Dear Reader,



First off, I believe proper introductions are in order. My father always told me it was impolite to not give a proper introduction. I’ll start with my name: Deanna Davis. I am twenty-two years of age. Now that some basic formalities have been observed, I would normally ask you who you are. But, of course, you are only in my head. Some fictitious person I’ve made up to ease my loneliness. I guess this is the place for me to give further introduction, as you are to become my sole confidant or confidante, depending on your gender. In my mind, I think you to be male. Perhaps because it’s a man’s company I desire. Or perhaps it’s because many girls I knew at school were petty and dishonest. Or perhaps, it’s a general assumption, made by most humans. To call an unknown “he” as opposed to “she”. I’ve been researching general assumptions in the Department of Mysteries.



Yes, I work for the Department of Mysteries. No, I am not an Unspeakable. And if you dare to call me the caretaker, I’ll sic one of the many odd specimens on you. I wouldn’t do that if you assumed me to be an Unspeakable. Many assume I am an Unspeakable. It’s funny, really, how people assume that. I guess it’s because I, like an Unspeakable cannot tell about my work. At least, not tell people. But you, well, dear Reader, you’re not human… not really.



I work as a field-researcher for the Department of Mysteries. I guess you could call me a scientist (a muggle researcher). Or perhaps one of those people who gives random people surveys. It’s an odd job, field-researcher. But, it’s never dull.



It’s my job to research things, freelance, for the Department of Mysteries. Unlike an Unspeakable, who works full-time and has minimal say in their projects, I work when I want to on what I want to. And I rather like it.



For example, I’ve been doing a study of the human subconscious. Like what I said of general assumptions. That’s one aspect of the subconscious, general assumption. And, general assumption was by far the most interesting. I was allowed to take on someone else’s appearance using Polyjuice Potion. I took on the form of a co-worker, Benjamin Dupree. But, as part of the requirement, I was to dress as I usually do�”in women’s clothing. Another field-researcher, Jennifer Smith polled passer-bys on their thoughts of me. Was I male or female? Why did I look masculine, but wear women’s clothing? You get the gist. It was very interesting, the answers I got.



Thus far, I’ve come to this conclusion: humans are judgmental.



I hope that my example hasn’t scared you off, dear Reader. It was just an example. Other things I do are more socially acceptable. For example, I did a poll on Blood-Status Stereotypes. For example: What is the first adjective that comes to mind when I say Pure-blood? I got answers like: snobby, superior, rich, inbred, prejudiced, and others I cannot repeat without swearing.



Which, I guess is a weird quirk of mine: I don’t swear. I know that it sounds prissy, but since I’m required to mingle with all sorts, swearing, in most circles, is considered vulgar. There are a few in which swearing is commonplace. But, when in Rome, right? I do make exceptions, so I guess I should say I don’t swear much.



Let’s see, I’ve covered name, age, career… some morals and career quirks… Perhaps I should tell you more of my personal life and self-image, as you are going to be my confidant or confidante. I guess you should get some sort of mental image to place with all these words….



I’m tall-ish, Leggy, really. And I have rather long arms. But don’t expect a gangly teenage-girl. No. I fit into my appendages, thank you. My hair is brown and choppy. My eyes are also brown, but not choppy. I have fair skin naturally, with a slight tan. I think I’m one of the darkest skinned people in the department because I get out so much by means of comparison.



Now, as to personal life. I’ve experienced the world’s worst break up. Okay, that was an exaggeration. It was two years ago. I broke up with my jerk-of-a-boyfriend, Michael, who refused to accept the idea of my career choice. He told me I couldn’t work in the Department of Mysteries because I lacked the essential ability to keep my mouth shut. He was snobbish and selfish, to say the least. I broke up with him in a shouting match at Madam Puddifoot’s. I’ve sworn off dating, so my personal life is dead.



Okay, that’s a lie. I have friends… My sister Delilah and I are very close. And I have friends in my department�” there are two other field researchers: Benjamin Dupree and Jennifer Smith, whom I mentioned before. The three of us have formed a special sort of bond. It’s a little superficial and mostly work related. But it’s nice.



