#plus if 'maledictus' was meant to be a feminine thing you probably would've used the feminine form of the word

[carewyncromwell]

“I’ve had enough of reading things By neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians! All I want is the truth... Just gimme some truth...”

~“Gimme Some Truth” by John Lennon

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brief reference to Merlin Wyllt @oneirataxia-girl

x~x~x~x

As January 1996 turned into February, Mia found herself less settled than ever. 

After the Azkaban break-out, Dolores Umbridge issued yet another “Educational Decree” for Hogwarts’s students, which Mia’s nephew Olin described thusly --

Now the teachers can’t talk about anything with their students unless it’s specifically about their classes! I heard Professor Flitwick appealing to Professor Dumbledore about it, since he frequently councils Ravenclaws about personal matters at home. He said he couldn’t bear it if anyone else went through what “Jacob” went through, so I reckon one of his students ended up in a bad place once. And my friend Catie’s parents are going through a nasty divorce right now, so Professor Sprout’s been helping her through it...are teachers just supposed to not talk to their students when they’re afraid to go home because of what’s going on with their parents? 

It made Mia suspect all the more that it had less to do with fixing problems at Hogwarts and much more about keeping students in the dark about what was going on in the political world...for what reason, Mia couldn’t figure out, but it troubled her all the same. The development concerned Florean too.

Brainwashing children to blindly trust in anyone’s authority is never a good sign. Muggle dictators have done it countless times over the centuries, to justify their claim. Even our own Ministry has done it, up to a point, in how they’ve whitewashed Merlin’s legacy as nothing but an example of “the most powerful wizard in history,” rather than someone who actively opposed and fought against what would become the Ministry of Magic and the Statute of Secrecy. I don’t want to believe this decision could be so maliciously motivated, and instead just be out of a misguided kind of protection...but considering what Olin has told you about Dolores Umbridge, I regret to say I have trouble promoting the latter. 

As if sensing how much people were starting to doubt the Daily Prophet, and by extension the Ministry of Magic’s account of what was going on, the Quibbler published an interview with Harry Potter, written by the Prophet’s once star-reporter Rita Skeeter, centered around the events of Cedric Diggory’s death. In the interview, Harry laid out a harrowing account, detailing how he and Cedric had decided to take the Triwizard Cup together for Hogwarts, since they’re reached it at the same time; how the Cup had actually been a Portkey, enchanted to transport them to a dark, unfamiliar graveyard; how as soon as they’d arrived, Peter Pettigrew (who was somehow both alive and a Death Eater!) killed Cedric on the orders of a malformed creature wrapped in rags in his arms; how that creature turned out to be Voldemort himself, who ordered Pettigrew to forcibly take some of Harry’s blood for a potion that restored his body to him; how Voldemort, newly restored and alive, summoned his remaining Death Eaters and tried to kill Harry; and finally how Harry miraculously escaped when his and Voldemort’s wands linked via Priori Incantantem and he magically summoned the Portkey back to his hands, returning him to school. 

It was an outrageous tale -- one too terrifying and ridiculous to believe. And yet, as much as Mia hated to admit it, parts of it seemed oddly sincere. Harry’s responses, for instance, came across as very modest, just like Florean had said he was -- Rita at several points seemed to encourage Harry to embellish his story, asking him about how the Death Eaters tortured him and such, but Harry didn’t rise to the bait.

“They didn’t do anything to me,” said Potter. “Except laugh, maybe -- a couple of them laughed. It was Voldemort who used the Cruciatus Curse -- they just stood back and watched.”

Trying to place herself in this poor boy’s shoes, your humble reporter asked him whether he’d resigned himself to death, upon facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or if he had been truly so determined to survive and tell his story. Potter, however, confessed a shocking lack of introspection.

“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” said Potter. “I just knew I didn’t want to die on my knees. I wanted to die fighting. But then our wands connected, and my...the...ghosts appeared...I guess they’re called shades?...but they told me to...to get the Portkey and run. And Cedric asked me to take his body back. So I did.”

