Chapter Text
December 12, 1995
"Ready kids?" Eddie asked, his smile mischievous as he shook his hat, causing the paper pieces inside to rustle quietly.
"Kids? Really Eddie?" Percy’s annoyed tone took my attention from the snow outside the window.
"Right, you two can drink. Young adults, are you ready?"
Percy gave him a stern look before reaching into the hat. Eddie gave it another shake as he stuck his hand in. I had organized the drawing for the Secret Santa exchange and it seemed to offer neutrality to have someone else administer the drawing since it was just the three of us. Though I had already charmed the hat and the individual papers to not give us our own names. Minister Fudge said he and Elizabeth were getting everyone something on the day of the exchange. I was fine with that, I did not want to have to get a gift for my boss. I was giving Elizabeth some exotic seeds for her greenhouse.
Percy pulled the piece of paper and kept it close as he opened it to glance at the name.
I drew next after Eddie needlessly shook the hat for two pieces of paper. I reached in and pulled out a piece of paper and quickly opened it.
Eddie Smith.
Okay. Eddie likes food, he likes exotic tea and Pearl Leonar. Not in that order. His desk is messy, but I'm not touching that in a gift exchange. He also likes travel memoirs, mostly related to Spain. I had caught him taking breaks to read a couple of pages over the last few months between assignments.
Eddie pulled out the last name and read it with a smug smile that spoke of trouble for either me or Percy on the day of the exchange.
"Alright, the hat has spoken. So if any of us make eye contact in Diagon Alley, we pretend we didn't see each other. No peeking. No guessing."
Percy and I nodded in agreement.
The holiday courtesies could begin.
Oo0Oo0
December 19, 1995
I walked into the office after having lunch with Misty to find Eddie next to Percy's desk, leaning his hip against the corner with crossed arms and a pensive expression. The sleeves of his robes were pinned back to help keep the embroidered sleeves clean of ink from the long paper he was writing at his own desk. He said before I left that it was something for the Law Enforcement Office on the Minister’s behalf.
"Maybe you should go," Eddie seemed not to notice I had come back from my break.
I risked a sharp glance at my coworkers as I sat down at my desk. This was odd, Eddie was not a grim, solemn person and this was the quietest I had ever heard Eddie's voice, it was a low reassuring tone that sounded… well, paternal.
"The Minister said if you want to go, it's not a problem. Audrey and I can cover for you."
Percy gave Eddie a look so… disgruntled and spiteful that I immediately began to look for anything I could double check for spelling errors or deliver to another department. I was not sure I needed to be here for this.
“Hello, Audrey.” Percy’s voice cut across the room like a knife to end whatever conversation he was having with Eddie. His voice was pleasant with me, countering the forceful glare he was leveling at Eddie. "How was lunch?"
“Hey Percy, Eddie. It was fine. Misty says hi by the way.” I smiled awkwardly and sat down at my desk to open a folder that I hoped had some paperwork I could pretend to look at for a few minutes while I tried to piece together what I had just walked into. No. I did not have to piece anything together. It was not my business. I was not a snoop.
Eddie’s voice dropped, the attempted soft tones of his voice were an effort to keep his talk with Percy private, but I had good hearing and Eddie was a loud person by nature.
I could hear all of the discussion whether I wanted to or not.
“It’s your father, I know he’s a bit mad, but you only get one.”
“That’s not any of your business, Smith!”
“Fine. Don’t see him. Do you want to go and at least talk to the hospital clerk?”
“No!”
“Fine. I won’t say anything else about it.”
“See that you don’t!”
Hospital? No. None of my business. I knew better than to be nosy. Ignoring my recent behavior in regards to snooping and eavesdropping, I was too old for that kind of behavior.
Oo0Oo0
A couple of hours later, I found myself in the file room humming along to the song from the radio. I had kicked my heels off, leaving me better able to move up and down to alphabetize and move the files into empty drawers. I enjoyed the manual labor, it would be easier with magic, but I would rather take my time and make sure everything was done correctly and find any potential filing errors in the process, magic made it hard to catch the little stuff.
My bewitching girl, where have you gone? I have what you need right here. My dear, my darling. Please be mine, you’re so fine. Truly, my darling you are my bewitching girl!
That song was horrid, but it had been stuck in my head for close to a week. Celestina Warbeck was fine, but she was all over the radio waves with Christmas songs for the last several weeks. At least My Bewitching Girl sounded like a winter love ballad, but could be played at any time of year.
It was a ballad about love and lust and the bewitching girl trying to decide if sweet words would be enough to win her heart. Misty had to explain it to me, I missed some context and the roar of the bar was no help in the matter.
My quiet moment was interrupted by the file room door opening with a full click and clang causing me to jump and turn towards the door.
"Sorry," Percy's tone was unmistakable in its bossy edge and careful enunciation. He looked down at my stray shoes at the end of the row of file cabinets.
"You're fine."
It was quiet for a minute before he spoke again. "It's quiet in here."
I nodded, "Files are sensitive to noise."
Ugh, why am I so weird?