Anyways, Jenny is calling me. Something about the results of Ben’s latest poll. I have to go, dear Reader, but I’ll tell you all about Ben’s poll and my career. I promise.

Dear Reader,

Can I tell you something? A secret, I guess. A great, dirty, horrible secret. Jenny didn’t need to speak with us about Ben’s latest poll results. Or at least, not really. I walked into her office, and she looked stricken. She’s naturally a pale person (And I mean pale. She has blonde hair a pasty skin). But today, she looked even paler than normal.

“Take a seat, Deanna,” she said. Her voice was strained.

I sat in one of the chairs opposite her. Ben was there too, sitting next to me.

“What’s up?” I whispered to Ben.

Ben shrugged. He’s a tall man, with a tan undertone to his skin. He gets out almost as much as I do. His hair is very dark red. Kind of like old rust or dried blood. He turns to look at me.

“I don’t know,” he sounded irritated. “I just got here thirty seconds before you. How do you expect me to know?”

That’s the thing about Ben. He’s irritable. And I’m inquisitive. Needless to say, we’re constantly frustrated with the other.

I looked away from Ben, turning my attention to Jenny. She was gripping her desk for support. She looked as though she would fall if the desk wasn’t there. I feel bad for her. The only other time she looked like this was when another field researcher was attacked by a brain in the Brain Room. That was last year. His name was John… John Fletcher, I think. Maybe it was something else, but I don’t remember, as he quit too early for me to get to know him. He lost an eye. We were all asked to help rescue him. I remember how Ben ran in there and got John out while Jenny threw up and leaned heavily against the wall.

I was scared that Jenny would throw up now.

But she didn’t. Instead, she cast nervous glances to the door, like she was waiting for someone. When the head of department, Amon Anterberry came in, Jenny looked slightly relieved. She offered him a chair, but he refused. So, instead, Jenny sat down and looked at Anterberry worriedly.

Anterberry launched into his speech.

“The position of Field Researcher is becoming slightly, er… redundant, shall I say?” he said, nervously wringing his hands. Flecks of spit appeared on his salt-and-pepper mustache.

“Full-time Unspeakables have begun to research topics that field researchers once did, but from the Department itself.” He paused. “Your position is going to undergo some… er… changes. Really, I’m going to… nay… the Ministry is going to expect you to take on full-time responsibilities as Unspeakables, or they're going to, gradually phase out your positions.

“I understand that being a freelance researcher is, shall we say, convenient. But, it’s only convenient for those who work the jobs. We live in a bureaucracy. It’s not financially beneficial for us to keep people who only work sometimes on a steady salary,” Anterberry said, now wringing his hands together.

Then, dear reader, he said to us, “Either the three of you become full-time Unspeakables, or apply for another job. Be forewarned that those who do not accept this offer, will be asked to resign and have their memories cleared of all the information they have learned in the Department of Mysteries. You have three weeks. Good day.”

Anterberry left, without giving us time to ask questions. The three of us sat in stunned silence. What are we to do? What am I to do?


***

Dear Reader,

It has been a full twenty-four hours since our meeting with Anterberry. I’ve been sitting in the office I share with Ben, throwing wads of paper at the wall. They’re letters of protest, saying why it would prove a strategic political move to keep the Field Researchers. I haven’t been able to back up my theories. Nor is it possible to argue that it’s financially reasonable to keep us on. Maybe I’ll try to come up wit a compromise.

I looked over at Ben. He was also writing. I craned my neck in his direction to see what he was writing.

“If you must know, Deanna,” Ben drawled, frustration saturating his voice. “I’m writing my letter of resignation. A man does what he needs to do. And I need to move on. So don’t ask me why I’m writing this. And don’t tell me not to.”

I bit my lip. We’ve shared this office for four years, and Ben can almost read my mind. It’s scary. I turned back to the roll of parchment on my desk. Instead of writing a letter of protest, I began writing a list of careers I could pursue if I were to resign. By the time I have this:

Shopkeeper
Journalist
WWN Personality
Quidditch Player

As my list went on, it got more outrageous. I crumpled it up and stared at the wall, feeling incredibly hopeless. What else could I do?

After about fifteen minutes of staring at the wall, I grew bored. I was sick of feeling hopeless and sorry for myself. I tried to see things from another perspective, which, incidentally, is what I was being paid to do, for the time being, anyways.

