…yeah, I guess.

DSV:  Please continue then.

Col:  Maybe I should explain myself.  You need to understand the only other magic users I’d known well before joining the ministry were my brother and Gordon Grech.  I had no idea that wizards could be like George.  I was starting to see…

DSV:  See what?

Col:  That maybe Grech wasn’t as good as he seemed.

Anyway, there was one other highlight for the week.  Tom and his super human power to reflect magic.  Awesome or what!

Eleonore’s class was the best all week.  So exciting.  Watching you dive for cover, throwing glasses and jugs, it was like being in the middle of an action movie.

[Detective Sergeant Valenti squirmed uncomfortably in his seat]

DSV:  I wonder if we can find another quill.

Col:  And then Tom has his go.  I’d figured that Eleonore was mistaken, that she’d must have missed.  But she was so sure.  She decided on that second test.  The Imperius experiment.

I just want to say for the report that all of us who went along with the experiment did so voluntarily with everyone watching in case things went wrong.  I don’t want to get Eleonore in trouble, I wanted to go under her control, I mean…we volunteered.

I had hoped that you guys would think of something better than dancing.  Though I admit I did try to fight it, we were meant to, right?  But that peaceful floating world of the Imperius Curse is just…you know, people would pay good money for that high.

Er…John’s giving me the wind up signal so I better continue.

Of course, he was next, all swagger and machismo.  Did you study singing when you were younger?

[Detective Sergeant Valenti lunges out at the innocent Quick Quotes Quill as it attempts to describe his irrational actions at-]

DSV:  We don’t need that for the report.  Tom’s reaction to the Imperius Curse, please.

Col:  What reaction.  If he blinked it was only out of boredom.  Oh, except for when Eleonore put on the sexy moves.  That jingled a few bells, but still the Imperius curse did not take.

That’s when Eleonore called in George and Arthur.  All four of us were sworn to secrecy.  I think they knew then how serious the situation was but they didn’t share with the rest of us.  Maybe they thought we wouldn’t believe them or that they were overeacting .  Either way it doesn’t matter.  We were told not to tell anyone and that’s how it should have remained.  It should have been enough for me.

I’m really sorry, Tom.

DSV:  What happened after the lesson finished.

Col:  Tom, the Professor and George stayed and the rest of us were told to go home and report for assignments on Monday early.  Gordon was waiting for me as usual.  I guess that was suspicious, we’d been let out early hadn’t we?  I was just so pleased to see him I didn’t think

We kissed.  Judas kiss though it was, it was lovely.  As we walked to the exits he asked how my day had been.  I told him everything that happened that day except that last lesson.  See, I’m not good at lies, John.  I can’t make up something and pretend it’s the truth.  I thought it would be easier just to forget it had never happened, at least for a little while.  So I didn’t mention the last lesson at all.

“And Ms Winterbottom, how was she as a teacher today?”  Gordon asked casually, just part of the conversation and I nearly flipped out of my skin.  He could tell I was hiding something.  In my head I was hitting myself, but outside I wanted to hit him.
“Why do you ask?”  I replied, my hands clenched into fists, “What’s it to you?”

He looked shocked that I should speak to him like that and that made me feel bad.  I really wished that I didn’t have a secret to keep.

“I didn’t mean anything.  I just heard a couple of people talking about it as they walked past.  It sounded pretty exciting.”

I felt sick.  I figured he’d heard you and Professor talking and it had made him curious.

DSV:  He couldn’t have.  I went looking for Mundungus.  He was likely to have been in the workshop when Eleonore fetched George.  He’s known as an informer in the magical and non-magical world and I wanted to convince him to keep his trap shut.  But I was too late.

Col:  I know that now.

[Completely defeated, Col slipped down in her chair, only her dark eyes and pink mop of hair showing above the table top]

*Silence*

DSV:  Look, let’s take a break.  The time is 10.45am.

End trans.

 

DSV:  The time is 12.30pm.  I’m here with Col.  We’ve had some bad news that we thought we better share for the report.  Because of Tom’s unique ability, the healers at the hospital are having problems doing anything for him.

Col:  Do you think he’ll be all right?

[Col's voice choked with emotion squeaks and cracks]

DSV:  Tom’s tough, he’s lived through worse than a few lousy quacks.  The Professor is advising them on treatments, he’ll sort them out.  Now Col, I need you to focus on this report.  Tell me about your weekend with Grech?

Col: It was awful.

He’d kept trying to get out of me what happened during class.  He’d joke about it, he’d tickle me until I couldn’t breath.  He tried bribing me with sweets and little presents.  Then he got nasty.  He picked on me saying I was only keeping it a secret to make him feel bad and that if I loved him I would tell.  He said that lovers shouldn’t have secrets and that he worked for the Ministry so it wouldn’t be like I was breaking my word.  Finally he did the most despicable thing I can think of.  He told my parents.

As a rule they hate secrets and were not happy to know that the government unit I worked for would have to keep any.

“Open, transparent government is a cornerstone of democracy.”  My dad said at the height of a half hour rant.  It nearly started a row, but I walked out and went for a walk.  That was Sunday afternoon.

I started wondering what I’d been sworn to.  Tom’s ability was something good wasn’t it?  Certainly nothing shameful.  We should be celebrating it not hiding it!  I couldn’t see what harm in telling those I loved and trusted, and as Gordon has said he worked for the Ministry so it didn’t seems so bad.  If I had understood what it would mean to some magical users to know there were muggles who they couldn’t control.  I just don’t think like that.

So that night, I told them.

*Silence*

To my parents it meant very little.  It seemed as natural as organic silken that there should be people who resist magic.  Gordon was another matter.

I could see that he tried to brush it off as nothing very special, hardly worth the all the secrecy.  But he seemed genuinely shocked and that worried me.  He went out for a long walk afterwards.

I didn’t sleep well that night.  Instead of fighting it I spent my time on a small project for George.  It kept my mind off what I had done.  It kept me from worrying about what it meant.

In the morning Gordon was all loving again but I didn’t trust him anymore.  He tried to make up in the foyer of the Ministry…

[Detective Sergeant Valenti shuffles uncomfortably in his seat]

…but it didn’t mean anything to me anymore.

I had almost put him out of my mind by the time I  reached the Muddies office.

DSV:  Muddies?

Col:  That’s my name for our unit.

DSV:  Of course…er…please continue.

Col:  George was there with a present, my bubble wand.

[a small smile spreads across Cols lips at the memory]

That’s right Q3.  It was so sweet of him to think of me.  I had to tell him straight away about my little website project and soon we were so caught up I forgot about Gordon, the secret…everything.

*Silence*

DSV:  Until…

Col:  Do I have to?

DSV:  In your own words.

Col:

[Takes a deep breath]

That afternoon.  Evening really.  It was late.  George and I had had so much fun bouncing ideas off each other we hadn’t noticed the time.

We were packing up for the day when the Professor burst in still talking to you on his mobile.  He gestured for us to stop what we’re doing and so we sat back down like naughty school kids at detention.  Pulling faces and sending silent messages until the Professor had finished the call.  As soon as he had, he turned to me.

“Col, my dear, have you been telling tales out of school?”  His questioned seemed so odd I didn’t understand for a moment.  Just a second before I was fooling around with George the next moment I felt like I’d swallowed concrete. 

I spilled my guts.  Poor Professor who had to make sense of it.  Pour George who had to listen to it.  In the end, even though I still felt guilty, there was a sense of release I hadn’t felt all week.  I wasn’t alone in my misery anymore.

“We have to find who else Gordon Grech told.  It seems his father, Godwin and another man found at the Grech residence knew, but who else is part of the group?  Is it a cell of a larger organisation?”  Professor Flyrite mused, his brain whirring like a dynamo.  “Gordon, as far as we know, has no idea we’re onto him so we need to make contact with him and get as much information as we can.”

The three of us came up with a plan.  George was concerned that us two non-magicals should go up against a full wizard but Professor convinced him it was worth a try.

“The whole unit is under threat by these leaks,”  He explained, “We only just started and already we have be found wanting.  We’ve got to show we can clean up our own messes if we’re to survive.”  In the end Professor agreed to inform MrWeasley of the situation and the plan and George agreed to get the plan moving.

An hour later, I walked out of the office with the Professor, an unusual flower shaped much like a ear in his buttonhole.  As usual Gordon was waiting.  He looked a little put out from having to wait so long for me.  I was just so happy that he was still there I ran and gave him a big hug.

“I was worried about what I’d said to you over the weekend so I talked to Professor Flyrite here.  He totally agreed with you and that I didn’t need to worry about my Gondo.”  I said and he seemed pleased.  It helped me get over my nerves about what happened next.  “I hope your not mad.”

“How can I be, Sweet Melon.  Professor Flyrite is a very respectable man.”  I really hate that pet name.  He replied with such a big goofy grin he must have thought that he’d got away with it. 
“Well, good.  The Professor is very keen to meet you.”  The big smile faded at that.
Good.

I introduced the two of them then moved away from them as the Professor had told me to do.  I couldn’t hear what they talked about at the time but I know what they said from the transcripts.

DSV:  Before we read through those for the report could you describe how the transcripts were created.

Col:  Oh…

[She smiled with pride at the thought]

…George is so clever.  He used an existing invention of his called extendable ears and interfaced them with my mobile.  In the office with the Professor’s mobile we has a Q3 writing out what the extendable ears picked up.  The ear was the flower of  the Professor’s coat.

DSV:  Thank you.  What follows is the transcripts from that conversation.  As I  understand, this form of evidence, though highly unconventional, is magically legal so will make up part of the prosecutions case against the Grech’s and any associates.

 

Transcript recorded by Quick Quotes Quill via Mobile phone network and extendable ear interface Monday 1st April 2-

Prof: My lad.  I am so pleased to get a chance to talk to you.  I understand what happened in the classroom last week upset you.

Grech:  I wouldn’t say…

Prof:  And I wouldn’t blame you.  Actually, it scared me and I thought I’d seen all the nonsense that muggles could achieve.  Not particularly bright the average muggle, and coupled with immunity to our most power tool,  I can tell you, it was a shock.

Grech:  My exact thoughts sir.  But sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you a sq…

Prof:  I’m very well aware of my magical deficiencies, my boy, but that doesn’t mean I’m not intensely concerned with the magical world.  What I saw last week has made me realise that something needs to be done, but I can’t do it alone.

Grech:  What do you have in mind, sir?

Prof: This is not for the ears of your lovely lady. She’s a sweet child but she wouldn’t understand that the magical community is facing anhilation.  Within a few decades we could be bullied out of existence by brutish muggles with magical immunity.  It’s us or them.

Grech:  Your surprise me Professor Flyrite.  I, of course, know of your family.  They’re famous for their revolutionary broomstick designs and the custom work they’ve done for the ministry is legendary.  That one of your illustrious lineage would bother to talk to me at all is a real honour.  But you personally choose to live within muggle society, work with muggles in a muggle university.

Prof:  I have to live, my boy.  And my life has given me…certain insights into the enemy.

Grech:  I understand.  I will be truthful with you sir because you have honoured with your honesty, I share your concerns.  But what has this got to do with me?

Prof:  We have to find other like minded people, pull resources, build information gathering networks.  I’m on the inside of this unit, I can provide valuable information.  But I have no contacts in the community, but you do.  I understand you have some influence?

Grech:  I have …contacts outside the ministry.

Prof:  I knew you were the man to come to.

[Two slaps on a seemingly spineless backed individual can be heard]

Grech:  I already have information coming to me from your unit.

[A smug smile can also be heard]

Prof:  Really? Who?

*Silence*

Col?  But I understand that you already knew there had been an issue in our class before you saw her that afternoon.

Grech:

[in a whisper]

I told her I overheard some of your unit mention that lesson but in fact I pay Mundungus Fletcher for tidbits he picks up.

Prof:  So he’s part of your group?

Grech:  Goodness no!  He’s not reliable.  He’s just getting paid for his services.  Seems to think I’m concerned for Col’s welfare.

Prof:  Whereas she’s just a muggle tool.  I must say Mr Grech you are very resourceful.

Grech:  Coming from you sir, I feel very honoured.

Prof:  And who outside can we trust?

Grech:  My father, Godwin, has a few friends.  I’m sure they would welcome a visit from you.  I can take you to them if you like.

Prof:  I do and will, but I’m hoping that one of your contacts has a little authority.  Do you know anyone within the Ministry that could work for us in that capacity.

Grech:  Unfortunately I’m the only member in the Ministry at the moment.  But my role is pivotal.  I have access to all hire and fire information, it’s how I knew Col was joining the Ministry. Eventually I’ll be in a position to place our people in key positions.  But with you on board, your family name and personal influence within your unit, we could actually start doing things now.

Prof:  I see.  Do you know if your father in in touch with any other groups?  There must be more of us out there.

*Silence*

Grech:  I…can’t…quite recall, I’m sorry to say.  My father is very well known in certain circles, but… that’s funny, I can’t think of anyone at the moment.

*A loud bang can be heard as someone apparates nearby*

Prof:  Nevermind lad I’m sure we can give you plenty of time to think.

End Trans.

 

DSV:  For the record, Perkins and myself apparated into the ministry with the elder Grech and his associate in anti-magic manacled.  Gordon was apprehended soon after and all three are being interviewed.  As yet they have not been helpful in providing the names of other members. It seems that they have had memory modification.

Any words before we sign off this report, Col?

Col:  I just want to say that I’m really, really sorry.  My parents, Gordon are no excuse for blabbing.  I know this would be a real good reason to dismiss me, but I hope you won’t.  I’ve learnt my lesson.

DSV: Thank you, Col.  It is the recommendation of this report that Col be retained on probation for a period set by management.  It is also recommended that the secret be given to a reliable secret keeper (whatever that is) thus stopping any further leaks on this topic.  As to how far this current leak has spread, investigations are still continuing.

End Trans.

This is an unofficial, not for profit site, and is in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books or Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied.

4. The Child

Stare deeply into his eyes.
Realize, the pain therein that lies,
in the eyes of a lonely child.

Diron Bates

The finer points of magical theory were completely lost on Tom as he sat listening to Professor Flyrite and the wizard from the Muggle Artifact Augmentation Workshop, George Weasley, discuss his seeming anti-magic ability.

“My brother did once use magic on me.”  Tom described the walking holiday through the Great Lakes.  When the family had made camp near an isolated lake the boys decided to brave the frigid water.  William had given Tom a ball of some green algae that looked like worms and told him to eat it.  In minutes he had sprouted gills and for an hour they had investigated the darker reaches of the lake.

“Simply the active constituents of gillyweed.”  Professor Flyrite dismissed distractedly,  “They are not magical but a complicated group of chemicals that brings on these changes.  Much like any drug in the muggle world.”

“Do you think he does it consciously like a type of natural spell, subconsciously like children do in times of stress or is it just part of his makeup, a constant affect?”  George wondered out loud as if Tom wasn’t right there to ask.
“I don’t intentionally think to block anything.”  Tom interjected, “I was watching Ms Winterbottom to see where and when she would strike.

“So it’s either subconscious or part of his make up.” The professor said to George again ignore their subject entirely.
“I wonder if we could do some tests while he’s asleep to determine if it’s a subconscious act.”  George suggested, “We could set up a bed in the workshop…”
“I’m not sleeping anywhere Mundungus Fletcher has access.” Tom replied emphatically, “I don’t think the smell would be very conducive to sleep.”
“Well, we’ll do the test at your place…”
Tom laughed imagining his parents when he brought the Nutty Professor and the Wacky Wizard home for experiments of a magical nature.
“Ah…no.”
“Why not?”
“My parents would not approve.”

The Professor and George looked up from their plans and calculations
“You live with your parents?”  Asked George incredulously.
“Not exactly.”

His military career had kept him away from home his entire adult life.  He went where they sent him, ate what they gave him, did what they told him and slept wherever he could.  The short visits back home were spent with his folks. He was well aware of the opinion these two were forming and it didn’t matter.  Tom had learnt a long time ago that his self-worth did not depend on what others thought.

When he didn’t elaborate they went back to their musings.

“Do you think he’s transpolar?”  The Professor though out loud.  “That would explain a constant affect theory.  How could we test for it?”

It was late.  The lesson had finished abruptly with the revelation that neither curse or charm affected Tom.  George had been quickly brought into consult and the group sworn to secrecy.  That had been five house ago and though Tom was normally very patient, he was starting to wish he’d been able to leave with the others.
“Transpolar.  Wow!  What a thought.”  George exclaimed brushing his long red hair away from his face exposing scaring where an ear should have been.  It made him look grimmer making his mood seem more dire. “I couldn’t imagine he’s an isolated case.”

That silenced conversation between the two boffins for several moments.

‘What’s transpolar?”  Tom asked.

George and Professor Flyrite looked at each other as if trying to work out who would explain this one to the muddle-headed muggle.  It seemed George lost.
“It’s only an idea mind, not even a theory but you could be the opposite polarity to all magic users and as far as we knew, all muggles.”
Tom looked at both the Professor and George in confusion.
“What’s transpolar?”
“Look.”  George rummage in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out two dark grey ovals pebbles shaped and polished to a high shine. “Magnets, they have a north and south pole, you muggles worked that out.  If I put the north of one magnet  next to the south of the other and…”  He aligned the stones end to end and let them go.  As expected, they skipped across the table to each other and made a quirky brrrr sound when they collided.  “They attract.   Magic users and as far as we knew all muggles are the opposite polarity to magical energy.”