Percy chuckled, a muffled noise that caught my attention for its strangeness. Misty and Zara found me funny, I just assumed that was because they were both a bit odd themselves.
I played with my bracelets awkwardly before turning my attention back to the files.
We were both consumed with our own thoughts as we rifled through file cabinets on opposite sides of the room. The silence between us was of a comfortable kind.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see your father?” My voice broke the silence seemingly without input from things like good sense and courtesy. From what I understood, the man had a nasty accident at home and would be in the hospital for a while.
A file drawer shut far louder than necessary, I could feel him turning to glare at me, like I had overstepped an invisible line that separates coworker from acquaintance. Which I had, but in my defense, Eddie had done it first.
I took a deep breath and looked at him. Percy looked tired, the shadows under his eyes were a stark contrast to the firm, harsh look in his eyes. I got the impression he was gearing up to argue.
Terrible, hypocritical thing for me to ask.
“If you want to go to the hospital, I can cover for you with the Minister. If you truly don’t want to go, I’m not going to judge you for it.”
Something shifted in his eyes, his expression morphing from one of quiet rage and annoyance to something more… confused.
Maybe I wondered what I would do if my own father was in the hospital while we were not on speaking terms. Would I go to him? Or would I just ignore it and go on with my life and my anger knowing other people were there to handle the matter? Perhaps I wanted to subconsciously treat Percy as my own ‘what if’ scenario? To have some kind of guidance or idea of how I should react within my own awkward family dynamics.
“What is your family like?”
That was sudden.
“Messy,” I stated thoughtlessly. Percy raised an eyebrow, confusion settling in a way that was uncomfortable to see in someone so self assured. I corrected myself quickly. “Most families are, I think. My stepmother plays favorites, my father is to focused on his career-“
“Is that a bad thing?”
“My stepmother playing favorites?”
“No, your father and his career. Is it wrong to want something better than what you started with?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you start with nothing, or fighting for scraps of what everyone else has, is it wrong to want more from your life?”
I understood that I had grown up with power and privilege that was denied to other people by virtue of who my family was. My grandfather, Atticus Graves, was a Head Auror and had achieved fame for defeating a Dark Wizard who was actively hunting people to try and create living body from their different parts, doing other unsavory things along the way. It was a story grandpa told often when the lights were low and my parents thought I was in bed when I was listening for the stairs. In the years that followed, Annette would join me listening to this story from the top of the stairs, which would probably explain her fascination with serial killers and murder. My grandfather’s accomplishment had only added to the record and resume of the Graves family as Dark Wix hunters. It allowed us opportunities in business, politics and social opportunities that rivaled the barons of business themselves.
My father had grown up in comfort, Grandma Ophelia denied him only the outlandish and cultivated within him a fiendish drive for success alongside the work ethic and social skills required to go far in life. His younger brother, John, had settled in New Orleans, marrying Araminta Laurent and producing Quincy, my favorite cousin. Uncle John wanted a quiet life, (aside from the parties in the French Quarter) a contrast to his social climbing, ambitious relatives. Jack Graves could have sat back and coasted through life in peace and comfort, but he always wanted more.
But I had lied about Jack Graves to Percy before and would not have cared to say any of that in any case.
“I don’t think so. My father was more interested in my brother when he was home. Carrying on the family business, family name or some other nonsense.” I paused for a moment to gather my straying thoughts. “My father is content with wand regulations and finds me disappointing for wanting something different from my life then what he wants from me "
Percy scoffed and looked at me for a moment with a furrowed brow. “Clearly we both suffer from foolish fathers.”
He picked up the files he had set on top of the cabinet and walked out the door without another word, leaving me to stare at his back as the door closed and think about careless, foolish fathers and their willful children.
Oo0Oo0
December 22, 1995
Lucinda had gone to a bridge game with some of her friends and Tavish had quickly taken the opportunity to invite me to his hut for what he called a traditional meal. Apparently, Lucinda liked more English food, much to the old gardener’s disappointment. He assured me that I would like it and to be there around five.
I admired each page as Tavish cooked hurriedly in the kitchen. All he told me was that it was a national dish of Scotland and wanted me to get in touch with my heritage. Which consisted of Tavish walking around in the green tartan kilt and wool knee high socks while he cooked. He said something about the kilt getting his mind right for cooking his traditional favorites.
He looked comfortable, even if I found it a bit silly. The temperature had dropped considerably over the past two weeks. I couldn't imagine wearing a skirt or a kilt in this weather, though I suppose the hut was more than warm enough.
Tavish’s hut was always warm with a crackling fire in the hearth with a collection of pencil art framed on the walls. He had an assortment of books about botanical gardens and coffee table books about the world's most beautiful gardens in full color that made me feel comfortable and compelled by the colors and the way the flowers moved in an invisible breeze in a landscape so gentle it was like a dream.
There was an easel with a half done pencil sketch of the fountain in the middle of the hedge maze not far from the house. I had walked the maze a few times before the snow came and managed to avoid several of the nibbling plants that Tavish had hidden along the edges to help protect the hedge roots. The center of the maze had a small, marble fountain that was difficult to find, there were a lot of little turns to get to the true center and was very easy to miss, even if one could hear the fountain.