Then there were details here and there that were so specific, it seemed incredibly unlikely that a teenage boy could’ve just made it up. Why was it that almost every name Harry recalled among the Death Eaters belonged to someone who’d been accused but acquitted of helping the Death Eaters? And the one that hadn’t, Peter Pettigrew? Mia remembered Pettigrew and his little “buddies,” Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and James Potter, from school -- they and Severus Snape had been all four years older than her, but Mia remembered them, and even at the time, she’d had a hard time believing that Peter Pettigrew of all people had tried to stand up to the likes of Sirius Black. She’d ascribed this to Pettigrew losing all common sense in response to the grief of losing the Potters to one of his other best friends -- but even then, Pettigrew had always had a bit of “Slytherin” in him. He was cowardly, sure, and he was never as talented or intelligent as his other friends, but he was also rather clever, when push came to shove, and he had a way of weaseling his way out of trouble. If this story of Potter’s had been made-up, anyone else would’ve accused Sirius Black of being the ringleader of this whole affair -- Minister Fudge himself had claimed the Azkaban break-out was all his doing. Some others might’ve even gone after Severus Snape, considering his history with the Death Eaters. But Pettigrew? Why would Harry accuse someone who’d supposedly been dead for so many years? Why bring up this man, after so long, and depict him as this cowardly, reluctant supporter of the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time? How would Harry even have known Pettigrew was the sort to cower behind his more powerful friends, when Pettigrew had supposedly died when he was still an infant? How could Harry describe Pettigrew so well, as if he were a real person who’d aged and grown over the years, instead of just how he looked in his old photographs? 

Mia had been so invested by Harry’s account that she’d read the interview all the way through without putting it down. She then read it several more times over, and each time, she felt like her stomach was being tied in another knot.

It was only when a grayish-brown whippet came over to rest his head in her lap that Mia looked up from the Quibbler at last.

She forced a smile.

“...Hi, Dad.”

The whippet stared up at Mia for a long moment. Then some small flare of consciousness seemed to flicker to life behind his eyes, and the dog seemed to bend in on himself, resting his paw on the arm of the chair Mia was sitting in. Little by little, that paw seemed to grow and his short gray suede-like fur began to dissolve away into peach-colored skin...until at last, the bald, aging candymaker Ambrosius Flume sat curled up in a ball on the floor.

He opened and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he looked up. He put on a brave smile, upon seeing his second daughter.

“...Mia,” he said warmly. “Good morning.”

He glanced over at the closest window.

“...Or perhaps it’s good afternoon. Is it still the 13th?”

“Yeah,” said Mia.

“Oh good, I haven’t missed Valentine’s Day,” Ambrosius said brightly. “I still need to finish that special Sugar Butterfly for your mother...”

Seeing the somber look on Mia’s face, the candymaker’s face lost some of its cheer, but he still tried to keep a brave smile on.

“Mia, it’s all right,” he said gently. “I didn’t leave the house, I know that much. And I’m perfectly safe, so long as I don’t wander too far...”

Mia’s gaze fell down to the article she’d been reading uncomfortably.

It was true Ambrosius’s condition could be managed. He had always been able to turn back, once he’d interacted with his family and recalled his true self through them. But blood Maledictions were an incurable condition, one that gradually worsened over time. Sooner or later, all of those afflicted by it would transform into an animal devoid of any human consciousness and never be able to turn back into themselves. And the more Ambrosius turned into a dog without meaning to -- the longer he stayed in that form -- the more afraid Mia would be that he'd never become human again. It was a fear she’d had since she was a young child -- one so strong that her boggart for years had been her father in dog form...his eyes completely blank and growling at her like she was a stranger...

Ambrosius reached out and took his daughter’s hand. Mia looked up at him, to find a very comforting expression on his face.

“I may not remember everything, after getting dressed for the morning,” he said, “but I know what woke me up -- as it so often is -- was me seeing my little Pepper Imp and needing to be her father.”