“And I’m not.”
“No, your polarity could be the same as that of magical energy.   I use this principle when making anti-jinx items like the Professor’s umbrella.   As a result you…”  George turned one pebble around and tried to force them together.  They refused every attempt. “…push away every spell, curse or charm that comes near you.  “

“Okay, I think I understand that, but what’s the problem?  Why would that idea be so…”
“Terrifying?”  The Professor supplied, “The magical community has kept itself isolated for centuries, safe in the knowledge that they were the superior of human kind.”  He noticed a wince from George,  ”Present company excepted, my boy.  But the fact remains that if the truth comes out that there are muggles who are immune to magic it could be perceived as a threat to the magical world as a whole.  Remember, we’ve just come out of a civil war where one side insisted there was a threat on  far less evidence that magical immunity.”

Tom had seen this scenario played out all too often before in the countries he’d gone to help keep together.  One group sees the second as a threat because of some difference in belief or custom.  It starts out as minor racism but leads to governments creating discriminatory policies and eventually, genocide.  He’d seen first hand evidence of how blind fear and ignorance can destroy as entire nation and it made him sick to think he could be the spark that set the bonfire of the magical community ablaze.”

“You see how important it is to keep this talent of yours a secret.”
Tom nodded gravely.

Soon after the trio  broke up and Tom started his lonely trip home.  Through the empty ministry he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Ministry of Magic was a shell.  He knew there were hundreds of workers who spent hours at the ministry everyday, but as yet he had seen very few outside those attached to the group.  It was an impression he very much wanted to dispel.

Great Titchfield was also empty when Tom started his walk to the station.  Overcast skies made for a dark night, only lit by the occasional pool of street lighting.  Alone, Tom wouldn’t normally have sunk into thought, but the conversation with Professor Flyrite and George had been unsettling. Parts of it kept replaying in his mind.  What he couldn’t understand was why hadn’t the magical intelligentsia seen the transpolar trait in people before?  Hadn’t they studied muggled for years?   Maybe that was it, they hadn’t, not really.  Isolated in their magical world they had no connection to the vast non-magical world around them.  What muggles they did have contact with were family members of muggle-borns and the odd victims of magic.  Both groups are likely to have polarities that make them vulnerable to magic

So where did that leave him?  He was the brother of a wizard.  Was he a throwback to a time before magic or was he an evolutionary leap forward?

All these questions and musing blotted out the world around Tom until…

BANG!

A short sharp explosion like that from small hand gun sent Tom instinctively to the ground.  Carefully, he turned to see a group of youths raiding the chocolate and lolly displays in a now very open street vendor’s newspaper stand. Tom pulled out his phone, called 999 and jumped to his feet in one smooth motion.He was already on the scene before the most of the kids noticed he was even there.

Kids fled in all directions, their pockets stuffed with sweets.  One wasn’t so lucky and that one Tom grabbed by a thin bony shoulder.  Small and dark haired, its features were almost hidden by bruises and scratches of various ages.  The tiny figure dressed in a mish-mash of clothes swayed groggily on the spot, eyes dark, round and wild.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you,”  Tom said gently, reassuringly. “You’re safe now.”

“Let go!” The child squealed, cried, squirming and thrashing its bony limbs.

“I can’t do that, but I can get you some food and a place to sleep if you want.”  Tom guessed this was a street child, likely with no place to be but roaming and scavenging in the streets and alleys of the city.

“I’ll…”The child crouched, ever muscle clenched in preparation.  Tom assumed it was preparing to leap out of his hold and wrapped his arms around.

The effect was like being in a ball of lightning.

The night disappeared in a blinding flash.  The world around Tom crackled and fizzed. Somewhere behind him the energy being released screamed, wild and inhuman.  Tom held tighter in the small frame of the child terrified for, its, his and the world’s safety.

Just as quickly as it came the light and noise was gone and all that was left were flash spots on his sight, the smell of ozone and the cry of a car alarm nearby.

“You…”  Came a small quavering voice from within the circle of Tom’s arms.  He released his hold to see the child’s face, eyes now round with shock not fear, “Your not….hurt…”  The emotion drained from the face as the eyes lost focus and closed. The child’s limp body now fell into Tom’s strong arms.

Now what?

The child was alive.  Tom could feel its heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm though the thin clothing, could feel it’s slow gentle breathing on his face.  This child was magical.  A shelter or hospital in the muggle world was no place for it.  There was no one left at the ministry Tom could ask, at least not until Monday.

Slowly Tom lifted the child onto his shoulder and went in search of a cab.

Tom’s parents were up watching a late night movie when the cab dropped him and the still lifeless child at their front door.  On first glance and without a question, Mrs Green took control, ordering Tom to put the child in Will’s old bed and then shooing her son downstairs out of the way.

“Most father’s would be concerned about their son bringing strangers home late of night.”  Commented Mr Green not moving his eyes from the television screen.  Tom told his father the story of the child.  As usual, the old man listened in silence.

“A magical child?  You brought a magic user into my house?”  Mr Green fumed all thoughts of television gone.

“I understand this is very awkward for you and mum, but where else was I to go?  I can go to a hotel tomorrow…”

“No, no, no,”  The old man’s anger deflated, “I won’t be throwing my only son out of his family home for saving children.”  The sighed.  “It can stay until Monday then back to its own kind.”

Tom’s mother returned downstairs a half hour later and took her seat in front of the television.

“She’s asleep, poor thing.  Nothing keeping those bruises and grazes together but skin and bone.” She said tearily.

“She?” Tom asked, “Did she speak to you?”

“No, poor love is completely exhausted. I put her in one of your old pyjamas and put her own to wash.”

“She’s magical.”  Warned Mr Green.  Tom noticed a small pause in her mother’s brusque manner.

“What’s that got to do with it?”  She replied defensively, “The girl is exhausted, half starved, escaping a life of abused and neglected.  What would you have us do, drop her back on the street?”

And that was it.  With a sigh of relief Tom settled back in the lounge watching the last of the late night movie.

The smell of ozone and the sound of static awoke Tom several hours later. Instincts sharp, Tom got up fully awake and carefully investigated the room next to his own.

A lifetime ago it had been Will’s room.  From that room they had planned their grand schemes.  From that room Will had left for Hogwarts and then left altogether to pursue an adult life amongst the magical.  For several years it had just been the spare room.  Only one old picture of the smurfs still decorated the wall reminded Tom that his brother had ever lived there.

The glow of plasma and the static charge that leapt from the curtain rods to craze the wall mirror gave witness to a new life in the room.  Thrashing backwards and forwards in the clutches of a nightmare, the tiny form tried to fling off the bedclothes that clung all the tighter due to static.

Tom knelt beside the bed gently shook her shoulder.

The girl screamed in her dream her.  Wild eyes flew open to focus on Tom and she screamed again.  A flash of light sprung from her hand, bounced off Tom and hit the wall sending chips of paint and plaster falling into the room.

“It’s all right, your safe.  I’m Tom…”  He explained keeping his voice calm and soft, his body language open and minimal.

The explosion and screams had awoken Tom’s parents who at this moment blundered down the hall and stumbled in the door.  They were awake enough to heed Tom’s gesture to stop.

“These are my parents and this is their house.  You fell unconscious, do you remember?”

The girl, now pulled up into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around her legs shook her head.
“You were with some kids and they broke into a news stand…”  The girl’s eyes grew larger and her mouth pouted as the knowledge of what she had done resurfaced in her mind.
“It’s all right, you were hungry.  Would you like something to eat now?”
The wild eyes, that had flickered between Tom and his two parents, instantly fixed on Tom’s at the mention of food.  The head nodded its agreement eagerly.

“Mum, will you start breakfast, nothing flash, scrambled eggs, toast, cereal and tea, very plain, okay?”  Tom turned to his mum  but she was already heading down the stairs.  Slowly as not to scare her Tom turned back handing the girl her pile of cleaned clothes.
“My name is Tom, what’s yours?”
The girl pulled a t-shirt over the top of the pyjamas, she did the same for a pair of over-sized jeans.

“Rasenna.”  She whispered in such a small voice that Tom missed it the first time.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“It’s Rasenna Po, Tom.”  She said in an annoyed squeak that made Tom smile,  “Can’t a girl get a little privacy ’round ‘ere.”

Embarrassed, both men beat a hasty retreat to the top of the stairs.

“That hole in the wall, did she do that?”  Mr Green asked incredulous.
“She had a bad dream and woke up seeing a stranger, it seems that magical kids can do that.”
“I don’t remember Will being able to do that.”

Tom wasn’t so sure about that.  Looking back Tom wondered how many times Will’s childish anger had lashed out at him only to be deflected into an exploding light bulbs, flying books or other poltergeist-like happenings.

“He also hadn’t spent maybe a year and a half on the streets fighting to survive.”

That sent both men deep into dark thought.
“Are things really bad, son?”  It was a question Tom’s dad had often asked in letter, emails and in long distance conversations while Tom was stationed in some far flung corner of the world.  Tom never expected to be answering it outside his parents bedroom.
“I just don’t know.  I won’t get a clearer picture until I’m out in the field.”

The door to the spare room opened and Rasenna peeked round the door.

“Ready for breakfast, Rasenna?”  Tom asked casually starting down the stairs.

There was a small nod.  “It’s Sen.”  She mumbled as she stepped out and carefully closed the bedroom door behind.
“Pardon?” Tom asked unsure what he’d heard.
“I’m Sen, everyone just calls me Sen.”  She replied a little louder this time, but no longer making eye contact.  Slowly, Tom reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her eyes to his.
“Thank you, Sen.”  He said and smile which caused her lips to twitch.  “Now, let’s get some breakfast.”

Breakfast was an odd affair.  At one end there was masses of food, on the other, one one person seemed to be eating it.  Mrs Green taking Tom’s advice had made simple food.  Scrambled eggs, pancakes, toast with jam, tea and a big glass or milk for Sen.  Tom tried to make the meal casual by asking his parents open questions about their plans for the day and the weather forecast.  Much of this, unfortunately was responded to in monosyllables with furtive glances at the young girl at the other end of the table.

She seemed to be doing everything at once as if she expected it to be snatched away at any moment.  Eating pancakes, toast and eggs, watching three adults and flinching if one even looked like moving in her direction.  At the same time her eyes watched the exits from the kitchen, planning her best route of escape.

“How about you, Sen?  What would you like to do?”

Her reply was even less than Tom had received from his parents.  A shrug while reaching for another pancake.
“It’s a Saturday. What would yo normally do on a Saturday?”
Another shrug,  “Same as any ‘ava day.” Another pancake gone she picked up a fork-full of eggs while taking a dainty sip of milk.
“What about your parents, I bet they have good things planned for Saturdays.”

The fork dropped on the plate and her eyes withdrew to her lap.
“I’m not hungry.”

“I’m sorry Sen, I can see that makes you sad.  Can you tell me about it?”

Sen shook her head emphatically, her eyes glued to a spot under the table.

“How about other family?  Do you visit grandparents on Saturdays?”

There was a long pause. It was like Tom’s questions now had to carry over old telephone lines.  The message came through seconds later and needed deciphering through crackling static.

Sen nodded.  “Sometimes.”

“Who do you visit?”

“Granny Weatherwax and Nanna and Grandpa.”

“Lots of grandparents.  Maybe we should go see them, would you like that?”

Sen’s eyes moved off the floor and briefly flickered on Tom’s.  Tom took it as a hopeful sign.

“Why not!  It’s a lovely day for a trip to Granny’s or Nanna and Grandpa’s.  Where do they live?”

Sen’s eyes slipped back to the floor, filling with tears.

“I don’t know.”  She mumbled like a guilty confession, “I tried but I couldn’t find them.”

“We could try Weatherwax in the telephone directory, there couldn’t be too many.”  Mr Green suggested only to be shot down by Sen’s baleful stare.

“I believe Granny Weaterwax is her magical grandparent so she won’t have a phone.

“How about Nanna and Grandpa Po?  What are their first names?”  Mrs Green added.

“I don’t know!”  Sen wailed.  Questions coming from three different directions were scaring her and Tom raise his hand to curb his parents enthusiasm.

“That’s okay, we’ll find them, it’s just going to take a while longer.”  He paused, ushering his parents back to whatever they had been doing.

“Do you promise?”  Sen asked her eyes once more seeking Tom’s.

“I promise I will do everything that I can to find your grandparents.” Tom replied solemnly.

Sam slowly picked up the fallen fork and continued eating, but not with the same gusto as before and soon she gave up altogether.  Mrs Green sent her to have a bath after which the still exhausted Sen climbed back into bed and slept the rest of the day away.

Sunday came and there was more discussion about Sen, her family and life before the black men.  She wouldn’t say who the black men were or what they wanted with her parents. She did say she got away and tried to find her grandparents, but she didn’t know where they lived or how to get there.  She ended up on the streets where at first she was ignored by the other street kids.  When they found out she could open things if she really tried they made her break into places.  She couldn’t do it all the time so they beat her, and found out she could do it better.  So they beat her all the time.

To take Sen’s mind off her dark past Tom tried taking her for a walk in a nearby park.  She clung to him, petrified whenever anyone even looked like coming near and was unresponsive to the kids playing nearby.  When a stray frisbee hit Sen she responded quickly and violently, knocking a bigger kid to the ground with a well aimed kick.

By Monday morning Tom was guiltily relieved he could leave Sen with his parents with the promise to find her grandparents reinforced several times before he left.  On arrival at the ministry another young lady put all thoughts of Sen out of Tom’s mind.

In the near empty foyer of the Ministry of Magic, Tom was distracted from his morning’s mission by seeing Col, seemingly being eaten alive, by a scrawny black haired creature in a off the rack pinstriped suit.

“Ah, young love. Disgusting isn’t it.”  Said the lilting voice beside Tom that could only be Detective Valenti.

“And you an Italian, how can you be so cynical about love?”  Tom quipped not taking his eyes off the snogging couple.

“Your confusing us with the French. The Gaulish blood always did run hot.”  John corrected and seemed to settle himself to also watch the spectacle.

“So what do you think he is?” Tom mused noting the individual was not much taller than the petite Col and just as thin, but on him it looked scrawny.

“That would be the famous Gordon Grech I would assume by the way he’s taking liberties.”
“He’s not the only one it seems.”  A voice like the black lace around her collar swept past behind them.  Both men turned to see Ms Winterbottom striding away towards the lifts.
“There are so many interesting things to see at the Ministry of Magic I can’t imagine why anybody would work anywhere else.”  The Detective admired the view.  Tom, also watching Eleonore retreating form, reached into his pocket for the Smurfette figurine.  Eleonore and Smurfette were nothing alike in reality.  Eleonore wore black in the style of a Victorian high-neck blouse and jacket matched with fitted suit trousers and boots.  Her strawberry blond hair was always raked back from her face into a tidy french roll which made her look like the headmistress of an old fashioned boarding school.  Tom wondered if her hair was out if it would fall around her shoulders much like that of the Smurfette figurine.

“Do you still think that she’s somehow linked to the Smurfette you found?”
“A policeman’s hunch.”  Tom shrugged.
“We of the London Metropolitan Police Service do not deal in hunches; hard facts only, mate.  Baring that of course, gossip. Which reminds me…”  John leaned in close to Tom and lowered his voice so they were unlikely to be heard.  “We were ushered out so quickly last Friday I didn’t get to tell you what I’d found out about you-know-who.”  He nodded after Eleonore.
“So your contact came through?”
“Sure, they owed me.  They find it handy to have a clued-in muggle on staff with the Police Service.”
“And?”
“Well, it seems it was Ms Winterbottom that Arthur Weasley was referring to at the breakfast meeting.”

Tom nodded.  He’d though she’d responded oddly when Mr Weasley mentioned staffing having been investigated and receiving death threats.

“Her family is one of those old establishment sort who have pureblood sympathies though were always very outspoken against the Volder-chappy.  They felt he was bringing the cause into disrepute.  Anyway, after his downfall the government hit back at all pureblood advocates and stuck them in prison.  Some were cleared, like our Ms Winterbottom, some were found guilty and others still haven’t made it to trial.”
“We’ll let Amnesty know later, what else did you find out?  What about these death threats?”
“Yeah, being sheltered by much of the anti-muggle debate we don’t know what the likes of high profile individuals like Arthur Weasley and Winterbottom have had to deal with.  Literally screaming letters have been received by both sighting a lowering of standard and a fear of muggle invasion.”
“Usual stuff.  Okay, good work.”
“There’s one other thing.  There a little family scandal in Winterbottom’s closet.  She has a kid and won’t name the father.”

That was a surprise.  It was hard to imagine such an outwardly cold person even in a relationship little lone looking after a child.

“No one know who he is, but I reckon he’s dead.”
“How so?”
“These old families keep to lots of traditions including the one where widows should wear black for a year after their husband’s death.  Even longer if she chooses.”

Both of them looked to the elevator where the ebony clad figure had just disappeared.

Very interesting.

The group met up in the boardroom they had held breakfast in just one week before.  Tom had been able to chat to Mr Weasley before the meeting and was aware that Hogwarts school was taking in children separated from their families.  There Sen could be registered and any family who have been looking for her can be contacted.

Mr Weasley waved everyone to their seats and waiting until he had all their attention.
“Good morning and welcome to a new week.  Now that we’re all up to speed I thought I’d start these weekly meeting to hand out new case work, fill in each other about progress and provide an opportunity to share general information.”

He did some general introductions before going into details on each groups assignments.
“I understand Col and George will be working on an exciting new tool.  It is called an inter-net and I’m looking forward to see what it can do.”  Mr Weasley beamed at Col who squirmed happily in her seat clutching a colourful wand that blew bubbles everytime she shook it.