To keep three freelance field researchers on hand was a financial drain, as we were paid an annual salary. Our reports could easily be done by actual Unspeakbles. I put my head down on my desk. I think I stayed in that position for an hour. By the time I looked up, Ben had gone and I was alone in my office, still debating on what to do.

“A man does what he needs to do. And I need to move on.” Ben’s words echoed in my mind as I got up and left my office. I was going to look at the unsolved murder cases from the war against You-Know-Who. I’ve always enjoyed doing that. To me, it’s always been like reading a story.

I walked to the archives where they were kept and pulled one off the shelf. Fenwick, Benjy. One of my favorite cases. I loved it for its vivid grotesqueness. How only bits of Fenwick were found by passing muggles who reported it. How it was a mystery. How Fenwick had fought against You-Know-Who.

I always admired those who fought You-Know-Who. I wished I could’ve done something to help the war efforts, but I was only fifteen when Harry Potter vanquished You-Know-Who. And what could a fifteen year old girl do to help? Nothing, my mother said. She told me that I should pray for those who fought, and be thankful I wasn’t being asked to join sides. But, secretly, I wished I was older, or that the war continued until I was of age. But, those were foolish, selfish thoughts. And I knew it.

I finished reading the Fenwick case, and I picked up another one. Dearborn, Caradoc. This was a disappearance. I read through it, though not particularly thinking of him or his case. Instead, I was considering the option of switching to becoming an Unspeakable. It was always a possibility. I put the case back on the shelf. I was going to re-evaluate my options.

Dear Reader,

I’ve re-evaluated the idea of being an Unspeakable. It doesn’t seem to be too bad a career change. It’s not a drastic change, anyways. I’d just work more days a week, and more hours a day, really. In fact, there would be a slight pay raise involved. I don’t see why Ben feels it’d be so… necessary to leave all together. But, I know better than to ask him anything personal like that.

So I’ve decided to go straight to an Unspeakable and do what I do best, ask questions. I’m debating on who to ask, as I don’t know many of them well. But there are a few who I’ve met. The first one who comes to mind is Helen Hancock. She’s the head of sub-department to the Unsolved Case room, within the archives�”the room I read Fenwick and Dearborn cases. She was always nice to me and allowed me to use her sub-department as a place for research. Perhaps she would grant me one more favor…

***

Dear Reader,

Today I talked to Helen. Sorry I haven’t written for three days, dear reader, but I had to go to my sister’s house. She was ill and needed someone to look after her baby son, Alexander. It was nice, to spend time with my family, but I missed work and I missed you, my friend.

I know it must sound weird, calling you my “friend” as you are a figment of my imagination… A psychological remedy for my loneliness…

But, as I was saying, before I digressed, I spoke with Helen today. It was actually quite interesting, the things she told me… I never knew… I guess I should write this down and stop antagonizing you with my ellipses and incomplete thoughts.

I went to the Unsolved Cases room in search of Helen. She was behind her librarian-like desk, reading over a list of some sort. I waited until she looked up.

“Deanna, what a pleasant surprise!” she said, genuinely. I liked that about her. “What brings you to my little corner of the department?”

I smiled and explained how I was doing some… personal research on Unspeakables and what their jobs required.

“And I didn’t know who else to come to,” I said at long last. “You’re the only Unspeakable I really know.”

Helen adjusted her glasses so that they were even. I recognized that motion to be one that often came during thought.

“What would you like to know, my dear?” she asked softly. “Do take a seat.”

She conjured a chair for me and I sat in it.

Before I could speak, Helen interrupted, “I have the feeling that this will be a long discussion. Would you like a cup of tea?”

I nodded. Helen is a very motherly person… or she is to me. I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned her before this! Honestly, you would love her, I think. She’s like a mother who doesn’t scold. Like that aunt who actually gives you useful advice on life or that dear friend who has always been your crying shoulder.

“Now, you can begin,” she said as tea cups appeared with a flick of her wand.

I reached for mine. Two lumps of sugar. Helen knew that was my idea of the perfect cup of tea. After taking a sip, I began to ask my questions.