Mia’s lips curled up in an emotional smile despite herself. Ambrosius smiled affectionately in return as he brought up his other hand to lightly pat her cheek.

“You looked quite troubled, when I came to,” he said. “Yet I don’t think it was just about me.”

He eyed Rita Skeeter’s article in her lap significantly.

Mia exhaled heavily.

“...Dad...I’m so conflicted,” she confessed. “The Ministry of Magic has always there to keep us safe -- that’s all it’s ever wanted to do, I know it. And yet...everything it’s been saying about Potter lately -- about Azkaban -- about You-Know-Who...none of it’s making any sense, Dad! Even Tia agrees. Dirk even thinks that Sturgis Podmore might’ve been put under the Imperius Curse, when he was found down in the Department of Mysteries last year for seemingly no reason. And Callie...Callie’s been talking to folks, ever since Rita Skeeter interviewed Potter...not just airheads like Jacob Cromwell or Xenophilius Lovegood, people who live in the real world, like Mafalda Hopkirk and John Dawlish -- respected Ministry employees -- ”

She picked it up and handed it to Ambrosius so he could read it himself from his spot on the floor.

“...And all of them -- well, just about all -- think Potter’s telling the truth! That Minister Fudge knows it too, deep down, but he’s been actively trying to discredit Potter and Dumbledore, all because he doesn’t want to face the truth! Even if that would have to mean that the Ministry has been lying about everything for the last year -- about Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, the Azkaban break-out -- about You-Know-Who not being back! And worse still...I’m starting to think he might be too...”

She bowed her head, swallowing back the lump that had cropped up in her throat.

“I just don’t understand how Fudge could do something so horrible,” she said weakly. “Even if he is afraid...what about all of us? Aren’t we afraid, not knowing what’s going on? Does our fear not matter? Does Olin’s and Skylar’s fear not matter? Fudge is supposed to be our leader, our Minister. Won’t we be afraid -- even more afraid than him -- not even having someone who’ll fight to protect us and the ones we love?”

Ambrosius got to his feet so that he could settle himself down on the arm of Mia’s chair, bringing a paternal hand up to rest on the top of her head.

“I know,” he murmured. “It is a terrible thought.”

He slid a lock of hair that had come out of Mia’s bun neatly behind her ear.

“I wish I could say that it has to be some sort of misunderstanding...but based just on what I’m reading here -- ”

He flourished the article in his hand before putting it down on the side table.

“ -- and hearing what I have from Callie’s broadcasts...I don’t think your suspicions are as farfetched as we’d like to believe.”

Mia looked up at Ambrosius. His face was incredibly solemn.

“I hate to say it...but we may indeed be in a situation where the ones we’ve chosen to lead us have chosen their own self-interest over our lives. And if that’s truly the case...I think we may have to do some looking, to find others who see the road we’re on and may also want to reroute our course.”

"How could we do that?” asked Mia. “We’re just confectioners -- we’re not politicians, or Aurors...we’re not Dumbledore or the Minister. What could we do to protect our world, if things really are as bad as we think?”

Ambrosius put on a brave smile again as he scratched the back of his neck beside his ear. “I’m not sure...but, well, we can’t be the only ones, to not believe the Ministry’s narrative. Who knows? Maybe if we can find those other people who see the dark clouds overhead and want to do something about it, we can put our heads together. Then maybe we’ll find some way to be of use.”

But Mia shook her head.

“‘Be of use?’ In a second Wizarding War? Potentially facing off against the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time?”

She brought her arms around herself as she rested her face in her own lap.

“We’re just normal people, Dad,” she said despondently against her legs. “What would we be, to a monster like that?”

Ambrosius brought his arms around Mia and gave her a hug. Mia inhaled the familiar vanilla smell off of his coat, trying to find some shred of courage, however elusive it was.

She didn’t want to believe things were as terrible as she feared. Merlin...did she hope beyond reason that she was wrong.