“Seargent Green has  just come to me with news that  one of our lost children was found on Friday night roaming the streets.”  Mr Weasley looked gravely as his staff. “We all feel personally when we hear of children attacked and in hiding.   Please follow Seargent Green’s example and bring any lost children in.  As you know the Express leaves 11am daily from Kings Cross.  Seargent Green, “  he turned to Tom, “You will accompany your young lady to Hogwarts.  If her family exists in the magical community they will find her there.”  He then turned to Eleonore Winterbottom who had been serenely sitting beside him.  “Eleonore, I understand you have a number of tasks in Hogsmead, I’d like to you accompany Seargent Green and let him help you with duties.”

The subtext of that being she was to keep her eye on Tom and make sure he didn’t get into any trouble.  Fine with him, it would give him a whole train trip to try and crack that stony facade of Eleonore’s.

Other’s were given assignments.  Detective Valenti was assigned to Perkins, an elderly wizard who announced he would happily show the young Detective the ropes to which the John replied he knew all the ropes and was ready to walk them anytime.  The Professor was meeting with a number of notable scholars to discuss the use of fingerprinting and DNA evidence in law enforcement.

The meeting concluded, most  picked up their assignments and left.  Tom checked his watch. 8.50am. He pulled out his mobile, happily noted a signal and rang his mother to take Sen to Kings Cross Station.  Mr Weasley, ever on the lookout for muggle gadgets, saw it straight away and almost knocked through several of his own staff to reach Tom

“Ingenius!  It’s a tele-o-phone that you take with you, may I see?”

Tom gave the phone to Mr Weasley and sat back down to watch Col and George Weasley setting up an archaic looking handmade cable  and a wooden box linked to an ordinary looking lap top computer.

“What have you two got there?”  Tom asked while Mr Weasley found the camera application on the phone and was taking photos of everyone still in the room.  Col and George posed, the bubble wand sending rings of tiny bubbles above their heads.

“George has rigged up a wizard version of broadband and an interface for this laptop.  He’s so clever.” Col tickled George’s neck and the redhead blushed scarlet.
“Um…yeah, couldn’t get the visual…er…optical cable to work down here so we rigged up a unicorn hair cable and found due to it’s purity, it uses a quarter of the power for the same speed.”

“Unicorn hair.”  Tom glanced over at Eleonore shuffling through interdepartmental memos that kept trying to fly away.  “And here was me thinking they were figments of imagination.”
“Reality is a figment of imagination.”  Quipped Col, “Shakespeare was right.”

“About Unicorns?”  Asked Tom confused.

“About there always being a place where the truly amazing can occur.”  She turned the lap top around to display an online shopping site called Weasley Wizard Wheezes, or WWW for short.

“All over the world in the homes of magic users and muggles alike the Weasley’s Wizard Weezes site is bringing joy and wonder…”  George Proclaimed before stalling on at one of his habitual pauses.

“…while they hand over currency in galleon, owl post money order, visa or mastercard.”

George beamed down on the little ray of sunshine that was expanding his retail empire at government expense.  Col’s grin faded a little and Tom wondered what was going on behind her usually cheerful eyes.

“But Dad won’t be seeing that one just yet, “  George added as Col clicked her mouse onto a more generic site.

“…we have something official and boring to show him when he’s finished with your phone.”  Col pointed to Mr Weasley who seemed to be having a jolly conversation with Tom could only assume was his mother.  Tom jumped up and as respectfully as possible reclaimed his mobile.

An hour later Tom and Ms Winterbottom  were walking through Kings Cross Station to meet up with Mrs Green and Sen.  They were early which suited Tom though Eleanore was fidgety.

“Eleonore, tell me, what’s bugging you?”

“A great many things bug me Seargent Green,” She replied stiffly, “not the least being stuck with you as my partner for the day.  As if I haven’t got enough to do I have to babysit the biggest muggle of the lot.”  She turned away from him  but Tom wasn’t to be put off.

“Why is that?”  Tom replied evenly.  He wasn’t going to get angry at her personal attack on him, he could feel that she was ready to explode.

“You ask too many questions.”

“Maybe if you answered a few there wouldn’t be so many.”

“Ask then.”  Ms Winterbottom stated loudly enough to gain the attention of the other commuters nearby.

“Okay,” Replied Tom in his usual calm voice, “How did you know my brother?”

“He was in the same department as me for a number of years before he moved onto the aurors.”

“What was your relationship like with him?”

“Professional.”

“Liar.” Tom stated as plainly he could without emotion or recrimination.

“Prove it.”  She retorted vehemently, “The whole department could testify that our relationship was nothing but job related.”

“I’m sure, Will was good at keeping secrets, but he would always leave clues for those who knew how to look.”

Tom took out the Smurfette figurine and held it out for her inspection.

I told you we collected these figurines as kids, but neither of us had talked about them for years.  Then in one week I find this figurine under a desk I know had been his, I checked, and another reference to The Smurfs at our family home.  It was important, I knew it and I think I know why.  Do you know the story of Smurfette?”

Ms Winterbottom’s only reply was a raised eyebrow of disdain.  Tom continued regardless.

“She was created by the bad guy of the story to destroy the community of Smurf’s from within.  See, she was what every Smurf wanted, she was their perfect ideal.  But in the end she turned on her creator and became one of the Smurfs. The only female smurf.  See, Will knew that story as well as I do.  He also knew someone that, like Smurfette was created to be the perfect ideal and yet found herself turning her back on it.  I know your families beliefs and I know that for a while you’ve tried to live up to their expectations.  Your patronus is a unicorn, a heraldic symbol of purity.   I know that Will loved you, loved you enough to keep your secret.  Will couldn’t keep a photo of  you on his desk, but the figurine was safe.”  Tom handed Eleonore the tiny statue and she took it with shaking hands. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“I don’t see how any of this is your business.”  Tears were now rolling down her pale  features.  She tried wiping them away with the back of her hand but more just followed.
“It’s my business because it was Will’s business.  You’re family now, and so is your child.”

At that pronouncement she scanned the crowded station around them.  Alone in a sea of strangers.

“Don’t say that! Never say that again.”  She stepped in close her words forcing out through clenched teeth.  It wasn’t an intimate gesture.  Tom did not back away, but he felt the passion behind her words all the same.
“It’s true though, isn’t it.  Will was your lover and your child is his.  Eleonore, tThe Greens have always looked after those who can’t look after themselves.  Don’t you think they’d like to take care of you and your child?”
“Why?  What do you think a family of muggles could do to help anything?”
“I don’t know. I do know this is a situation we can’t walk away from.”

“Now what Tom. What are you getting yourself involved in now?”  It was the unmistakable voice of Tom’s mother.   Sen was clutching Mrs Greens hand with both of hers busily scanning the crowd for danger.  On her back was a sturdy new backpack seemingly full to the brim.
“We decided to go shopping.”  Was Mrs Green’s defence for the extravagance of her unconditional love.  Tom kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug.  By the time he turned back to Eleonore she was back in control and coolly confident once more.
“Thanks Mum.  May I introduce Eleonore Winterbottom…”  Will’s girlfriend.  Tom wanted to say, “Eleonore, my mother, Mrs Valerie Green.”

The two women shook hands and appraised each other silently while chatting banalities that bored even the ever patient Tom.  He took Sen for a walk.

“Have you found them?” Was the first thing Sen asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
“It’s only been half a day, but at Hogwarts we have a better chance.  They have a register of people looking for children just like you.  Also you’ll be with other magical people who you can learn from and be part of a magical community again.”
Sen, who had been walking at Tom’s side, slowed and dropped back.  Her body language was obviously despondent at Tom’s supposedly happy news.
“What’s wrong, Sen?”
He received the obligatory shrug of the shoulders.

Tom stopped, crouched down in front of the demoralised Sen and endeavoured to catch her eye.  She shrugged again, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared.”  She whispered in a voice choked with emotion.
“That’s okay.  Can you tell me what your afraid of?”
“Magic.”

There was a surprise, but Tom though maybe not unexpected.  The cuts and bruises were fading but the psychological damage of being forced to do magic was still very fresh.

Unfortunately it was at that moment that Mrs Green and Ms Winterbottom came to collect them to catch the train.

“We’ll talk about this on the train.”  Tom whispered back and Sen nodded.

Ms Winterbottom lead the  group through Kings Cross station to a small section of wall between platforms nine and ten and stopped, gesturing for the others to go on ahead.

Tom and his mother knew about Platform 9 3/4 from Will’s time at Hogwarts, but Sen had no idea why they had stopped at this empty piece of wall.  Ms Winterbottom suggested Sen just close her eyes and run at the wall which was responded with a very doubtful expression.

“It’s true,” Tom supported Eleonore’s advice, “If you don’t believe her, mum and I will go first.”  And not waiting for a reply, Tom offering his arm to his amused mother and they blithely walked through the wall.  When the sounds and smells of the steam train that is the Hogwarts Express were obvious Tom opened his eyes.  Mrs Green was taking in the sights with a small whimsical smile on her face.

“I remember coming here the first time.  I thought it was very grand that the school that wanted my son had it’s own train.  I always did enjoy coming here, my own tiny piece of the magical world.”  She looked at her only remaining son and the smile faded.  “What did you mean when you told Ms Winterbottom that you couldn’t walk away. What are you getting into Tom?”
Tom sighed unsure what to say.
“She’s important.”
“Important?  To who?”
“Us mum.  You, me, dad, and Will, maybe to the whole country.  We have to be there for her because…no one else will.”

“I had a chat to your boss after you rang, Mr Weasley.  He sounds like a very good man, interested in his staff’s welfare.” Mrs Green hinted, but Tom was not to be put off.

“He does what he can, but the job is too big for one man. We all have a part to play.”

Tom knew his mother was going to protest that she’d already done enough by giving her son, but fortunately Ms Winterbotton and Sen made it through the wall at that moment.
“Here we are.”  Said Eleonore as she and Sen walked onto the platform.  Sen’s face was still screwed up in preparation for the crash into the solid wall that never happened.  When she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was the  shining red and black livery of the the Hogwarts Express and her eyes grew big and round in excitement.

“A steam train.”  Awed Sen could only stare.  Tom and Mrs Green just looked at each other and smiled.
“This is the Hogwarts Express, Sen.  Why don’t you go find yourself, Ms Winterbottom and me a seat.”
A genuine happy smile bloomed on Sen’s face turning her from the sullen street kid into the child she should have been all along.
“I won’t be going with you and Sen, Tom.”  Eleonore stated as Sen climbed into the train. “The train will take too long, I have a number of tasks to do.  I will meet you in a pub called the Three Broomsticks in Hogmead once you’ve finished at Hogwarts.”  She said good bye to Mrs Green with a wish to see her again soon and then with a turn she disappeared.

Then it was Tom’s turn.  Sen signalled out a window that she had found the perfect spot and the train was making preparations to leave.
“Of all the places I seen you leave from,  I never thought to see you off on the Hogwarts Express.”  Mrs Green prepared to say goodbye.  She checked his clothes, fussing with a piece of lint, and straightening out imaginary creases. “Look after yourself, do as your told and don’t wander off.”
“Mum, I’m only going up to Scotland, depending on how things go I’ll be back tonight.”  Tom replied embarrassed by all the fussing.
“And yet…  I love you, Tom”
“Me too, mum.”  He hugged his mother as he had done dozens of times before when leaving for overseas.  He wasn’t sure if her was just picking up on her anxiety, but this time did feel different.  Maybe because for the first time, besides a 8 year old street child, he was shipping out alone.

Tom soon climbed onto the train and found Sen in an empty compartment.  They both leaned out the window to wave goodbye to Mrs Green.  He was a little surprised how small his mother looked out on the platform.  He had an irrational desire to run off the train and give her another hug and tell her that he wasn’t going.  But Sen for the first time acted like the kid she was, waving at total strangers and the train started to pull away, repeated the sound of the whistle as the train signalled its departure.
Bye Mum.

Sen’s excitement lasted all of 30 minutes into the trip.  Once she had investigated the entire compartment and carriage, stuck her head out the window and got a face full of soot, seen the familiar sights of the city roll behind them to give way to suburbia and eventually farmland, Sen settled into a seat opposite Tom and blindly looked out the window.

“Did you like the wall at the station?  You know at other times you’d be able to lean on it and it would hold your weight.”  Tom made conversation, but Sen was as taciturn as usual and just shrugged.  “Yes, you can certainly do some amazing things with magic when you know how to use it.”

Sen rolled her eyes, balefully resting on Tom as if he had suggested she cut off her left ear to make her hear better in the right.

“You have magic, Sen.  Powerful, scary magic, I admit that.”  Tom confessed and Sen seemed surprised by his admission.  “You don’t think I was terrified that night in the street?  I thought you’d blown the whole world away.”
She smiled at his exaggeration even though he felt that at the time it was probably true.
“Wouldn’t you like to know how to use that magic properly, not to hurt but to help?”

Sen’s forgot about the view outside her window and turned her wild eyes on Tom.
“Magic doesn’t help, it kills.”
“What makes you say that?”
Shrug and nothing more.  Tom settled back into his seat and thought what he could say next.

So he told Sen stories of his time in the army.  Using the power and resources of armed forces he had seen good and bad.  While he did, Sen sat totally absorbed

“Power needs to be directed for it to be useful.  People have done a lot of damage to themselves and their world, but with the same power we can do so much good.  Don’t you want to learn how to use the power in you to do good?”  Sen didn’t looked convinced and not for the first time Tom wondered what was going on in her mind.

They sat in silence for sometime thinking their own thoughts.  People moved past their compartment, but none stopped all wrapped up in their concerns to think about two more strangers.  Tom noticed some were carrying food, drinks, pasties and sweets of various sorts.  Telling Sen to stay where she was Tom went to investigate and found an elderly woman wheeling a trolley full of snacks.  As she wouldn’t take pounds, Tom  asked witches and wizards on board the train to exchange.  Some wouldn’t talk to him at all, totally absorbed in their own miseries, some people spoke but had nothing to give, for all of these Hogwart’s was their last chance.  He eventually found a wizard who was travelling to Hogwarts to be reunited with his wife and child.  Being happy to help and confessing a passion for foreign money he swapped Tom’s pounds for gold galleons.  Now with the correct money Tom bought pumpkin pasties, juice, chocolate frogs and jelly beans and took them back to the waiting Sen.  They ate in silence and Sen spent the rest of the trip testing out the different bean flavours.

It was mid afternoon when the train pulled into Hogsmead station.  Passengers piled out and, without direction, walked to the far end of the platform.  Tom followed their lead to be horrified by what he saw next.  A line of carriages were waiting for many of the passengers.  They climbed on board oblivious to the monstrosities that were pulling them.  Skeletal and flayed of all skin the beasts resembled horses with bat-like wings.  Too late Tom tried to save Sen from seeing the horrors.   She quickly got behind Tom and only dared to look at the monsters in short glances.

“Oh, don’t mind the thestrals little one, “ Said a booming voice from Tom’s right.  “To those who can see dem they look a’fright, but der really sweet natured and with them you’ll always find your way home.”
Tom turned to see the biggest man he’d ever seen.  Half again as tall as Tom himself the man was heavily bearded and gruff looking.  For a moment Tom wondered if this was what the wizards called a giant, he certainly seemed to qualify.

“Afternoon sir, would you be Seargent Tom Green?  Just that Arthur Weasley said you’d been comin’.”  Tom nodded his reply unconsciously clutching Sen to his side.  The giant crouched down to speak to Sen, but he was still tall enough to look Tom in the eye, “And you must be our newest arrival.  We don’t get so many lost children now days, but you are welcome to stay as long as you may.  My name is ‘agrid, Rubius ‘agrid and I am Ground keeper and Teacher of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.”

Hagrid though terrifying in size was gentle and patient and Sen soon came out from behind Tom.
“Er, would you like to meet one of the thestrals?  Even now, there’s not so many as can see dem so that makes you pretty special don’t it?”  Hagrid joked though Tom could see there was a sadness to his words.  Tom wondered what qualified you to make the thestrals visible and could it be reversed.

“Oh, er.  It means you’ve seen death, sir.”  Hagrid informed him in a low voice after his asked what he meant.  “To see a thestral is to ‘ave see death.”

And that was the answer.  Tom looked down on the tiny Sen and knew for certain that she had seen her parents killed.  Maybe because of one of them being of muggle blood, maybe to protect her.  The thought stunned Tom for a moment and left his speechless.

Meanwhile, with her tiny hand in the paw-like one of Hagrid’s, Sen walked tentatively towards the closest of the monsters.  A thin bony head swung around in a parody of horse-like behaviour.  Hagrid cooed and murmured low to both the thestral and Sen and slowly brought the two together with what looked like a small lump of bloody meat.  The thestral took the lump of meat like a normal horse would take a sugar cube or carrot.

“Here, she likes that.”  Mr Hagrid praised Sen and she relaxed enough to pat the mummified hide of the beast.  That was enough for Tom.  He reclaimed Sen with a gentle tug on her arm to bring her back to him.

“Mr Hagrid, Sen here needs to be registered and I need to meet up with my partner in Hogsmead are you able to hep us?”

“I’m no Mr anything.  ‘agrid or Rubius is good e’nuf for me.”  Hagrid replied happily, “You just stick wit’ me, we’ll just see the rest of these lost souls on their ways and I’ll take yer straigh’ to Professor McGonagall.”