The small sketchbook next to the easel had diagrams of ideas for the the spring, summer and autumn gardens, all the plants were clearly labelled and had notations on the side of the page for the next draft he did on that particular section of the grounds. He also had some notations for the Gala next year, with additional notations from Lucinda about the number of people and the amount of money from the historical fund had been allotted to Thornell’s house and how much for the gardens. There was no word on the time of year yet, though Lucinda was hoping for a summer or autumn event, due to some unfortunate spring allergies.
I turned another page in the gardening book I was looking at while the radio played a Quidditch match featuring the Holyhead Harpies and the Littlefield Lurchers. Tavish said it wasn't even a good Scottish game, though he did his best to try and explain the rules to me. I didn't get it, though I nodded politely at the explanation. I thought Quadpot was a much more sensible game. Go Snidgets!
"'Ows work?"
"It's fine, Eddie's given me a speechwriting project, Percy usually handles it but he's doing other stuff right now so he'll just edit it this time."
Percy complained bitterly about my American spelling in a way that really was quite comical. Eddie had taken to writing notes about the lunch schedule in Castillian Spanish to annoy Percy. He was taking lessons from Pearl a few days a week after work.
"Good!" Tavish's voice echoed from the kitchen, his tone jovial.
"Yeah, I need to write the speech for the interdependent head meeting where they talk about the Potter situation."
Tavish made a noise and I heard the hot oil crackle and snap loudly from the kitchen.
"What do you think about that, Tavish?"
"Potter? Da boy's addled! Ta many bludgers da head!"
Oh. Tavish told me about bludgers a while ago, they were the balls that went into the hoops, right?
Tavish and I existed in a comfortable silence for the next several minutes as the concerns of the kitchen consumed Tavish’s usual interest in politics.
I was soon called to the kitchen, Tavish had pulled out a chair for me like a gentleman and motioned for me to sit down with an enthusiastic grin, his kilt swirling around his knees from how fast he was moving. I took the seat with a joking curtsy that made Tavish laugh before I took the chair and put the napkin in my lap the way Lucinda constantly reminded me to do.
Tavish summoned two plates with a flick of his wand and held them in the air for a moment while he sat down across from me.
“’Ere ya go!” Tavish plopped a plate down in front of me with a strange gray looking thing upon it and a fiendishly, joyful gleam in his eyes. The second plate came to rest in front of him with a clang.
“Oh, this looks great!” I was lying. It looked questionable. “What is it?”
“Try it, then I’ll tell ya.”
I nodded, feeling adventurous and cracking open the gray bag with a fork and knife, causing the ground meat to fall out onto the plate with onions and a softly spicy, earthy aroma to flood my senses. It smelled nice and I took several bites.
“This is good!”
Tavish beamed at me and opened his own. “Tha’ tis a haggis! A special Scottish dish.”
I took another bite, it was rich and delicious.
“Haggis? What’s in it? I’m surprised I’ve never seen one in the states, someone could make real money on this!”
“Sheep.”
“Oh, it’s lamb.”
“Nah. Sheep. Full grown.” Tavish sat down and opened his own haggis. “We're a poor country and use every part of da sheep.”
“Every part?” I was halfway through the haggis and enjoying myself immensely, but something about the words every part slowed me down in curiosity.
“Yeh, we use da stomach ta keep it together, da meat, lung-“
My fork made a clambering noise as I put it on the plate. “The what?”
“There’s oats in there, onions,” Tavish was digging into his fried haggis while I took in what he was telling me. “Illegal in da states fer some reason.”
Gondulphus' grave!
"Ya need ta gettin touch with yer heritage."
I picked up my fork and dug back into the haggis. It was delicious if I pretended that I did not hear anything else Tavish was saying about the creation of the dish and how it was made.
"Ya should find a nice Scottish boy, nae some poncy Englishman."
"I'm American, I can't tell the difference."
"Wha-? No, no 'ere's the difference, lass!"
The topic changed from the national dish of Scotland to the crimes of the English. Tavish had an interest in history and a knowledge of land disputes between both countries that left me riveted, which led back to his original topic about English boys and Scottish girls, that the English were cold and I was too nice to deal with that, that Scotland was full of warm people despite the bitter winter.
It was like listening to the rest of my classmates from Ilvermorny talk about the difference between the Northern and the Southern United States.
"If ya 'ave boys givin' ya problems, Audrey, ya just tell me an' I'll fix'em fer ya!" His eyes glimmered with a wolfish intent and I understood he had the best of intentions meant within what was clearly a lovingly issued threat.
I smiled and nodded along, knowing that Tavish would keep most of his opinions to himself no matter who I decided to bring around in the years to come unless the boy was truly a monster. Much like an uncle or a grandfather. Yes. Tavish was grandfatherly, sweet and I trusted him implicitly.
I finished the delicious haggis and decided to include the experience in my next letter to Quincy and Cassandra.