“What’s it like… really like… being an Unspeakable?” I asked.

The question sounded good in my head, but once I had spoken, it sounded vague. Helen cocked her head slightly. I tried again.

“What’s the difference between being an Unspeakable and a Field Researcher?” I rephrased my question.

“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! Well, Deanna, think about what you’re required to do. You give surveys and polls. You read materials. You write reports. You research the unknown. But how many days a week do you work? How many hours a day?” Helen stopped, waiting for my answer.

“I guess I work as many days as possible a week. Sometimes two, sometimes seven.” I took a sip of tea. “I work as many hours as possible. Sometimes three a day, sometimes ten a day.”

Helen, who had been drinking her tea, smacked her lips loudly.

“Now, imagine working, consistently eight hours a day, six days a week. That’s at least forty-eight hours a week. Now, factor in over-time. That’s anywhere between forty-nine hours to sixty hours a week. Could you handle that?”

“Of course I can! I’m a grown woman!” I said, nearly spilling my tea. The thing about talking with Helen is that sometimes, she forgets I’m grown and gets too much into her motherly stride.

She laughs gently. I flare my nostrils in irritation.

“Deanna, please calm down. I understand you are a grown woman. What I mean to say is, ‘Can you handle giving up that much time of your life?’ or perhaps, ‘Could you handle knowing you may be alone for the rest of your life?’ It’s not a question of maturity level; it’s a question of choice.” Helen’s voice was bitter.

I looked at her blankly. Dear God did I look like an idiot. I’m sure my mouth was hanging open. I shut it and regained my composure.

“It’s more than time that you give to this career, Deanna. It’s your life… your soul you give up to do what you love. When I was your age, I was carefree as anything. I had a steady boyfriend and life was going great. But then I got serious about my work. I stopped seeing the boyfriend and I became more serious as a result. Last I heard, my boyfriend married another woman and they have three kids, and six grandchildren. That was the sort of life I could have led; one with family and friends. But I chose this. I became a career woman. Is that what you want to do?”

Helen fell silent. I knew she had just poured her heart and soul out to me. I could tell she felt some regret to the fact she didn’t settle down. Or maybe it wasn’t “regret”. Maybe it was just the curiosity to the unknown. Something all Unspeakables research-- the unknown.

I bit my lip. I had not looked at this side the career. But, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I thought of Delilah. She no longer worked full-time as she had a baby to care for. I thought of how she played peek-a-boo with Alexander every day. I couldn’t see myself reduced to that. Besides, I have the people at work. And I have you, my friend. I think I will become a full-time Unspeakable after all.
***

Dear Reader,

Today, I’m going to see Anterberry about the career change. I will become an Unspeakable. To me, it seems to be the choice that is right for me. Yes, I understand how hard the transition may be on me…. Socially, that is to say. But, it’s a sacrifice I am willing to make. I never really wanted or needed a family of my own�”I was born into one, so why create my own? I don’t think I’ll feel an empty space knowing that I don’t and won’t have kids. It’s not on my Christmas Wish list, now is it? I don’t want to waste my life on Pat-A-Cake when I could be out there, doing what I love.

I hope you understand me, my friend. Maybe you cannot relate. I’ll assume you can’t and see if I can explain it to you…

I always took care of my little sister. In a sense, raised her. What more could I ask for? That was my idea of parenting, because I had no personal benefit from it. It was fun, and we became close as a product of it. That, my friend, fills the void of not having my own family. Delilah’s grown now and doesn’t need me anymore. I need me now. I need to do what I feel is right. And becoming an Unspeakable is what feels right to me.

Unfortunately, neither Jenny nor Ben feels the same way. They both plan on resigning. I’ve heard whispers between them about getting married. I say, ‘good for them’. They deserve each other. Nervous Jenny needs someone to take care of her. And Ben needs someone who will let him take care of them, no questions asked.

I’m going to make a fresh start. I’m going to be part of a new department. I’m going to have new co-workers. I’m going to have new hours. Everything will be new.

Which is why I’m glad I have you. You aren’t “new” per say. You’re my friend and I can take you with me when I change careers.

Perhaps by tomorrow, you will be hearing from Unspeakable Davis. I like the sound of that.