Hagrid help all the passengers onto carriages, settling Tom and Sen in the last.  When the strange caravan was ready, Hagrid too big to sit in a carriage himself, walked beside theirs as it trundled away from the station drawn by the impossibly ugly horse creatures.

It was a lovely trip through the afternoon landscape.  It was spring and the meadows and forests were full of life.  The view of the castle across the waters of a large loch was magical and Sen was entranced.  Now that he was here at Hogwarts Tom’s mind kept wandering to his brother.

“T’ings aren’t ‘how dey use ta be, but ‘ogwarts is still beautiful.”  Hagrid commented as he watched Tom look over the scenery.

“Oh, I’ve never been to Hogwarts. My brother was the magical one.  William Green.”

“Your Will’s brother? Oh, I remember Will.  He was in my ‘ouse.”  Hagrid boasted proudly, ” ‘ard worker and brave.  I always tought ‘e’d hav done well in Gryffindor but the Sortin’  ‘at knows best.  I wish ‘e ‘adn’t been so brave, takin’ on giants like ‘e did.  Still, saved more ‘dan a few lives that night.”

Tom could feel his throat tighten at the thought of Will’s last moments.  Desperate for control once more, Tom pushed his memory into remembering the school house Will had been in.

“Hufflepuff?”

“Yeah, s’righ.”  Hagrid beamed showing far too many teeth behind wiry black beard. “The old badgers.”

“Do you remember a girl in the same year.  Her name was Eleonore Winterbottom.”

“Oh yer, remember that one.”  Hagrid focus glazed as he thought back twenty years, “Beautiful and proud that one, but not so proud as she wouldn’t wave to old ‘agrid.  Smart, well she would be, being a Ravenclaw.”

Conversation slowed as the two men exhausted everything they had in common.  Tom could not appreciate all the magical animals in Hagrid’s care and Hagrid had no interest in life outside his beloved Hogwarts.  Eventually the carriage rolled up in front of the castle’s main door.  Tom and Sen disembarked to be welcomed by a elderly woman in black robes.

“Seargent Green, we’ve been expecting you.  I am Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts. Did not Ms Winterbottom travel with you?”  She asked taking Tom’s hand in a firm handshake.

“She went ahead to take care of a few job in Hogsmead.  I’m to meet her at The Three Broomsticks.”

“Well, we won’t keep you long Seargent, please follow me.”

The castle had seen better days.  Though the rubble had been cleared away, large piece of wall were still missing from the facade allowing sunlight into the foyer at odd angle.  To one side of the foyer several large desks had been set up with a leather bound books open on top of each. Tom and Sen were directed to one with a sign reading, Arrivals. Behind this book, re-inking his quill was a tiny human-like person only half the height of Tom. Sharp beady eyes fixed on Tom and Sen as they were brought forward.

“Professor Flitwick, another guest to be registered.”  Tom left Sen to give her details to the tiny man while he stepped aside with the Headmistress.

“I’m afraid she’s been through a lot.  I believe she saw her parents killed, though she won’t speak of it,  and she’s spent months on the streets being bullied to use her magic.  I’m afraid she has a real aversion to it.”

Professor McGonagall glanced at Sen and sighed.

“I wish I could say she’s was the only horror story I have heard.  Unfortunately everyone here has a nightmare to tell.  Rest assure, she is in good hands, or at least understanding ones.”

Professor Flitwick asked for Sen’s family names which made her go quiet and sullen.  Tom stepped back in and filled in the gaps he knew.

“Granny Weatherwax.  There’s an Old Mother Weatherwax in Hogsmead, I wonder if she’s related.”  Professor Flitwick suggested and both Tom and Sen cheered up at the news.  Tom got directions from both Professors and gave promises to Sen to return with news as soon as possible and hugs for good luck, he left for the gates back to Hogwarts.

It was dark by the time he reached the well lit streets of the idylic village just outside the school grounds.  Tom felt more than saw the damage the war had waged on this tiny town.  Though buildings were intact, many were dark and unkept.  The one Tom had been directed to by the two teachers was one of these, it hadn’t been lived in for months.  The few people out on the street were furtive, not talking to anyone as they quickly did their business and went home.  He’d seen this behaviour time again in every war torn country he’d served in.  Directly or indirectly, civil war destroyed the community more effectively than any outside invader.  Trust once lost was hard to rebuilt, much harder than buildings or street lighting.  It was even worse in the pub when he found it.  The main room was large but virtually empty with only a few die-hard drinkers sitting alone in the dark.  Tom went to the barkeeper and asked her firstly about Old Mother Weatherwax.

“Oh, just one of may tragedies that one.”  The barkeeper confessed, a middle aged woman with flaming red hair, “She’d not been well for a while, but when she heard her daughter, son-in-law and little grandchild had been killed by Deatheaters…”  The woman shook her head sadly, “I’m afraid she’s been dead more than twelve month now.”

Defeated once more Tom allowed himself to sink down onto one of the barstools and asked if the woman knew about Ms Winterbottom.

“Eleonore.  Yes, she’s been here.  She told me to give you this…”  The barkeeper brought out a bottle of beer and sat it in front of Tom, ” and told me to keep you amused until she returned.  She said that wouldn’t be hard seeing as though you’re a muggle…they’d be her words not mine, mind.”

“No, her words would have been more like…keep the great muggle-headed fool out of trouble for me.”  Tom quipped half-heartedly  and took a swig of his beer.  The sensation was not what he expected.  Warm and buttery it soothe his disappointment, tired limbs and rawed nerves.  Soon he was leaning back listening to the barkeeper chatter about the going on in the village. So content did the brew make him, he hadn’t noticed when Ms Winterbottom entered the pub tired and dishevelled.  She plonked herself down onto a stool beside Tom and smiled wanly at the barkeeper.

“Couldn’t find me one of those could you, Rosmerta?”  One was found and Eleonore drank it greedily.

“Hard day?”  Tom asked enjoying one last pull on his bottle before finally proclaiming it empty by tipping it upside down on the bar. Rosmerta offered Tom another but he declined it.

“Well not all of us could take jolly train rides through the countryside.” Snapped Ms Winterbottom

“Sen’s Grandmother is dead.”  Tom stated dully.

There was a heavy pause between the two of them.

“I’m sorry.”  Eleonore finally said downing her beer in two more swigs.
“What for?”

“For Sen, for her Grandmother, for every blessed person like them.  I am so sorry it hurts.”

“I know.”

They sat in miserable companionship for a few minutes before Tom stirred himself into action.

“I need to get back to Sen and break the news, are you finished here?”

“Not quite.”  Eleonore replied paying for the drinks and also standing to leave.  “There’s a reported Pureblood supporter in the village.  Low grade sort of stuff, protests and pamphlets but it’s antisocial and needs to be stopped.”

They agreed on a course of action and set off for the address Eleonore had been given.  The village wasn’t large and they were soon at the door of just another neglected cottage.  This one had a dim light on inside.  Tom stood to the side so he could watch the back of the house as well as Eleonore at the front door. With a silent signal between the two of them, she knocked.

“Wha’ da yer wan’?” Came a male voice from inside as the light was snuffed out.
“Ministry sir, we need to talk to you Mr Grech.”
Grech? Thought Tom, Col!
“Can’t it wait ’til mornin’?”
“No it won’t wait, open this door!”

Tom heard a shuffling from behind the house and saw a dark figure opening a rear door.  All thoughts of Col went out of his head as he reached for a gun that he wasn’t carrying and cursed Ministry procedure.  Giving another signal to Eleonore that he was going around the back, Tom crouched and hide behind nearby bushes.  There was definitely a figure who was trying to sneak away from the scene.  Tom lay flat to the ground and carefully crawled under the shadows of first the bush then a pile of kindling and firewood towards the figure.  Their attention distracted by Eleonore at the front door, the person was unaware of Tom sneaking up right under their noses until he grabbed their foot and pulled them down.

A bolt of blue shot out at Tom but as usual just bounced off causing the figure to yell.
“Wha…hey, Godwin he’s here!  The muggle is here!”  It cried in a man’s voice before Tom reached out and taking the figures head in both hands cracked it against the bare earth of the yard. The figure went limp and Tom quickly retrieved the wand from his unprotesting hand.  But the damage was done.  From in front of the house, Eleonore was running for cover as spells flew from the house.

Leaving the unconscious body, Tom leapt up and ran across in front of the house, running interference until Eleonore was safely behind the wall of a building across the road.  Tom could feel the air grow cold around him and his limbs became slowed and heavy.  His breath came in gasps and left as fog and he knew he could no longer rely on his magical immunity.

“Dementor!”  He yelled at Eleonore who was desperately clawing at something around her neck. Tom ran across in front of the house and dove behind the wall Eleonore now stood.

“Did you hear me?”
“Perfectly,”  She replied calmly pulling out her Ministry medallion.  “I’m calling reinforcements, this is getting too big for us alone.”  She tapped the medallion with her wand then let it fall as she spotted something down the street.

“Expecto Patronum!”  She roared and the glowing figure of a small barrel chested creature sprung our of her wand tip and raced down the road to explode.  Tom took a moment to realise that the shape of Eleonore’s patronus was not the expected unicorn, but at this moment he didn’t have the time to think on the matter.
“There’ll be more of them, we have to get Grech!”  Eleonore yelled before sending out another patronus barrelling towards the empty garden.

Tom took a quick look around the corner and saw Grech, a greying middle aged man seemingly co-ordinating an attack with empty air in front of his house.  It could only be assumed that there was a dementor there but Tom couldn’t see it.

“Cover me!”  He called to Eleonore as he broke cover and sprinted towards the elderly Grech.
Grech quickly spotted Tom and pointed at the pile of firewood beside the house with his wand.  Shard of wood lifted from the pile forming themselves into stakes and flying towards Tom.  Throwing himself to the ground, Tom avoided most of them as they flew over his head, but one lodged itself in his calf.  He roared with pain and surprise as the shard of wood crippled him.  With the last of his forward momentum Tom threw himself at Grech knocking the old man to the ground, his wand flying out of his hand.  Tom quickly dragged himself on top of the prone wizard and pinned him down.
“Call off your attack dogs!”  Tom yelled right into Grech’s face making the man start.
“Why should I muggle, what are you going to do about it?” Grech spat back.

Plenty! Thought Tom until he felt a bitterly cold touch on his back and his limbs once again grew heavy and slow.  He tried to ignore it, throwing the wizard onto his belly and pulling his arm up behind.  Grech cried out in pain and surprise but now Tom was having trouble seeing.  His thought kept drifting to other battle fields, other desperate situations were friends were dying around him and there was nothing he could do but sit and watch.

“Expecto Patronum you bastard!”  He could hear Eleonore scream faintly somewhere but now everything was going dark and it was hard to concentrate.
“Eleonore?”  He managed to get out through the fog of thought.
“I’m here.  So’s Valenti and Perkins, just stay with me, Tom.”
Now the screams of the battle field in his head were diminishing but the roaring pain in his leg was still blocking all coherent thought.

“Col.  Get in touch with…Professor.  Col is the leak.”

“Of course,” It was Valenti somewhere above Tom. “I’m onto it Tom.”

“Col?”  He heard Eleonore asked and Valenti replied.

“Her boyfriend, the one from this morning is Gordon Grech.”

Tom could feel himself slipping away.  It would be so easy just to fall into the looming darkness but there was just one more thing he needed to say.
“Badger…”
“Yes Tom it’s a badger, just stay with me okay.”  He could hear her say to someone nearby, “I’m getting him out of here, are you okay to clean up?”
“No worries, me and Perkins have it sorted.” Valenti again, closer and then.”Professor?  I need you to listen for a moment…”

Around his waist Tom could feel Eleonore’s warm arms.  Two hand grabbed him by the arms as they yanked his roughly to his feet.  He gave a involuntary yelp of pain as he tried to put weight on a leg he barely knew existed.  The darkness around him went red, grey and then nothing.

This is an unofficial, not for profit site, and is in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books or Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied.

3. The Pureblood

Providence protects children and idiots.  I know because I have tested it.

Mark Twain

Save me from these idiots!

Eleonore stepped carefully around the groaning and complaining bodies of the three Muggles that now littered the foyer of the Ministry of Magic.
“Nevermind my dear, get up and give yourself a good shake.  You’ll soon get use to the sensation after a few trips.”  Said Professor Alfred Flyrite to the young woman with the purple hair.

The old man handles himself better than the two heroes and the girl, what a strange lot muggles are.

“You know, bad thoughts give you pimples.”  Groaned Tom Green picking himself off the floor.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”  Eleonore replied too quickly even for her ears.  Sergeant Green smiled and she was once again reminded how much he reminded of her of Will.  Not everything, Tom was older, greyer and and maybe just a little too wise for his own good.

Forget him! She admonished herself and quickly gained the attention of another staff member waiting to welcome the muggles.
“Ensure a reversal squad is sent up to Great Titchfield Entrance, we had a dementor incident.”

“Dementor?  Did I hear right, Eleonore?”  A tall red headed man in a bright green ill-fitting suit.
“Yes, Mr Weasley. It must have been tipped off.”
“Oh dear, I had hoped we had avoided attention.  We’ll discuss this later.”  Mr Weasley lent a hand to the Detective Valenti, “Everyone here in once piece I see, good work Eleonore.”
“In one piece?  I feel like I’ve been turned inside out.”  The Detective complained brushing down his designer suit.
“Yes, it does tend to feel like that when you travel by portkey.”  Mr Weasley dismissed the complaint gently and turned to the group, “Anyway, welcome to the Ministry and to the heart of the magical community.  I am Arthur Weasley and the leader of our motley band.  Breakfast is waiting where I hope we will all get a chance to know each other.  Follow me.”

Eleonore hung back as the group of muggles meandered through the vast expanse of the Ministry of Magic foyer.  They were quickly dwarfed in an area meant to strike awe into everyone who visited.  All of them turned this way and that to note signs of the devastation caused by months of civil war, notably destruction of a massive golden fountain in the centre of the foyer.  Little more than rubble now, the once ominous statue of a wizard and witch on golden throwns made of skulls was, Eleonore was glad to note, unrecognisable.

What would would these muggles have thought of such arrogance if they could have seen it in it’s glory?  She contemplated comparing the sad state of the fountain to the current position of the Ministry as a whole.  The once mighty and arrogant Ministry that felt it knew what was best for magical and non-magical alike was little more than a rubble of struggling units and departments trying to reestablish order in a world it hardly even recognised.

They had reached the lifts and Mr Weasley was holding the door for her to join them.

“I’ll take the next one sir, it seems pretty crowded already.”
“Nonsense, if we can’t make room for one such as yourself none of us men would be able to call ourselves gentlemen.” Mr Weasley smiled fatherly and all the men stood up straight and stepped back to give her room.

And that’s how he does it. She thought with a rye smile playing on her lips, rely on others better natures. Mr Weasley never berated, or punished his staff, he never had to. They would do all they could not to disappoint him because in the end, disappoint him was only letting themselves down.  Eleonore stepped into the lift and the doors closed.

“You may want to hold onto the rail.”  She said to no one in particular as Mr Weasley pressed the button for the correct floor.  She noted that Tom Green did as she suggested but Detective Valenti ignored her and the Professor had already braced himself into a corner.  Only the young girl, standing in the middle responded to Eleonore’s comment.

“Why’s thaaaaaa…”  The elevator plummeted then quickly swerved left and right as it made it’s way unerringly to its destination.  “Wheeee!”  The girl cried  with what Eleonore first took to be horror but then realised it was an exclamation of joy.  The elevator plummeted again and the girl squealed, bumping against the grey faced men behind her.  Detective Valenti in particular, who was now using both hands to steady himself, looked like he was going to be sick or faint, or both.

Eventually, the elevator slowed and stopped.  The girl spinned on the spot falling into Mr Weasley’s arms.
“That was fun!  I think I’m going to like working here Mr Weasley.”  She laughed and once on her feet again gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped out to investigate their destination.
“Delightful!”  Mr Weasley’s beaming face soon dropped as he saw Tom Green struggle to help Detective Valenti let go of the rail.  “Oh dear, maybe a little sit down is in order before breakfast, Detective Valenti?”
At the mention of breakfast the Detective seemed to go even paler.  Mr Weasley quickly ushered the pair to a group off chairs opposite the lifts.

Even the Professor seemed a little unsure of his feet and Eleonore gently held his elbow as he also stepped from the elevator.
“Excuse me young lady but I have not required the assistance of a witch or wizard since I was able to dress myself at the age of four.  I can assure you I’m perfectly capable now.”  The old man snapped pulling back his arm from her grasp.
“Pardon me.” Eleonore was about to snipe back but she thought better of it. “I mean no disrespect Professor Flyrite.  Fyrite is an old magical name. You wouldn’t be related to the Flyrites of Northumberland?”
The old man stiffened even more under these words.
“And what if I am?”  He asked turning a sharp eyed glance, that must have stupefied any number of his students, directly at her.
“A well respected family, sir.  Quite a few have made significant contributions to the Ministry.  I would think you would be proud to be continuing in their great tradition.”
“Humpf!”  He scoffed, “Proud of a family that disowns its own son not for lack of intellect or moral fortitude or character but a lack of magical ability?”
“You’re a…”
“Yes, I am what the wizarding world so inelegantly refers to as a squib.  But what the wizarding community denied me, I found in the non-magical world.  Respect, honour, a place that I belonged.” Professor Flyrite took a breath and Eleonore found she could not hold his look of righteous fury and turned away.  Once again she found herself embarrassed by her societies arrogance.
“It seems it was our loss.”

