It was a week later, and Zak was sitting in the kitchen with the others, balanced on the windowsill with his feet on the table. They had all convened there without any organisation, and they had been chatting about normal, everyday things - but now they were quiet, waiting. Sam, Webster and Emilia had joined them from the house they were sharing a few streets away, and had thankfully managed to convince Josie and Louise to go out shopping for the afternoon. After about fifteen minutes, there were footsteps in the corridor and on the stairs, and Eddie arrived in the kitchen. He didn’t seem surprised to see them all there waiting for him, and just walked over to the sink to rinse out the empty glass he was holding.
–It’s been a week,†Zak said.
Eddie dried the glass with a tea towel and then put it away. Turning back to the rest of the kitchen and leaning against the cupboard, he gave a faint smile.
–I suppose it has.â€
There was a pause. Eddie looked tired, Zak thought. His pale skin was fractionally more so than usual, and there were faint bags under his weary-looking eyes.
–What…†Sam hesitated before asking the question. Eddie looked at him and nodded for him to continue.
–What… how did you do that stuff? The lights… what was it?†he asked slowly. Eddie raised his eyebrows, but his expression wasn’t mocking - it was curious.
–What do you think it was?†he asked inquisitively, directing the question at everyone. Silence. Zak bit his lip, the word that had been in his mind for the last seven days poised on the tip of his tongue.
–Magic.â€
Heads turned in Zak’s direction, as it was he who had spoken. He ignored them, watching Eddie closely, who gave a short laugh.
–My sister owes me money,†he said with a grin, –I told her you’d guess, and she didn’t believe me.â€
Zak didn’t know whether to be offended or complimented, but he laughed anyway. This seemed to break the tension; everyone relaxed a few inches, at least.
–Really, Eddie? Magic?†Emilia asked, looking a little nervous. Eddie smiled.
–Really.†He looked at the others as though making up his mind, and then took from his pocket the slender piece of wood they had seen him use before. He pointed it at the mug on the kitchen table, muttered something under his breath and flicked it.
The mug rose into the air.
It turned around gracefully, its movements an exaggerated version of the gestures Eddie made with the piece of wood, before slowly descending down again to land on the table with a quiet clunk.
There was a moment of silence.
–Whoa,†Webster said.
–You can do magic,†Amy said, sounding like she could hardly believe it. Of the many hundreds of questions amassing in Zak’s head, one fought for his attention.
–So what does that make you? Magician, wizard, warlock… witch…?†he asked. The last suggestion got a few grins, and another laugh from Eddie.
–The term is wizard,†he said. –My sister is a witch.â€
–And that…â€
–This is a wand,†Eddie said, holding it up.
–Can I see?†Zak asked. Eddie nodded and passed it to Amy, who was closest. They passed it around; when Zak had it he realised that it had a simple, carved handle and seemed to be made out of a single piece of wood.
–Yours is different to theirs,†he said. –A different wood?â€
Eddie nodded.
–Mine’s acacia,†he said.
–Are they all different, then?†Sam asked.
–Yep. Every wand is as individual as its owner,†Eddie explained. –Different woods, different lengths, different cores.â€
–Cores?â€
Eddie nodded again.
–They vary a lot, but in England it’s mostly phoenix tail feather, dragon heartstring or unicorn hair,†he said. Everyone looked at him, surprised.
–You’re not winding us up, are you?†Zak said, knowing the answer. Eddie shook his head.
–Right.â€
The wand was passed back to Eddie.
–What core is yours?†Zak asked him.
–Unicorn hair,†Eddie said. –Because each creature is individual, it makes each wand unique to its owner.â€
–Could you use someone else’s wand?†asked Emilia.
–I could, yes,†Eddie said, –but it wouldn’t… well, it would work, but not as well. And big or difficult magic is much easier with your own wand.†The room was quiet as people took this in. Eddie didn’t rush them, and for that Zak was glad. Another question presented itself, and he voiced it.
–Unicorns?â€
~
Several hours later, Zak had so much new information running round his head he felt a little dizzy. A whole magical community hidden behind their own; dragons and phoenixes and unicorns kept a secret; wands and spells and cauldrons and curses and owls and -
A small, sceptical part of Zak’s head remarked that it sounded like the blurb for a really cheesy book, but he dismissed it. The weirdest idea, the hardest to understand, was Eddie as a wizard. Eddie. Eddie, who was polite and tidy and quiet, could make things levitate and sent letters by owl post. Eddie, who had perfect grades in GCSE and A-level music, had been to a boarding school for witches and wizards, studying transfiguration and potions and learning how to duel. Eddie, who had brought hardly anything with him to university compared to the others, owned a broomstick, and knew how to fly it.