This mollified the Professor somewhat.  His gaze slipped away from hers and a sad smile flitted across his lips.
“A terrible loss all round, I’m afraid.”

Through large oak double doors lay the Office of Aurors, office space made of desks and cubicles that could be found anywhere.  The only difference was that the walls were covered with wanted posters, all moving of course.  The posters caught the eye of the muggles as they walked through but Eleonore’s eye was caught by the large amount of empty desk that now filled this space.  So many lost during You-know-who’s….Voldermort’s reign of terror 18 months ago.  She found her eyes stopping at one desk in particular.  Virtually nothing remained of it’s former occupant except her memories of him in that space.

“Reminiscing?”  She heard a voice so familiar that she almost forgot where she was.  But when she turned to face the voice, the unassuming face of Tom Green was staring back, curiously.

“I really don’t wish to discuss it.”  Eleonore snapped and went to walk away. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Sergeant bend down and pick something up from under the table.  It was a small plastic figurine cheap and tacky.  Similar in features to a house elf,  the figurine had blue skin and long blonde hair, but most disconcerting to Eleonore the figurine wore an elaborate array of clothing, all in white.  As house elves were never allowed to wear clothing of any sort, this figurine regardless of its cheery smile, was disturbing.
“Smurfette.”  Tom said to the figurine and Eleonore started.
“Why do you say that?”  She asked trying desperately to sound casual.
“That’s who it is.  We use to collect them when we were kids.”
She guessed who the we referred to and said nothing.

“I wonder how it ended up here of all places?”  He looked around the empty office as if he would find the answers up on the walls with the wanted posters.
“I…I really couldn’t say,”  Eleonore replied wishing she was anywhere else but there, “You can have it if you like, no one would miss it.”
Tom Green studied the figurine for a moment or two before putting it in his jacket pocket.
“For a while, until I can find it’s owner.”  Was all he said before joining the others leaving the office.  Eleonore left him go and waited until she was quite alone before sinking down onto the office chair in the empty cubicle.

Breakfast was well underway when Eleonore joined them sometime later.  Mrs Weasley, the wife of the sections new boss was dishing out plates of scrambled egg, grilled tomato and thick toasted bread.  As each plate was filled it moved off under its own power to land in front of an appreciative diner.

Eleonore took a seat at the far end of the long table use predominately for meeting from the Sergeant and found herself next to the young woman with the outrageously coloured hair.

“Hi, I’m Col.  What’s your name hero?”  The young woman held out her hand for a handshake ignorant of a drip of melted butter.  “Oh, sorry about that!”  She exclaimed noticing the butter rolling down her thumb.  Quickly she licked it off with her tongue and held it out again to be shaken.  Eleonore ignored hand.
“Eleonore Winterbottom.   Your file has your name as  Sue-E…”  The prebuttered hand clamped over her mouth.
“Files are annoying things aren’t they, “  Col laughed nervously, “I don’t use that name, my family doesn’t even use that name.  I’m Col, short for Colossus.”
“Colossus?  This is a name you have given yourself?”  She was hardly a Colossus.  She was small, petite and fragile looking.
“Sure, it’s my screen name.  My tag.  On the Internet you can be anything and I’m Colossus.”  Col went back to eat her breakfast, spooning egg onto her toast with the fingers of her right hand.
Eleonore wanted to ask what a screen name was but didn’t want to be seen as ignorant around the muggles.  Unfortunately her ruse of just nodding failed.
“It’s the name she goes under when she’s commiting crimes on the Internet.”  The Detective smirked already polishing off his plate with a scrap of toast.  He’d obviously regained his appetite.
“I do not commit crimes you fascist pig.”Col poked out her tongue covered with egg at the Detective.  “At least not ones I’ve been caught for.  I design and improve security systems.”
“What I’ve heard you’re pretty good at un-securing systems as well, aren’t you.”  The Detective turned to Eleonore who was completely lost in this conversation.  “She’s a hacker, and a pretty good one if what I hear at the station is true.” Col cheered considerably to hear her skills praised.

“Hold on, of all the people to see here…”

Detective Valenti’s attention was attracted by a shabby individual slinking into the room under an old trench coat that was more rags than a piece of clothing.  Eleonore wrinkled up her nose in anticipation off the smell that always accompanied him.

“…Mundungus Fletcher as I live and try not to breath.  So not even wizard can’t put you behind bars, huh? The Ministry of Magic must be in awful shape to let the likes of you in.”
“Mornin‘ Detective, the same can be said for you and your muggle friends.”  Mundungus wheezed venomously taking a seat at the table.

“MUNDUGUS FLETCHER!  YOU HAVE NO PLACE AT MY TABLE!” A roar of indignation came from the far end of the table as Mrs Weasley stormed up to confront the interloper brandishing her serving spoon like a wand.  Red haired and now red faced, Mrs Weasley was mother seven (six of them boys) and knew how to make someone cower with a word or a glance.  Mundugus was getting it all, with both barrels. “You are not welcome here!”

“I am… a v-valued member of this team, i’n't righ‘ Mr Weasley.” Mundungus stammered crouching low with his arms above his head, but still not vacanting his seat, “A…and as such I am ent-titled to…breakfast?”

Now the indignation was turned on Mr Weasley. “Arthur?!”
“His is correct Molly.”  Mr Weasley replied resignedly from the other end of the table, “His…er…skills and expertise are required if this groups is to succeed.”
“You’re suppose to be protecting society from the likes of him!”  She rages swinging her serving spoon in Mundungus‘ direction.  If he hadn’t ducked under the table at that moment it would have hit him in the head.
“And we are Molly.  He’s actually performing a valuable community service. He knows Azakaban is is next stop if he caught again.”  Mr Weasley gave Mundungus a firm look as the tramps ginger mop of hair poked above the table.  “Isn’t that right, Mundungus.”

Azkaban wasn’t the fearful place it had once been since the dementors abandoned their post to support Voldermort, but Eleonore knew from first hand experience that it was still not a place a witch or wizard would happily go.

“S’right Mr Weasley, sir.”  Mundungus squirmed odiously under Mrs Weasley’s heavy gaze.
“Humpf!”  She said and marched back up the table.  Seconds later a plate spilling toast and egg flew back down again and landed awkwardly in front of Mundungus loosing more of its food.  Mundungus didn’t seem to care and started shovelling the food into his black pit of a mouth.

“Well, I’d just like to say a few words before we go off to briefings and training.”  Mr Weasley announced and the table became silent. ‘Thank you.  Thank you for your attention, your time and your skills and experience.  I know that with all your help our team can make a real and postive impact on the community.
“Even if we don’t have a name.”  Said a wizard up the other end of the table from Eleonore.  His name was Perkins, and though Eleonore didn’t know him, he had worked with Mr Weasley for years.  His comment raised a small laugh.
“Well, that’s not strictly true Perkins, and I did want to spend a moment or two on two alternatives I’ve been mulling over.”  Mr Weasley replied and pulled out a small scrap of parchment.  “I thought at first we could be the Department of Unified Muggle and Magical Brotherhood, but some felt that would be inappropriate.”
“Arthur, people already think we’re mad but then they’d know we are D.U.M.M.B as well.”  Perkin’s lamented.  This time he was hushed by those around him.
“Indeed, “  Continued Mr Weasley with a good natured smile, “So I though we could be the Magical and Muggle Unified Defence Division.”
“M.M.U.D.D.!” Perkins roared and nearly fell off his chair.
“Well unless someone has another alternative I will go with the later to the Minister.”  Mr Weasley stared at Perkins who quickly sat back down and had nothing more to add.  Mr Weasley continued.

“For the next week the Muggles, or non-magical, amongst us will be trained in magical law and law enforcement, defence against magical affects and general knowledge about the magical community.  In the meantime the rest of us will either be helping with the training or about our regular tasks.”
“Mundungus and my son George will be in charge of Muggle artifact procurement and augmentation.  Along with some of our communities…more innovative members they will be improving and modifying muggle tools for use in a magical society.  I personally can’t wait to see what beauties they come up with.”
Though a mouthful of food Mundungus groaned.  “Perkins and Winterbottom and others, ” He gestured to Eleonore and Perkins. “Are our field officers who actively investigate crimes.  You muggles with field experience, you will be partnered with one of these field officer when the time comes.”  Tom from half way down the table glanced around and locked eyes with Eleonore.  She turned quickly back to Mr Weasley but she could feel the Sergeant eyes still watching her.
“Any questions so far?”  Mr Weasley scanned the table nodded his head to speak, ” Detective Sergeant Tony Valenti, you wish to ask something?”

“Two things. I was initially wondering why we receive our instruction so late? I assume everyone else awoken by a massive screech owl outside their window this morning.  After that nonsense at the telephone box I can only assume you have a security issue, is that right?”

Mr Weasley sighed and took a moment to collect his words.  He glanced quickly at Eleonore.  She nodded for him to continue.

“There is an anti-social element in the community that has taken exception to muggles being allowed to work with the Ministry.”  He sighed and nervously swept his thick red hair away from his worried brow.  “Several of my staff have been investigated for having supposed links to this Pureblood sympathies.  All charges were found to be unfounded, of course and I’m proud to have them with me today. Sending the letter so late was an attempt to take action away from watchful eyes.  This morning was the first direct attack on the group and our first concrete evidence that we have a leak.”

The table was silent as Mr Weasley let what he had just said sink in.

“Now, everyone of you has been hand picked for not just your skills and knowledge but because I know I can trust you.”  He scanned the table catching everyone’s eye. “Trust me to have chosen wisely.”

Several at the table nodded their heads in agreement with Mr Weasley’s words, but Eleonore noticed several look a little more warily at those they shared the table with.

Breakfast broke up soon after with dishing zooming back to a pile in front of Mrs Weasley.  Eleonore noted that Mundungus‘ plate was whisked away from him while it still contained food.  Mundungus cried out in protest, but didn’t confront Mrs Weasley about it.  Eleonore left quickly and sought out work to distract her from the mornings events.

With so few field officers left on staff her workload was more than ever.  Her desk when she found it was piled with paper aeroplanes, interdepartmental memos.  Picking up the nearest memo she read about a child who had used a primitive engoring charm to enlarge the family cat to lion size.  It was not rampaging through the suburbs getting revenge on the neighbourhood dog population.  Another memo held a complaint from woman who suspected her neighbour of raising a wyvern.  With a sigh she grab a handful of such message and with a florish of her wand apparated away.

Several days past and Eleonore was able to avoid the group of muggles as they were ushered from room to room for lessons and demonstrations.  It was only after a suspected theft of muggle heirlooms lead Eleonore to  Mundungus Fletcher that she meet them again in Muggle Artifact Augmentation Workshop. Many of the staff, like Mundungus, were straight off the most wanted list from the old Misuse of Magical Artifacts office.  Now gainfully employed by the Ministry, Mr Weasley had been able to cut down rates of Muggle baiting and such like illegal activities while still making use of their skills at modifying objects.  George Weasley was a consultant for the workshop and split his time between the workshop and his growing chain of joke shops, Weasley’s Wizard Weeses.

The muggle were milling around, testing out some of products of the workshop as George Weasley was selling them his latest ideas.

“Weasley’s Wizard Weeses is not just about practical jokes, we have a large range  of personal defence items that will work just effectively for muggles as they do on magical folk.” His speil was interrupted by the irrepressible Col.
“Do you have a brother called Percy?”
“Er…yes.  I actually have several brothers but only one is called Percy.”  George stuttered put off his patter.
“Thought so.  My brother was at school with him, a few years ahead.  He didn’t like him much.”
“That’s alright,” He laughed then paused.  There was an uncomfortable silence as he seemed to be waiting for a punchline.
“We don’t much like me either.”  Eleonore provided and everyone laughed in relief at the passing of the awkward moment.  George gave her a sad little smile of gratitude.  She acknowledged it with a nod.
“Oh, but he liked Charlie, he’s your brother too.” Col added as she noted how uncomfortable she had made George feel.  “I met him once, but my brother was always bringing wizard friends home to meet the folks so it’s hard to remember what he was like.”

“Your parents were okay with magic users?”  Detective Valenti asked astounded that any parent would appreciate a gang of adolescent wizards gallivanting around their home.
“Sure, my parents are cool, last of the real hippies. Everyone is welcome at our house.  In fact my boyfriend is a wizard. Gordon Grech, have you heard of him?”
Everyone shook their heads.
“There’s more of us than you might think,”  George said casually but Eleonore noticed the pause again.  There was meant to be a quip there, some snappy line that would make everyone laugh. The line would have belonged to his twin brother Fred.  Instead George changed the subject.

“Oh Eleonore, dad was looking for you.”

Eleonore thanks George and walked away, all the time noticing that now she had not just Tom Green but also Tony Valenti watching her leave.

Now what’s got into their tiny muggle brains? She wondered not making eye contact with either.

Eleonore found Mr Weasley in his old Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office just down the hall.  With the formation of the new group Mr Weasley had been given extra rooms but he had preferred to stay in his poky office, though he had finally added a window and moved Perkins to another office.  The view out the window today was of underwater on a coral reef.  Colourful fish swam past occasionally looking curiously in on the humans on the other side of the glass.

“Eleonore glad you found me.  I’ve noticed you’ve not put your name down to lead any of the classes.”  Mr Weasley rummaged through a pile of paperwork which tottered back and forward beside his desk.  “What do you say about taking the introduction to commonly used offensive and defensive spells?”
“I’d really rather not.”  She replied simply.
“Oh?”  Mr Weasley grabbed another pile of files off a simple wooden chair and gestured for her to sit.  She did so grudgingly.  “Why is that?”
“I appreciate you giving me a job in your department, sir,”  Eleonore replied slowly weighing her words carefully, “especially when others wouldn’t.  My families track record is not the purest in regards to muggles no matter the purity of their blood.  I just don’t want to make any more mistakes.”
“A noble sentiment.”  Mr Weasley agreed, “And all the more reason to make an effort with these ones.  They’re here to help us, Eleonore.” And there it was again.  That appeal to your conscious that you couldn’t ignore if you wished to continue calling yourself a human being.  Eleonore squirmed like a naughty school girl on the hard wooden seat. “Besides, you have the most beautiful patronus I think I’ve ever seen. I’m sure it will be the highlight of the lesson.”  Mr Weasley gave his infectious fatherly smile, cajoling without words.
“Yes sir.”  She replied trying to hide her own small smile.

The lesson was  last before the muggles would be assigned tasks within the group. As a consequence Eleonore had requested the whole afternoon and decided to put them through a round of testing.

“There’s not point in knowing your magical by-laws and understanding the social customs if a perpetrator can just put you out of action by a simple jinx.”  She lectured the group half way through the lesson. “So I’d like to see how you would deal with live spellcasting.  Who would like to go first?”

Professor Flyrite stepped up first, a new umbrella hooked over his left arm.
“I consider my skills more academic that martial, Ms Winterbottom but I think have a few surprises up my sleeve.”  He chirped in his merriest voice, but  Eleonore understood the unspoken challenge. 

Let’s see if a Squib can’t out trick you.

“First a basic jinx, are you ready Professor?” She asked squaring up to the Professor herself, wand ready in her hand.  The Professor opened his umbrella and raised it above her head.  It was an odd sight to see inside but the Professor looked unphased.
“Ready.”  He said staring her down
“Petrificus Totallus.”  She enchanted, flicking her wand in the Professor’s direction.  The spell seemed to bounce off an invisible wall surrounding the Professor.
“Good.  One of George’s inventions I gather?”  She smiled acknowledging the forethought to bring such a device to class.  The Professor nodded accepting her praise graciously.
“A portable anti-jinx shield.  As an added bonus, it also keep the rain off.”
“But Professor, what if I did …Expelliarmus!”  Again she flicked her wand.  The umbrella leapt from the Professor’s hand leaving him defenceless.  This time he had the good grace to acknowledge defeat.
“Possibly a strap for the wrist is required.” He suggested and retrieved his umbrella.
“Good, I’m sure George will appreciate the design tip.”  She thanked the Professor as asked the next one up.  Col volunteered.

“I’m not really your bashy sort either.”  Col admitted, “But when my brother pulls out his wand at home I have a trick that usually stops him.”
“Well, let us see it, are you ready?”
“Yep.”  Before Eleonore even raised her wand to strike, Col ran down the room and jumped at her.  Wrapping her arms and legs around her, Col pinning Eleonore’s wand arm to her side, useless.  Eleonore struggled for balance but eventually righted herself, the tiny computer expert clinging on to her front like a cuddly marsupial.  The class roared with laughter and Eleonore eventually had to recognise she was defeated.
“On one one with backup at hand that could be very effective.”  Eleonore thanked Col once released from the suffocating grip.

Next was Detective Valenti.
“Seems a little unfair that you should have a weapon and I’m not allowed anything.”  He said belligerently.
“All magical law enforcement agencies have a strictly non-lethal policy.  All our spell and jinxes are totally reversible.  Guns and their lead projectiles are anything but.  While we are working on providing you with items for your physical protection you will have to make do.  Are you ready?”

The Detective ducked behind the nearest table.
“Ready.”
“Flipendo!” The table the Detective had been hiding behind flew into the air, but the Detective had already moved to another table that held a tray with glasses and a large jug of water.  Lobbing it  like a giant grenade the Detective threw the jug at Eleonore.
“Impedimenta!”  The jug and the water it had contained froze in mid-air then fell straight to the ground.  But Eleonore had been distracted.  The Detective had the opportunity to grab a glass in one hand and the silver tray.  He threw the glass and used the tray as a shield as he scuttled to new cover.

Eleonore dodged the glass and aimed another jinx, but his speed, his crouched position and the tray made it hard to aim.

“Locomotor mortis!” She tried to trip him up but missed.  It hit the tray, bouncing off and zooming back over her head.

“Enough!”  She finally announced as the Detective was about to throw a copy of A history of Magic. “Well done, good use of cover and your environment.  Also, spells can deflect or even reflect back on to their castor with mirrors or mirror-like surfaces.  Thank you.”

And then it was Tom’s turn.  There was no complaint or preamble, he just stood ready.  Greying and unassuming you couldn’t imagine Tom would be very useful in a fight.  That was until you noticed the sureness  of his stance,  looked at those grey eyes and saw their intensity.

Without anymore warning Eleonore cast.
“Levicorpus!” She cried, but he’d already rolled out of the way and awaited her next move.  “Mobiliarbus.” She lifted the same table she threw aside earlier and aimed it at Tom, but he just rolled under it and came up closer; ready, grey eyes fixed on hers. “Flipendo!” Again he dodged, this time a little slow and she was sure she had hit, but a split second later he had knocked her down unable to move, her wand wrenched for her grasp.

“How…?  I hit you!”  She blustered trying to break free of his grasp, but he was much stronger than he looked.
“You couldn’t have otherwise I’d be sprawled at the other end of the room wouldn’t I?”  He said matter of factly, but his eyes sparkled with mirth.

Had she hit him?  Eleonore was sure that her flipendo had hit him on the back as he’d rolled towards her.

“Get off me!”  She squirmed determined to know the truth.
“Do you yield?”
“Get off!”  She bucked and fought, but all in vain.  He was now in control.
“Do you yield?”  He insisted
“Yes damn you, let me go.”  She said only loud enough for him to hear and he released his hold.  Straight away she went to the spot on his back she was sure she hit.  Sure enough there was a small magical discharge and yet he hadn’t been flipped.

‘Anything amiss Ms Winterbottom.”  Professor Flyrite asked curious at her reaction to the Sergeant’s test.
“Possibly.”  Eleonore mulled over an idea that was gaining substance in her mind.  “I wonder if you would all allow me a small experiment?”  She looked from one to the other of the muggles present, no one had an objection as yet.  “You have been told about the unforgivable curses?” She knew they had and Col supplied them.“Avada Kadavra, Imperio and Crucio.”  Eleonore nodded thanks.
“I would like your permission to try one of these, Imperio, on you all.  I think it is important to understand that though you might be subject to a curse you don’t have to be a victim of it.  The Imperius curse can be fought against with determination and a strong enough will.  Of course, this experiment is completely voluntary and is not in anyway part of the testing.”  She looked to the Professor.
“Not me Ms Winterbottom, I don’t intend to be at any wizards mercy, even you tender ones.”
“I will.”  Col raised her hand in a cheery wave.
“It won’t be permanent will it?  You won’t be able to snap your fingers in the future and I’ll come running will I?”  Detective Valenti asked suspiciously.
“Only if you want to, Detective.”  She quipped back, “But seriously, I will keep in you Imperio for five minutes or until you break free.  Actually after having experienced the curse once you are more likely to know what it is and be able to fight against it.”

The Detective agreed.
“Tom?”
Tom was standing where she had left him after the test thinking.
“What will you get us to do?”  He asked
“What if I leave that for your muggle comrades to decide.”  Tom looked at the others who were already discussing amongst themselves what action they should inflict on Tom.  He laughed.
“Against my better judgement, I accept.”

“Good, one at a time then.  Col?”  Eleonore picked up her wand until then forgotten on the floor and stood on guard.

Col stepped forward and shut her eyes in anticipation.
“Imperio.” The curse was subtle, not forced out like others or flung out the end of the wand.  The spell wove itself around Col and her usually bright eyes dulled and glazed over.  “Now, what should we make her do?”

The men were at first at a loss at what to do with her.  They couldn’t think of anything that she would normally refuse to do.
“Sit still for five minutes?”  The Professor suggested to general laughter.
“Perform a strip-tease.”  The Detective suggested to be howled down as crude by the rest of the group.
“Break the spell.  She looks like she’s enjoying it.”  Tom said.  She did look very peaceful, a small smile was on her lips and she swayed gently to some inner music.

“Can’t, could lead to a  feedback loop.  The spell want her to submit to breaking it.  There are too many in St. Mungo’s hospital that can testify to the damage that causes.  Come on gentlemen, what’s it to be?”

In the end they settled for dancing around the room.  A lame suggestion as she did it whenever the mood took her.  After five minutes Eleonore released the curse and Col danced to a stop.

“That was lovely. I would think it would be very easy to murder while in that cotton-wool world.”  Col said dreamily as she retook her seat.
“That’s an unsettling thought.”  Eleonore commented and gestured for the Detective to stand.
“Imperio.”  Again the spell wove itself around Detective Valenti and his usually sharp eyed stare dulled into hopeless euphoria.
“Make him sing.  He’s Italian, I’m sure he has a lovely singing voice.”  Col suggested.  When the suggestion was given instantly the Detective did start singing in a beautiful rich Tenor, but the song he was singing was childish and silly.
“La la La-la-la-la, sing a happy song,
La la La-la-la-la smurf the whole day long….”

Eleonore’s hold on her wand faltered for a second as she lost sensation in her fingers.

Will’s song…our song.

“What….what s-song is that?”  She tried to sound in control but inside she felt like molten lead.

“It’s the theme song to a television program I use to watch as a kid.”  Cold laughed, “I haven’t heard it in years, I wonder if he knows all the words.”  She settled in to hear the full rendition.

“It’s sounds awful, get him to do something else.”  Eleonore demanded and instantly regretted it.  Her outburst caught the attention of Tom Green.

“Do you think so?  I think he sounds rather good.”  Tom replied innocently.

“La la La-la-la-la, Smurf along with me,
La la La-la-la-la simple as can be….”

“I think he sounds fine, the song is what sounds awful.”  She qualified in a voice she hoped sounded calm and reasonable, “I think we’ve punished him enough.”

“Oh I don’t know Ms Winterbottom, “  The Professor chimed in, “Television culture is not something I’ve really indulged in  and I can see I may have been missing something.  If he’s determined to stop he can always break the curse, you said so yourself.”

And so they listened to the whole song, three times through from beginning to end.  Tony’s brow glistened with sweat but he continued to warble away until his five minutes where up and Eleonore released the spell.

“That was your fault Tom.” He pointed at the sergeant half furious, half laughing.

“You could have broken the curse if you’d wanted to.” Col teased sending the Detective into a mock fury.

“I did want to, I tried! Look, “  He wiped his sodden brow, “Sweat!”  He turned to Eleonore who was only too pleased to have the song finally over.  “Let me go again, I know I nearly had it there for a moment.”

“No.”  Eleonore replied quickly, “It’s Tom’s turn.  Don’t you want to see him do something equally as silly?”  That cheered the Detective up.

“Okay, but what you just witnessed does not leave this room.”  The Detective took his seat and Tom stood to be voluntarily cursed.

“Imperio.” As before the curse wound itself seductively around Tom but his eyes did not glaze over and his expression did not dissolve into blissful nothingness.

“He’s not under, is he?”  Col said and Tom turned to her and winked.

Eleonore  cast again, this time she focused intently on Tom forgetting everything around her.

Nothing.

“Would you like if I sang too, John?” Teased Tom.

“Not in your cracked voice I don’t.”  Replied the now disgruntled Detective.

“One more shot.”  Eleonore said under her breath and started advancing slowly on the sergeant.  It was well know that subjects who were nervous and confused were more likely to be caught in the Imperius snare.  The sergeant watched her initially  with curiosity, until she stepped into his body space.   As her finger traced a line down the side of his face his eyes wided in surpise.  She continued down his jawline and down his neck to his regimental tie.  She loosened it and continued to run her finger down the buttons of his shirt.  Leaning over, brushing her eyelashs against his cheek she whispered one word into his ear.

“Imperio.”

For a moment she actually thought it worked, he seemed frozen to the spot unable to move.  Then he spoke.

“Um…what next.”  He whispered back in a voice more strained than she was use to hearing from this very controlled man.

“Damn it!” She wheeled away and the others gave his a standing ovation.

“You broke it!”  Detective Valenti exclaimed in shock and amazement.

“Oh no.  I don’t believe so Detective Valenti, “  The Professor replied calmly as if discussing an obscure academic theory, “sergeant Green here was not affect by the curse at all.  He is….anti-magic.”

“He so mundane-pigheaded-muggle that the magic just bounces of him.”  Eleonore growled in frustration.
“Am I?”  Tom stood incredulous staring at his own strong hands which only infuriated Eleonore more.

Will someone please save me from this idiot!

This is an unofficial, not for profit site, and is in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books or Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied.

2. The Ministry

I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally.
- W. C. Fields

In a sunlit lounge room, surrounded by comfortable furniture and bookshelves, a television blared out midday entertainment. On the television unit sat a succession of photo frames charting the progress in the life of two young men. As toddler’s staring blankly past the camera, the elder with his arms loosely wrapped around his younger brother. As children posing proudly with their new bikes one Christmas, one with a surprisingly convincing father Christmas beard on his youthful face. As smiling teenagers on summer holidays swimming in an isolated lake, sporting noticeable gills just covered by long hair on both their necks. As young men, one in army uniform with a blue UN badge on his cap and the other in a pinstripe suit of an odd styling, long in the body well beyond gossip magazine fashion. And then there was another picture, noticeable among the static displays for it’s lack of stillness. It was a group of school boys in the grounds of an old castle. All the boys were waving at camera and jumping with joyful exuberance at their last days of school. In their hands they held wands that ignited test papers, their last of their long education.  In the front a boy from the still images smiles broadly at the camera blowing kisses at the photographer. A hand reached out and picks up this last images. The boys in the photograph continue with their good natured rebellion as the owner of the hand watched the one blowing kisses. The hands owner wondered what it had been like to be accepted into this impossible world of magic where everything even the simple laws of gravity and enertia bent to other rules entirely.

Can I find a place?

“Tom? Oh I’m glad you’re here.” An elderly woman’s voiced called from behind. Tom replaced the photograph and its owner turned to face the woman in her early sixties busily fussing in her purse. “I’m off shopping with some of the girls from the club, I don’t know when I’ll be back.” She found a lipstick and moved closer to a mirror hanging in the hallway to touch up her makeup. “Could you can tell your Dad that dinner is in the fridge?”

“I was hoping to have a talk with you and Dad tonight.” Tom  took his mother’s free hand and turned he to face him, “I’ve been offered a job…” “Out of the army?” Mrs Green forgot about her lipstick and gave Tom a kiss on the cheek leaving a large red mark,”That’s wonderful, I can stop worrying about you in those awful overseas places and you can settle down, you know I want you to settle down don’t you? Get married?” She pulled a tissue from her purse and wiped the lipstick off her son’s face. The lipstick was stubborn and she was about to spit on the tissue for a second attempt when Tom intercepted her and gently took the tissue from her.

“Yes, and no mum. I’ve been seconded from the army to work in the government, in the same Ministry that Will use to.”

” A job in town?” She said before she realised the full implication of his words, “You mean…? But you’re not…?” Tom lead his mother now shocked into a dumb silence to the nearest armchair and sat her down.

“No I’m not, but they need help to get things back into order again and the Prime Minister…”

“The Prime Minister, our Prime Minister?”

“Yes, there is only one in the country. He’s ask me and a few other non-magical people to give a hand.”

“But what can you do Tom, you don’t have any magic?” And there was the question Tom had been asking himself all the cab ride back from the Prime Minister. What could he do?

“We’re not really sure, but the Ministry of Magic is keen to have us help in any way we can and the Prime Minister is hoping that it will help build bridges between the magical and non-magical communities.”

“But…Will?”

“I know Mum, but I’d be continuing his work and you’re right, I would be based in the City so I could see you more often.”

“You could say no, even to the Prime Minister.” Mrs Green’s rouge mouth quivered and her grey eyes filled with tears.

“Mum.” Tom fixed his eyes on her, clasping her hand in his, “You know that walking away is never an option.” His mother whipped her hands away from his as if she’d been burnt by his touch. Too often she’d heard that motto given by her husband who’s job as a firefighter had lead him into more situations that he couldn’t walk away from than he actually did. At the age of 50 he had been pensioned off too crippled and poisoned by his time in the department to be of any more use, and yet still the phrase haunted the family. It had driven Will to an early grave and it had sent Tom overseas for half his life. It had pulled apart her family and she hated it.

“It seems walking away is the only thing you men know how to do. Your father never knew when to say no. Will getting himself killed for those silly people. You,first overseas and now…” She burst into tears and Tom was left sitting silently letting her cry.

“We never mean to make you cry mum, but we always suceed don’t we.” He finally said as her torrent of tears calmed down to wet hiccups. “Don’t you dare make a joke at this time.”

Mrs Green leapt from the chair rummaging in her purse for another tissue, “If you want to give your life for these backward brutal people then go, but I can’t put my life on hold for it anymore.”

And with that she stormed from the room slamming the door behind her. Tom’s conversation with his father was quieter. Over leftovers from the fridge they talked quietly though what the Prime Minister had told Tom. They were quiet for a long time chasing down the last of the gravy with scraps of bread. Finally, Mr Green put down his knife and fork and looked at his son across the table.

“And you really think you can make a difference to these people? They don’t think like…us?” Said the old man a frown of disgust washing over his tired face.

“You could have said the same about the Iraqis or Bosnians or all other comunities I’ve gone into, but you never did. Why do you have a problem with wizards?”

“Because they killed my son.” Mr Green replied bitterly with more hate than Tom had ever heard in his Father’s voice. “I’m sorry Tom, old men become hardened by their losses and for the first time in my life I can’t give a damn about those people. They can all go and blow each other up for all I’m concerned.”

“Dad…” It was against Tom’s nature and training to judge anyone, but his Father’s vehmence took him by surprise.

“I’m sorry Tom. You do what you have to do, but don’t ask me to be happy about it.” With a shuffle and a moan the old man rose from the dining table and left Tom alone with dirty dishes and his thoughts.

That night in the bedroom he had inhabited as a child, Tom did not sleep. It was always the same the night before any big mission, the ‘what if’s’ and the ‘maybes’ circling around uselessly in his tired mind. Giving up on sleep, Tom crept silently down the stairs avoiding the loose stair and went and made a cup of tea. Initially, he didn’t hear the knocking coming from the loungeroom window. Coming at the dead of night from an unlikely quarter, even when he did hear it, it took him a moment or two.

Tap-tap-tap-tap tap tap tap-tap.

Searching from room to room, he finally found the source of the noise, a brown shaggy looking owl sitting on the window sill, it’s yellow beak tapping the glass. It wasn’t the first time Tom had seen a Post Owl, in fact Will had been a regular letter writer while at school and Tom had come to see the arrival of an Owl at the house as just another message from Will. Maybe that’s why this time it made him start. For a second he thought William had sent a message.

As quietly as possible Tom unlocked and opened the front door. Instantly the owl lept up onto his outstretched arm, one clawed foot digging into unprotected arm, the other held out with message attached. As quickly as possible while the talons drew blood, Tom untied the letter from the owls leg. Just as quickly the owl was gone. Obviously it had not been asked to wait for a reply. Tom opened the envelope to find a single page of instructions printed in a neat efficient handwriting:

Mr A. Weasley

c/o Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts

Ministry of Magic

London

Seargent Thomas Green

1972 Eastleigh Avenue

South Harrow

Dear Seargent Green,

Thank you for your interest in helping the Ministry and the magical community at large get back on their feet. At the present I am still in the process of forming a new department incorporating members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Department of Mysteries and members of the Muggle community.  It is a very exciting time for all of us and I can’t wait until you can join us.

As a consequence, you are requested to present youself to the telephone box at the corner of Great Titchfield and Carburton Street, Westminster at 6am. From there you will brought to the ministry for a breakfast meeting and orientation.

Looking foward to getting to know you.

Welcome to The Ministry.

Arthur Wealsey.

As soon as he had read the last word the letter lept into the air and torn itself into tiny pieces which floated away on the scant breeze. “Corner of Carbuton and Great Titchfield Street, Westminister at 0600.” He repeated to himself a few time until the location was memorised. The detail of the telephone box was odd and didn’t require memorising.

Why not meet at the Ministry itself? He thought.

He knew the Department of Mysteries was an Intelligence gathering service. They were probably so use to cloak and dagger that it became second nature. Tom looked through the loungeroom door to a clock hanging above the television unit and the line of photographs.  It was 4.30am and as good a time as any to leave. It would give him a chance to do a little snooping of his own.

As he snuck past his parents bedroom he thought about waking them. A gentle snore from the room beyond the closed door made him think better of that idea and he settled for a brief note stuck to their door with sticky tape. Dressing and leaving were as equally silent and he was out the door and walking towards the station before the tea he had made himself had even stopped steaming.

The train ride was uneventful. Sparsely populated with service staff on early shifts that eyed up his neat suit and close cropped hair with curiosity. At Charing Cross his changed trains to another Northbound line, getting off at Goodge Street stop. When he climbed the steps up to street level, the sun was only just making it’s presence felt on the day, colouring the sky a pale blue and sending deep shadows across the ground. He bought a cup of tea from a cafe just opening for business and walked the two blocks to the street corner specified in the instructions. As the telephone box came into sight he quickly turned left down a side street and walked around the rendevous site. He finished his tea and bought a paper from a street seller and shared a few pleasantries with the man.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fine day.” Tom commented looking up to the ever lightening clear sky.