Zak shook his head to try and clear it. But he found it all fascinating, and couldn’t help running through the things he had learnt. Most interesting had been talking about the magical community’s attitude to normal people - muggles, Eddie said. There were those who thought of them as friends, but they were a minority. Mostly they were thought of as –differentâ€; the –other†people, not necessarily of less worth but just… different. And there were a select few who believed witches and wizards were superior to muggles. Zak had listened intently as Eddie had explained how this small group, led by one person, had terrorized the magical world over thirty years ago. There was so much to it, so much complexity; but it was real. Really real.
Eddie seemed more animated as he spoke, and Zak wondered how hard it had been to keep it all to himself for the last year and a half. To have a whole part of your life shut away during term time, to try and be honest with your friends without revealing the secret. Zak had never had a secret like that to keep, and now that he was did he was glad that he had the others to share it with - he didn’t think he would have been able to alone.
~
Harry, sitting alone in his study yet again, sighed. He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses as he shifted position, and yawned, glancing at his watch. Half past one. Great.
He should really head to bed - creep up the stairs, get changed without lighting the candles, and slide into the bed next to Ginny, trying not to wake her. But his mind just wouldn’t switch off.
Flicking through the paperwork in front of him, he leant forward again. These were family affairs; papers of ownership for properties and stocks and bonds. The source of the Potter family wealth. But sitting open on top of them was a simple black notebook.
Innocuous and muggle in appearance, it contained much more worth than anyone who saw it would expect. In it, Harry had notes on everything. Times and dates; information tracking anyone suspicious; all the odd little details that didn’t quite fit. He had contacts everywhere.
He had never intended to become this, he thought glumly. He had thought he’d left all of the secrets and lies behind when the war had ended. But the lack of outright fighting seemed to only make things more complicated.
He had spent such a long time secluded in the Burrow, recovering from both physical and emotional wounds, and he had expected everything to be dealt with by the time he’d been ready to rejoin the rest of the world. And yes, some things had changed. The Ministry was more enlightened, by miles. Scrimgeour had still been the Minister for Magic, but changes were being made. For example, witches and wizards could now apply for permission to tell a muggle about the wizarding world, instead of having to prove marriage or close blood-relation. The forms were several long scrolls of parchment, and the processing took weeks if not months, but it was an open avenue - one that had not existed before. And it was improving. But then Scrimgeour had stepped down from the position following an illness - his age was beginning to catch up with him - and although he remained an influential voice, Aubrey Callahan was now Minister for Magic. His stance on the matter was vague, probably deliberately. He frequently wrote it off in interviews as a non-issue, which Harry thought was dangerous. Anything that the whole society felt strongly about should be paid close attention to, not dismissed out of hand.
The division of opinions that had begun the war in the first place was still present, though in a slightly altered form. Instead of Death Eaters - anti-muggle - and the Order of the Phoenix - pro-muggle - they had what the Prophet was currently referring to as –pro-integration and anti-integrationâ€. In other words, those who believed that the ultimate goal of wizarding society was to integrate with the muggle world, and those who believed that the two should always be kept apart. Oh, there were a few fence-sitters in the middle, but almost everyone had an opinion on the matter.
–We’ve stayed separate this long, why should we change it?â€
–Think of all the things we could learn if we combined muggle science with magic!â€
–They’d all want magic - and we’d be stretched thin. There’s just not enough of us.â€
–Do we really have a right to stay separate? This was never meant to be a permanent measure.â€
–With our population expanding, how can we be sure they won’t see us as a threat?â€
Harry ran a hand through his hair. The debate raged, in some form or another, in every edition of the Prophet. It came up in almost every conversation. And people reacted very differently. Harry himself happened to know a few high-ups in the Ministry who knew that the Minister’s Office was working on a long-term plan for reintegration, but no one knew whether that was an actual goal of the Minister or simply a contingency plan. And the Minister himself kept at his vague hand-waving responses, committing to neither path.
The extremists were the worrying part. The pro-integration groups had their spokespeople, but the attitude was normally in favour of a slow approach. No one was planning anything drastic like apparating into Leicester Square. But the anti-integration groups… they had their rational supporters by the dozen, but they also had a nastier side. The outright attacks on muggles from the war had become sly undermining of witches or wizards who associated with them; rumour-mongering and quiet slander. Add to that all the unpleasant little ‘accidents’ that seemed to keep happening to the pro-integrationists - things that broke, trips and falls, general ill-health and misfortune - and it seemed obvious that people were acting out their frustrations. But it was difficult if not impossible to prove.
Harry’s musings were interrupted by a polite cough from his office fireplace.
–Come through, Malfoy,†he called without turning around. A moment later, Draco Malfoy had joined him in his office.
–Potter,†he said in greeting. Harry gestured for him to take a seat which Draco did, gratefully.
–Cold night,†the blond man remarked. –Thought you said you wouldn’t be up this late tonight.â€
Harry shrugged.
–These things happen,†he replied. –Don’t make this a long talk, though.â€
Draco gave a courteous nod of the head, and Harry responded with a half-smile.
–So,†he began. –How’s life as an outcast of society?â€