“You’d think so to look at it.” The man said without elaborating.

“Oh?” Tom’s experience had taught him to listen to locals and time spent chatting with one was never wasted.

“Don’t you feel it? There’s something brewing. Buggered if I knows what it is though.” The man grumbled struggling with a bundle of papers. Tom helped him stack the papers neatly and asked,”Have you noticed anything weird lately?”

“Nah, ” the man shook his head emphatically. “That’s just it, as you said, looks like a fine day.”

Tom thanked the news seller and continued his walk. Soon he made he could see the telephone box again on the corner to his right. Now he could see a orange and white traffic cone perched on its roof.

A witches hat.

Tom smiled at the visual pun and took a quick glance at the street. Caught between multistorey buildings of multiple uses and forms the street was not the great street of its name. A few trees broke up the concrete monotony, and the green and gold of a hotel entrance gave the street it’s only colour. Across the road Tom’s attention was caught by a man crouched in a doorway talking on a mobile phone and drinking from a styrofoam cup. Tieless but in a well tailored dark suit Tom couldn’t decide if he was just out having a quick smoke before the start of work or if he was there for something else.

Tom crossed the road and walking around the next block to come out near the entrance to the hotel. On a low wall planted with pansies Tom sat and looked at his watch.

05.45.

Opening his paper his watched the corner in front of him to see who else would arrive. He didn’t have long to wait. From a distance he could hear an odd plunking of plastic against metal.

Cycling up the one way street the wrong way came a young woman of multiple hues and accessories.  Her bike was a collection of other bikes bolted together to form one mongrel machine decorated with the flames, plunking Spokey Dokeys and streamers.  Across her body swung a satchel for a laptop similarly styles to its owner with safety pins and scraps of bright cloth. Her hair was varying shades depending how the early morning light hit it, perdominately purple. She had a nose piercing and Tom assumed multiple ear piercings but at present all of those were hidden behind oversized fluffy orange headphones. Dodging the abuse from one car travelling in the opposite direction she turned her bike in a large arc and parked in front of a bicycle rack beside the telephone booth. At that moment Tom was aware of the light going out of the day.

He looked up at the morning sky. It was cloudless and as clear as before, but the warmth had been leached out of it. Colours dulled to grays and blues and a cold wind blew down the street, the smell of decay in its wake. Bang! Across the road a woman in black appeared out of nowhere waving a stick at the punkish young woman on her bike. “Get down!” Tom ran across the road in three strides and tackled the young woman to the ground, bike and all.

“Expectro Patronum!” The woman in black screamed as a silvery shape on four long legs shot out of her wand, over Tom and the young woman’s head. It hit a spot half way across the road and exploded as if it had hit a wall.

“Wow!” Cried the young woman struggling out of Tom’s arms to see what was going on.

“Humph!” The man who had been in the doorway on him mobile phone tackled the woman in black knocking the stick (or wand as Tom now knew it to be) out of her hand. At the same time he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and proceeded to arrest her.

“You are under arrest, you don’t have to say anything…”

“Get off me you idiot!” The woman in black yelled trying to reach her wand. Tom lept to his feet and knocked the wand out of the woman in black’s reach.

“Yeah, get off her you idiot, and what’s the big deal kicking her wand away like that,” The punky young woman complained picking up the wand and holding it out to the struggling woman in black, “She’s going to need it to protect us from the dementor, it was a dementor right?” This last was to the woman in black who was struggling to show an ID to the man trying to arrest her.

“Yes it was a damn dementor, didn’t you feel the cold? Look see, Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” She flipped a medallion on a silver chain from around her neck and held it out with her one free hand. The man in the dark suit let her up but didn’t uncuff her straight away.

“Why did you attack this young woman?”

“I didn’t, I attacked the dementor you blind, deaf and dumb Muggle! It was standing behind her not three paces away. Now if you could please let me go?”

“Did you see anything?” The man in the suit asked Tom and the young woman.

“Well we wouldn’t would we.” She replied as if it was obvious that there would be invisible being floating around London.

“The…whatever it was she projected from her…wand did hit something standing in the middle of the road approximately where she indicated.” Tom replied as detailed as he could in the circumstances. “You say you’re from the Ministry of Magic?”

“Yes,” the woman replied looking around them. There weren’t many people around at that time in the morning, but the few that were had taken a great deal of interest in them. “But we can’t talk here, quickly everyone into the telephone booth.”

“I’m not going anywhere you say until I get a few answers from you.” The man in the suit locking the other end of the handcuff around his own wrist.

“This is ridiculous.” The woman said and quickly grabbed her wand being held by the young woman, “Ahola Mora.” She pointed the wand at the handcuff and they popped open, “Now, that we’ve made enough fuss for one morning Detective Seargent Valenti would you be so kind as to step into the telephone booth as instructed?” She pointed to the telephone booth glaring at the Detective.

“Cool! Come on Toughie, lets see if we can’t squeeze ourselves into the rabbit hole.” Chirped the young woman to Tom totally unconcerned by what had just occured.

“Aren’t you worried this woman might be trying to harm you?” Tom asked the young woman as an elderly gentleman huffing and puffing.

“Hello, Professor Alfred Flyrite, have I missed anything.” He said shaking hands with everyone present.

“Hey Prof, they want to get killed by a Dementor, how ’bout you? Would you like to join me a the telephone booth?” The young woman laughed and without waiting for a reply grabbed the old man’s hand and dragged into the booth and disappeared.

“What the…? Hey!” The Constable at first jumped back in surprise, but when he noticed the woman in black walking towards the telephone booth he moved to stop her. With a flick of her wrist as a sudden step backwards she flipped the Constable off balance and into the telephone booth. He too disappeared from sight.

“And that leaves you Seargent Thomas Green.” The woman in black carefully readjusting the black lace cuff on her sleeve. “You look a great deal like Will.” She gestured towards the telephone box.

“You knew Will, Miss……” Tom extended his hand to shake her. She took it in both of hers.

“I really wasn’t kidding, this is no place for the likes of you.” A with the same twist of the writst she pushed Tom into the telephone booth.

This is an unofficial, not for profit site, and is in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books or Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied.

1. The Muggle

You can tell a lot about a fellow’s character by his way of eating jellybeans.
- Ronald Reagan

The Prime Minister looked down at his empty hands laying open on his mahogany desk.  They looked weak and useless even to him.  He had always prided his himself on his ability to judge someone by their hands.  All he could see in his hands was everything slipping away.

In the midst of a world economic crisis, in the centre of his government’s own corruption scandal his had been a mute witness to a silent civil war happening right under the noses of the ordinary public.  It had been a small comfort that during that time there had been others  who had taken responsibility for dealing with the rebels.  But now the impact of this small minority could no longer be ignored and he was now required to lend a hand to a society in tatters.

The only problem was where to start?

“With a smile and a handshake.”  He said aloud to the empty office stirring himself to lift his hand and picked up the phone.

“Please send Platoon sergeant Thomas Green in.”  He told his secretary and stood to receive his guest.

Though the door entered an unassuming man of inderminate age in a simple and neat suit, clean shaven, with tidy but mousy hair.  He looked the sort of person you just wouldn’t notice so ordinary he looked.  The Prime Minister strode across the office to greet him, his own smile and outstretched hand matched by the man’s own.  The ordinary facade peeled away as the man’s hand took his in a strong yet gentle grip.  His grey eyes held the Prime Minister’s with intensity was not as such scary as absorbing.
“Prime Minister, honoured to meet you.”  Mr Green’s smile was open friendly and the Prime Minister for the first time in months felt at ease.  Yes, this is the man for the job.

“Sergeant Green, I am pleased to finally meet you, make yourself comfortable.”  The Prime Minister ushered him to a set of leather chairs, deep seated and rich that surrounded a small file covered coffee table. He sank gratefully into one and saw that the sergeant seemed to as well but with an air of being ready for anything.
“Your career file is fascinating reading, like something from the boys own adventures I use to read as a child.”
The sergeant smiled a self-depreciating smile, “I have had a very fortunate life, Prime Minister.  It has taken me around the world and into many different communities and cultures.”
The Prime Minister picked up folder from the table and inspected a summary inside.
“UN Peacekeeping in Bosnia, Afghanistan and Iraq.  A respectable career in the Royal Engineers in front line operations.  A transfer to the MPs several years ago lead to you receiving several commendations.  In all that time you’ve kept your reputation as a peacekeeper and law enforcer above that of your military calling.  Is that why you never felt the desire to become an officer?”
” I found that I prefer building peace to making war.”  The Sergeant leaned forward in his seat, the smile still there but seriousness of his words was not lost.

“Indeed.” Was all the Prime Minister could say replacing the folder and picking up a second.  “I’d like to now talk about your brother.”  He opened the folder but was keenly aware of a stiffing of the sergeant’s shoulders.
“William? W…What would you like to know, Prime Minister?”
“I know a great deal about William.  What I’m interest in is what you know.”  The Prime Minister looked up from his notes to the Sergeant whose eyes had the distant look of a man who was dealing with painful memories. “I understand his death is still very fresh to you.”

Sergeant Green smiles weakly, “It is something you live with when you are in the careers we’d chosen.  Dying in duty is always a possibility, but…”  He stalled, all smiles disappearing, “I know what he was sir, I’d always known he was special.  Things use to happen around him.  It seem only right when he received an invitation to join a…unique boarding school that would teach him to use his…gift. When he left school his sense of duty and desire for justice lead him into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and from there to the Office of the Aurors.  In a way his career was similar to mine, but when you mention magic, it’s hard to take the job very seriously.  Unfortunately, magic kills just as effectively as any gun, Prime Minister.  He was one of many who lost their lives in what they call the Battle of Hogwarts.”

“I am sorry for your loss, he was a very brave man.” A pang guilt ran through the Prime Minister at having to mention the dead brother, but Sergeant Green looked calm and in control so the Prime Minister continued,  “But I needed to know how much he shared about the magical community, how much you know about what has happened over the last several years?”

“He told me what he could.  An extremist group were terrorising the community.  They called themselves the Deatheaters and their agenda was the subjugation and extermination of all those from non-magical families.  They saw non-magical people as inferior and those magical folk born of non-magical families like William as half-breed mongrels. He said that a lot of the strange unexplained stuff that we’d noticed was due to this groups activities.  The Deatheaters were finally defeated at the Battle for Hogwarts where the leader, a self-styled Lord was finally killed.  As William died at that battle I’ve heard very little since, though a member of the aurors,  Kingsley Shacklebolt,  was at pains to tell our family he had died bravely fighting giants.”  The sergeant shook his head sadly in disbelief of his own words.  “Giants!”

“Kingsley?  You’ve met him have you?”  The Prime Minister perked up at the mention of Shacklebolt who had been on his personal staff until recently.  The tall mellow voiced wizard with the short sharp and business-like handshake was a reassuring presence during the crisis and his infrequent visits as the Prime Minister’s liaison with the Ministry of Magic were always welcome. “And what did you think of him?”

“He had shown great kindness in personally infoming my parents of William’s death,.  I know that William himself always spoke highly of Shacklebolt, but you misunderstand sir, I have not had the pleasure, I was in Iraq at the time.”

The Prime Minister nodded in understanding, putting down the second folder and picking up a third.
“Would you like to?”

The Prime Minister watched Sergeant Green for his response.  Outwardly there was nothing to show that he was surprised by this suggestion.  The sergeant sat as relax as ever, those strong hands loosely clasped on the nearest armrest. His eyes though, were bright with possibilities.

“The wizarding community is in chaos.  Their government is in complete disarray and many who could put it to rights are dead, missing or amongst the ranks of extremists.  I find that I need to do what no other Prime Minister is history has done before and take a direct hand in wizarding affairs.  As part of that I am offering an opportunity to certain non-magical individuals to help in that reconstruction.   I know, with your background and experience you are uniquely suited to this task.  I hope with time that the magical and non-magical can be reunited after centuries off separation.  But little steps.  Today, we help them rebuild their community, the future who knows where our steps will take us?  Would you be interested in taking those steps with me?”

The Sergeant lent back in his chair and let out a long slow breath.
“A muggle in the magical world?  What do you think someone with no magic can achieve in a society where only magic rules?”

The Prime Minister smiled and held out the folder he had in his hand.
“Say yes, and you may just find out find out.”

This is an unofficial, not for profit site, and is in no way connected with J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books or Bloomsbury Publishing or Warner Bros. It is not endorsed by any of the aforementioned parties. Rights to characters and their images is neither claimed nor implied.

Fighting Monsters

Ak! Ak! Ak! Ak! Ak! Ak!…Vroom!” Captain Petey the pilot pushed the throttle on his Hurricane fighter and nosed her towards the nearest cloudbank. Here he waited until the next Me 109 dared to try sneaking over the cliffs of Dover. Enjoying the reprieve, Captain Petey opened the canopy and drew another swastika onto the fuselage of the Hurricane with black crayon.

“Hiya Petey, whatya doing?” A voice rang above Captain Petey’s head and he looked up to see Mr Morrison coming out of the cloudbank and into the front yard.
“Oh, hello Mr Morrison, I’m in ambush for wicked Me109s who are trying to fly into Britain. You don’t mind me hiding here until they come along again, do you Mr Morrison?”

“You do what you have to keep those Jerries off my lawn, Petey.” Mr Morrison smiled, trying not to laugh at the precocious eight years old on his oversized tricycle. “Keep up the good work, son.” Mr Morrison saluted and Petey returned it just as sharply.

‘Oh, Mr Morrison. The post office gave me this to deliver.” Petey pulled a folded pamphlet from the basket hanging from the handlebars of his trike and handed it to Mr Morrison.
“Why Petey, if you keep delivering the mail you’ll put Tommy the Postman out of work.” Mr Morrison said in seeming seriousness.
“Oh no, Tommy said himself that these are efema…efemera…material and he’d only have to lug them all around town with the post if it wasn’t for me.” Petey stumbled over the unusual words in his attempt to persuade Mr Morrison that Tommy’s job was safe.
“Well that’s good to hear. You say hi to your granddad for me.” Mr Morrison waved as Petey pushed the pedals down on his trike and headed back for the road.

Petey loved his tricycle, with its large front wheel and foot tray between the two smaller back wheels. Everyday, when granddad would let him, Petey would peddle all over the neighbourhood. Sometimes he took the local kids for a ride, peddling as fast as he could while they held on like barbarian chariot riders. Or at least that’s what granddad said. But most of the time, Petey imagined alone, greeting the neighbours as he did his rounds of the streets and delivering anything Tommy the postman gave him.

Petey had been a Hurricane pilot for most of the morning now, but it was time for a change. Instantly, Petey’s fighter-trike became a charger-trike and he transformed into a brave knight searching for good deeds to do in the name of his king.

Turning the corner he bid welcome to several neighbours ensuring he placed in each hand a copy of the king’s missive to his subjects. Some hands that gratefully received, also gave tokens to their noble knight. One a toffee apple, that Petey quickly ate, another small packet of fresh baked biscuits wrapped in baking paper, gifts or the king himself that the knight was charged with taking back to the castle.

“Now you see that your grandfather gets this.” Said Mrs Rose putting a jar of homemade plum jam in the trike basket
“I swear on my honour, Mrs Rose that your gift will reach the king.” He said as bravely as possible slapping his chest with an open hand as his granddad had shown him.

Sir Petey turned his charger towards home and the thought of the feast that would await him on his return. But his thoughts of delicious cold lamb sandwiches and flagons of apple juice were suddenly interrupted by the sight of a beautiful maiden.

She looked out of place, her old fashioned dress all lace and frills with long almost white hair pile up high in an unkempt bun. She looked lost as she searched the empty street, her grey eyes not settling on any one view.

“There, my loyal charger, is a damsel in a dress if ever I saw one. We are honour bound to help her anyway we can.” Petey spoke into the handlebars of the trike before pointing the front wheel towards the stranger on the corner.

“Good morrow, fair maid. Wouldst thou be in need of assistance?” Sir Petey lept from his moving charger and bowed gracefully before the maid. Unfortunately, the impression this entrance made was not the one he intended. The maid in question was so preoccupied that she had not seen Petey peddling up the street. She jumped back in so much surprise that she tripped over her own long dress and fell back on to the grassy nature strip.

“My lady! Let me help you up!” Petey scrambled to help the prone stranger back to her feet. “Prithee, tell me thy name?”

The stranger stared at him oddly for a moment.
“My name iz Elena. Who are you and why do you speak as you do?” She said in a thick accent that Petey had never heard before.
”I am Sir Petey, special envoy to the King.” Petey replied in his best old English. “As to how I speak fair maid, the same could be said for you. Your tongue is strange to me.”

“I do not be…long here, my home iz far away and I can not live der no more.” At this she looked so forlorn that it almost broke Sir Petey’s noble heart.

“Do not cry princess in exile, my grandfather, the King will welcome you with open arms to his castle.”
Again the grey eyes tried to appraise the child-knight in front of her. This time the grey eyes lit up and a small dainty smile spread across her lips.
“I would glad to…go vid you to your castle.”

So, leading his trike up, he helped Elena up behind him on the footplate and started to peddle home. And as he peddled, which was very hard work with two people, Petey asked Elena questions.
“Where did you use to live?”
“Poland.”
“Why can’t you go back?”
“Hitler and his army took it over and I had to run away.”
“I know him. I dogfight his ME109s over the English Channel.”
“He’s a monster.”
“Never fear, my Lady, I will help thee slay this foul beast. Charge my noble steed, charge!” Petey pumped his legs harder as Elena gripped Petey’s shoulders and screamed all the way down the street.

Petey’s granddad was waiting for him when the charger-trike turned into the drive way carrying the windswept Elena behind. She now carried a stick that she held like a lance over Petey’s shoulder.
“Petey? Who have you there?” He asked, painfully getting up from his old wooden chair on the verandah.
“A damsel in a dress, oh King. Princess Elena, exile from the far away kingdom of Poland and slayer of evil monsters.” Sir Petey jumped from his trike and held out his hand for the shaken Elena.
“I’ve had phone calls from her family; they’ve been worried about her.” Granddad said sternly to a now silent Petey. To Elena he extended one frail hand and smiled his most kingly smile. “Princess Elena, would you do us the honour of dining with us this afternoon?”

Elena curtseyed her prettiest, even remembering to pick up the edge of her lacy skirt just as a princess should. Granddad led Elena into the house past the many pictures of pilots and knights with Petey and his trike keeping respectfully in the rear. Elena goggled at the photos, paintings, books, models and newspaper clippings of pilots and mounted knights that covered the walls, shelves and tabletops in the little house.

Granddad, who leaned heavily on a stick to walk, did not have any trouble helping Elena to a seat at a rickety wooden table covered in a rich velvet table cloth. Lunch was already waiting and the King and his knight gave Princess Elena first choice of the roast lamb sandwiches. For afters the plum jam, provided by Mrs Rose was spread over still warm scones until everyone leaned back in their seats, full and satisfied.

After lunch, Granddad rang Elena’s family and she asked to speak to them. Petey listened to her speak in her own language to her family at the other end. Though Petey knew it was rude to listen, as he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t see the harm. Then they sat around and talked about knights and princesses, pilots and evil monsters until Elena’s family knocked on the door.

Petey opened the door to a young couple, obviously not old enough to be Elena’s parents. In the arms of the young woman was a bundle of white cloths, like a sheet wrapped around something. Petey smartly saluted, they had been talking about pilots, and showed them where Elena and Granddad were.

The couple fussed over Elena, cooing in Polish to her and stroking her near white hair.
“Thank you for finding and looking after her.” Said the young woman. “She’s been getting worse since our Grandfather died.”

Elena looked from her family; people she almost didn’t recognize, to the young boy in front of her she had only met that morning and mischievously smiled. Without a word she ushered Petey to her side, then gently she took the cloth wrapped something from the young woman and rested it gently in her lap.

“I am not a Polish princess, Petey. But I do know a princess.” She whispered so only Petey could hear and unwrapped the cloth. Inside, a little travel worn and stained, was a porcelain doll all dressed in white lace.
“She has always been with me since my parents gave her to me before the war. She ran out of Warsaw vid me when I couldn’t even take a suitcase, and she came here to live vid me…until now.” Elena stood up and gingerly walked over to a low bookcase. In from of a set of books o chivalry, Elena set the doll down, and then turned to face the room.
“She belongs here now.  I’m tired, I will go home now.” Her language stumbling and broken Elena shuffled out to the front door, the young woman following.

“I’m sorry if our Grandmother was an inconvenience. Thank you once again.” The young man said and followed his sister and grandmother out of the house.

Petey often saw Elena after that day. She would wait on the corner where he had first met her. He would pretend to be her champion and she would play the medieval maid giving him tokens of her affection. But sometimes, when her family weren’t watching, she would climb up behind Sir Petey on his noble steed and go fighting monsters.

Mos’

Dedicated to Táralómë who was the inspiration behind this story.

It looks like every other shopping complex I’ve been to except when you looked through the skylights or occasional window, there’s a glimpse of movement. I’m not too sure if these… sightings are base on anything more than a heavy serving of ghost stories from Mos’s extensive and seemingly limitless menu.

Mos runs a shabby looking cafe- cum-take away in one of the slower ends of the complex. How a shop as grotty as his ended up in a fully air-conditioned, secured and well lit plaza like this, he won’t say; but I can tell you, us kids are glad of it. It is grotty; and a day doesn’t go by when the centre management doesn’t ring up about some complaint, but it does keep anyone with a wage packet away. Cheap as chips, Mos would say about his food, but us kids wouldn’t know, we’re too afraid to eat anything else but the chips. With sauce, or if the gravy’s fresh, they stay down. So, some of the cockroaches would beat my dog in a fair fight, your clothes always end up smelling of stale oil, and if you sit in the wrong seats you’re likely to stick; it’s our hang-out, just for us kids, without any adults around to care what we do. Of course except Mos; but he doesn’t count.

Anyway, Mos is full of stories. Some are obvious lies, and if you catch him out he says “Ah you lousy cheap kids!” in his thick eastern European accent and short changes you. Sometimes his stories seemed so far fetched… they’re like fairytales; except you can’t see the line between the story and the reality…they’re just too weird to ever be made up.

For example, the story he tells about this place before the plaza was built.

“Ya know dis land is cursed don’t ya…full of spirits of dead black fellas killed by settlers poisoned sheep.” He’ll start and some one will comment that calling indigenous people, ‘black fellas’, is really rude. “Too late to be showin’ respect now their dead…somet’in’ your ancestors should have done long ago, …dose ghost want revenge, not polite talkink over der fence.” He’ll reply waving his hand flippantly in the air.

“What do they want Mos?” Some bright sparking newbie will asked, looking down the straw of his milkshake at Mos. Mos will look him straight in the eye, his weak blood shot eyes boring holes into the newbies head until he looks away. Between that moment and the next something changes in Mos. The next time he opens his mouth to speak it’s like someone else is using it; someone else is pulling the strings in his head.

All us regulars know the signs, and bunch up closer so as to not miss a thing. Mos’s changes have more than once scared the crap out of a newbie. They’ll run to their friends claiming the old bugger’s crazy. Us regulars always talk about it afterwards, but none of us think he’s crazy; at least in the regular sense.

Mos will stand taller, as if before he wasn’t using all his bones, and look us all straight in the eyes. “So, you all want to hear the story, do you?” The voice is deeper, the accent is gone and there’s very little of the old man left about him. None of us say a thing; the newbies out of fear, the rest of us in rapt attention. Man, if our teachers could see us then!

“All this land belonged to the animals and the spirits long before even the aborigines were here. Places can hold the impression of those who have been there, some more so than others. When the aborigines found this land they recognised this, they saw the impressions left; and called this land sacred.

“They avoided this area except for very important remembering ceremonies that they knew would be kept as an impression on the land. In this way, the land itself became a renewer of the dreaming; a place to acquire and remind themselves of the legends they had learnt.

“So, over time the impressions built. Older impression gave way to newer, but the more emotional an impression, the stronger it is and the longer it lasts.”

You know at this moment if all the newbies haven’t run off or frozen to their seat one of them is bound to ask.

“Is that what I see in the glass? Just an impression?”

At this moment, Mos, with a smile cooler than ever our Mos would make, replies “Oh no, they’re far more than simple impressions.”

A collective shiver will run through everyone present, newbie and regular alike. It’s like the air-conditioning in that tiny shop has been suddenly turned down and we all huddle closer.

“When white man arrived, their domestic separation from the land and ties to a country many months away, didn’t allow them to view this land as anything more than an asset; a possession that can be owned by anyone with enough power to hold it.

“The aborigines were hunted, starved, poisoned and finally legislated off this land, their dead buried here. So now, not only the emotive cries of relatives, but also the souls of those unjustly killed are contained in the land. They poisoned the ground against the white invaders and haunted their settlements. Eventually, his land was once more left empty.”

At this time, Mos will pause as a moments hesitation passes over the previously calm face. He’ll wet his lips as the mask of whatever character has been in control so far slips, just a fraction. Here, us regulars know; the story becomes personal.

“And thus, the land stayed for a hundred years, remembering its secrets as it had always done. New immigrants, welcomed to fill an empty land now arrived. They had also run from death, starvation, and the cruelty of governments. Among them came a young man from a country now swallowed up by a powerful other. His name was Moses, and was under no illusion he’d ever see the farmlands of his birth. In this empty land he had set his mind to make his new home, and saved hard to purchase the haunted land. Those who lived nearby warned him of the spirits that drove out previous settlers, but he was a man who had once been driven out of his home and would not be driven out again easily.

“He camped alone on that barren ground, night after night tormented by the spirits and the remembering. Some say he went mad, but by the end of the month he had won a truce with the spirits. After a particularly bad night, when Moses, confused, demoralised and desperate from lack of sleep, ran out into the night screaming at the top of his lungs. He pleaded to the spirits for peace and told them the story of his life.

“At first, the spirits were stilled as they misinterpreted his rantings as a remembering ceremony. As language gave way to heartfelt emotion, they recognised his story as their own; and realised they were brothers. So, through symbols, colours, memories and visions they communicated their needs to him.

“‘What this place is, and what was wrought here must be remembered.’ They pleaded to him and he promised to tell others of this land’s secrets, until he too joined them in the earth. To this, the spirits were satisfied. They understood a man could not own a land, but only lease it for the time of his life; after that it ceased being his responsibility.

“On that day an uneasy peace settled on the land. On the next day Moses started building his first home; a small daub and wattle hut. In the following years the spirits kept their word and allowed Moses to prosper beyond even his wildest expectations. At the same time, Moses was true his word, and all those who asked about the land and its restless ghosts were told the history as Mos understood it.”

Our Mos usually came back around this time. He doesn’t say anything; maybe shuffle off to rearrange the filth on his counter or silently serve a few customers. He never says how the complex came to be or how he ended up serving in a greasy diner, but that’s okay, we don’t want to know.

What keeps me and my friends speculating is what’s going to happen when he ‘joins the spirits in the earth’. What would those spirits do? We have our theories, but we don’t share them much; we just remember and wait.

Originally post here

Mother and Child

The Mother and Child. The north and south islands. Two enemy countries greedily eyeing each other over a black sea of tar.  Whatever we called them the rocks had always been there during our childhoods.  Our home outside the flat we inhabited with our mother.  There was a father too, somewhere.  He lived in hotels and only visited us when in town. “…earning you layabouts a living…” he’d half joke.  A half stranger.  Mum in comparison was always there.  Not that she didn’t work; but the priority with work was not making a living but having a life.

“You kids don’t need me during the day.  You’re at school,”  She’d say to justify her need to work though we never complained, “besides I hate being cooped up in that flat, I think I’ll go mad if I have to stay any longer than I have to.”

So, after school everyday, Christine and I would be found outside playing invariably in and around the Mother and Child rocks. We didn’t want to go mad either.

The rocks were perched on what had once been a tree clad hillside made of almost solid sandstone.  At one time we guess the Mother and Child had been one solid monolith, wider and deeper than the units that later ringed it.  We didn’t know what cataclysm blew them apart, but when we were kids we imagined their pitted weathered surfaces surviving some cosmic impact; The end of the dinosaurs and the rise of the megafauna.

From on top of either you could see down into the basin that makes up Greater Western, a mass of suburbia that reached from our place on mother and child all the way to the shimmering sea, way out on the horizon.  It was our whole world and from on top mother and child we were kings and queens.

Because of these firm foundations, city planners in their wisdom had stripped the hills bear and planted units.  Anthills for people, termite mounds for the nation, pimples on the arse end of the world.  We hated the flat.

The road that lay between the two sections of rock was no more than a glorified driveway to car parking and more units further up the hill.  It made it safe to play most of the day, depending of where your imagination took you.  If it was white water rafting on the Zambezi on an old door lined with wheels taken from abandoned shopping trolleys, safe was relative.   But that day, the day, we were playing Rescue.

It was hot, had been all day.  The flat was stifling when we got home.  We quickly wriggled out of sticky uniforms and into t-shirts and shorts and ran back outside for the relief of the freshening breeze.  A storm was coming there was no doubt.  It was in the breeze as it made the leaves in the parks down the slope shiver with the excitement of it.  It was in the light, a yellowing-green glow that made everything look unreal.  It was in our very nerve endings making out whipping hair stand on end.

No one was around, unusual for after school but not unexpected.  We’d been brought up unafraid of the fury of storms and the tension in the air of that afternoon meant only one thing.  RESCUE!

I, as the eldest, stationed myself on the Mother rock, the north bank of our great and raging river.  Below on the sheltered side away from the road was a small sandstone cave where our supplies, a few cans of drink and packets of chips, were stored.  Christine positioned herself on the Child, the south bank, with stranded refugees from our rising floodwaters.  Because of the real pending storm we hadn’t brought our any of our soft toys but she had a good supply of human and semi-human action figures, bath toys and the odd tomboyish Barbies.  But how to get them across to safety, food and shelter on the north bank?  What could two young rescuer do?

Mum!

She’d just driven home and seen us playing on the rocks.  We explained our predicament in stereo so that she may understand the urgency, then she took one end of a string from north bank, braving the rapids of the flooded river until she reached the south and handed the line to rescuer Christine.  Saluting her brave deeds as she departed, mum gave us farewell and gods speed to complete our mission before the storm struck.

Unconcerned, we tied off our lines to stop signs either side of the river-road.  I threw Christine the ball of string, keeping my end and we were set.

Some of the action figures had utility belts or grasping hands to hold the safety line while we pulled them across the river.  For the less able, Christine knotted a strip of bark to the line and that was pulled to and throe with some success.  There were casualties.  Though the plastic duck from the bath rode the bark litter with ease even through the growing breeze, my little pony was not so lucky. Top heavy, its huge head tipped the plastic pony off the litter and into the raging river of bitumen.  If we were unconvinced by the black substances ferocity, we had only to look up and know what a broiling, seething mass looked like.

The Barbie’s were to start their trip as the hail came.  Their arms, not articulated enough to hold their weight on the line, their legs too long and gangly for the litter, Christine cursed their plastic hides and tied them directly to the line, once around the ankles and once around the neck.  The hail was small, the stuff that disappears as soon as it hits the ground and makes you wonder if you were looking at hail at all.  It hit our ears and the tops of our heads, got inside our t-shirts and made us giggle and jump.  Barbie, swinging from her neck was caught above the raging river.  All that lay between her and watery death in the turmoil below was her rescuers wriggling in their pants as another piece of ice slithered down our hot backs.

The hail started hurting as it landed on our unprotected skulls making a solid tock!  Hunching my shoulders, I forgot stranded Barbie and took in the storm around us.  Drifts of ice were forming on the roadside, piling up against the mother and child.  The park across the road with its shivering trees was a blur though the hail’s frosted pane.  I could see, but not hear our mother call us in from the car park beside me and even as I moved to comply, I knew it was probably too late.

A cracking of timbers, a roaring, an explosion, a shattering all at once from the park as a massive chunk of ice impacted with the play set sending ice, wood, metal, wind, stone and fire rocketing in all directions.  Before I had been too awed by the storm to move fast, now I was too terrified to move at all.  That wasn’t a hailstone, but what was it?  Why did Mother shake so and where was my mother?

Mum?

I was aware of a sound that I couldn’t hear but I felt through mother’s hot flanks.  A roaring grumbling so low it didn’t register in my ears but in my toes as I stood and looked up into the clouds above us.  I couldn’t understand how a sound could come from above and only be felt below.  I realised it wasn’t just mother that was shaking, but the air itself was vibrating.

Above, in the river of cloud, a glow was forming.  Starting like persistent sheet lightning that grew in intensity until I was sure the sun was falling on us.  Then I saw its leading edge break through the cloud.  It was a long way away, over the basin.  So large I could see nothing else, far enough away to see steam rising from its surface close enough to see light reflecting on its icy heart.

I think I screamed.  At least I started screaming sometime then and didn’t stop until it was over.  I don’t know when Christine left the child but as the icy mountain of rock and steam colided with the earth she tackled me, sending me backwards, rolling over Mother to the cave carved in her side.

A flash of light that made it past my shut eyelids and the solid comfort of Mother and then…the noise.  There was only noise.  Noise that roared and screamed, noise that tore and buckled, noise that rumbled and shook.

I could see nothing my eyes shut tight, hear nothing but the noise, taste and smell of dust and ice, but I could feel Christine’s arms around me, mine around her.  I could feel her body shake like mine as we screamed unheeded into the chaos.  I could feel her hot tears as the noise eventually gave away to cold rain.

We lay shivering under the protection of mother’s cave for a long time.  Only when the cold rain found its way into our refuge did we finally stir.  Untangling us I discovered my wrist didn’t work and Christine had a nasty gash in her head that bled everywhere.  She couldn’t stand, but with help I did step out of the cave and into the rain.

Already the rain was lessening, though it never ceased, and as my view grew the less I understood.  Where were the trees? The park? The units?  I couldn’t understand where Barbie on her safety line could be until I realised the poles were missing.  In the end I knew that nothing remained, everything had been stripped clean except for us.  Christine, me and the Mother and Child.

Why another blog?

I’ve been blogging on blug… for two years on a variety of topics but mostly the ridiculous or outrageous stories that have caught my interest.

Slug is something different. Here I intend to give a home to fiction which though I love, have never felt comfortable sticking on my regular blog.

The first entry will be one I did publish originally on blug called Mother and Child. As time allows I will add others that have had no home until now or have been published in other communities spread out accross the Internet.

I really only intend this blog to be for my enjoyment and that of the few friends that stop by. For those who find yourself here accidently, welcome, take a seat and make yourself at home.