Absit Omen RPG

Lydia was leaving to head into the warmer family room, but she paused to listen to Mordecai. “Because, Mord,” she said, “he’s avoiding my intuition and perceptiveness. He knows I read him better than you do, and don’t need him to outright say things for me to confirm them. He’s more likely to talk to you, Mord.”

”Excuse me, did you just imply I am less intuitive than you?” said her husband indignantly. She didn’t have to look behind to know he was rolling his eyes. ”My wife, ever the joker.”

She laughed. “You know it!”

He’d keep his promise. She knew that too.

Lydia gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, though it was hard enough to nudge her husband sideways. “If that’s a ‘puff thing to say, then you’re a pair of brooding claws alright! Too much thinking, not enough doing. Look.” She got off the counter and faced him, reaching up to grasp his face in both hands. “Whatever it is, just try and talk with him a little. He doesn’t have a family yet, Merlin knows when he’ll ever have one with his issues. If you feel that you haven’t prepared him enough, at least make an effort to prepare him for that. And don’t start talking about relationships, alright? Just focus on the now. You, him.”

She let go and stood in front of her bewildered husband. “If anything, it’s been a while since you two have had a proper chat and bonding time, haven’t you? There’s a lot of baggage in the lives of both of you. At least just let him know he isn’t alone in his concerns.” Lydia turned to leave, but hesitated. “Don’t tell him I know more than I let on. It’s not hard to read him, but to be fair that’s because I live with you.”

His wife raised her eyebrows. “That he’s upset at you? For what reason? You know Arcturus hates being angry. He’s too gentle for that. Remember the last time Hogwarts sent us a letter about the time he froze a student’s hand to the desk because the student ridiculed his friend for being bad at Charms? He was so upset about it when we asked him about it - we weren’t even going to scold him!” She sighed, shaking her head. “And then the war happened and he comes home in bloodstained clothes…”

Lydia shook her head. “You two are so hard on yourselves, you know? I wish there was some way to get you two to forgive yourselves for your past mistakes. There’s only so much you can do for yourself or people. The two of you have such good intentions, and yet the best you do is undermined by the mistakes you make.” She shrugged. “A destiny can only be realised if you lose the illusion of control, you know.”

Lydia very primly lifted her wand and waved it at the mug. While the piece of crockery gently floated over to the sink and set itself down to be washed, she put her wand away and went to stand next to her husband. “Yes, like holding yourself to an impossible standard and then berating yourself for not reaching it when you inevitably couldn’t.” She smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes.

“One of these days you should just talk with him about the bad habits you perpetuate. He’s picked up so many from you, and in the wake of the war he’s only been using them as refuge to hide himself. Just like you do.” She prodded her husband on his arm. “The only difference is that you’re much more open with me, and Arcturus doesn’t. I doubt he’s ever confided deeply in his friends, or lovers. It might be a bad thing for him.”

Lydia elbowed her husband, making him jump a little. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.” She walked into the house and placed the shrub on the windowsill. Half the kitchen had been commandeered into being her indoor garden; while there was space for the dining table, it would be accompanied by a variety of plants. Since Arcturus had left the house for Diagon, she had been occupying more of the space lately and now there were a few small trees in pots next to a large trellis absolutely covered in foliage near the dining table as well.

She opened the window to let a little of the fresh air in, slipping off her gardening gloves. “Shut the door behind you, will you, Mord? It’s chilly.” The witch shivered a little as she hung her gloves up over the rubbish bin inside the kitchen, the dirt automatically falling off straight into the waiting mouth. They had been a lovely gift from Johann Storm, and Lydia had on more than one occasion considered sending him photographs of her using them. He would not come by anymore, of course, but the Hollingburys rarely ever forgot about the people they cared about.

“And please don’t brush off my thanks. You two really have a habit of doing that.” She turned to look at him. “Amongst other faults. I didn’t want a greenhouse because that would take up the entire back garden, and honestly as much as I’ve banned you two from duelling in there it’s still ours. Not mine.”

“I did.” Lydia patted down the soil inside the bag before fastening the neck around the stem of the shrub. “I wanted to leave it to adapt to the winter, but it’s not taking. It weathered November and December just fine, but January seems to be getting colder. Ashenmoore’s augurey predicted a bitterly cold period coming up, or at least he thinks that’s what it means.”

She got to her feet, holding the shrub and turning to look back at him. “I’m not taking chances. Silverleaf is hardy, but not at the temperatures he’s suggested.” The witch took a moment to admire her husband a little without his knowledge - the white hair tucked behind his ears, the lines less weary upon his visage, the neatly kept beard he always saw to in the mornings before work.

“Did you enjoy your sleep, then? I trust you rested very well.”

The rustle of leaves was the only sound on the quiet, foggy Sunday morning on Stuart Road as Lydia carefully grasped the stem of the shrub while the trowel blade bit into the frosted soil. For a while, there was simply the sound of earth being shifted as she focused on the work. There was just something humble and down to earth about plants and taking care of them as one might care for animals.

She sensed someone standing behind her, but did not move initially until she had freed the plant from the ground. “You’re up early. I left you to sleep in.” The lines on her face creased as she smiled at her husband, who was holding a mug of tea in one hand.

"The long arm of the law, but the even longer hand of the government." Lydia heaved a sigh. "Well, to start with I had no idea what to do, and it was on the brink of the First War. We didn't know it would be, but who did? The Ministry needed staff, especially Transport, and I was young and chomping at the bit to meet new people. Those days when we hoped the better of others." She smiled, though slightly wanly, as her fork made silent work of what was left of her cake.

"That was it. That, and back then working for the Ministry was more than a good thing. Contributing to the nation's welfare, for the people, for the good of society." She took a sip from her cup. "I don't know about now. It's been over two or three decades since I left, and I've only got Mord's word to go by. But never guess or assume on secondhand information, for the chance that it might lead down a path of misguidance." Lydia shrugged.

"Sometimes I think about going back. But there are a lot of memories that I have of the Ministry that I would prefer to stay as memories." Two prongs neatly speared a slice of green sponge. "Mord shares my agreement, but unfortunately...his job is all he knows to do. What about you?" Her blue eyes alighted on Johann's face. "What do you think about working for the Ministry?"

"At this rate you'd be committing a crime worthy of being thrown into Azkaban for your atrocities and disrespect to tea in general," said Lydia teasingly. "Mord surprisingly isn't that much of a judge when it comes to other people's tea-drinking habits. Your response to his love of tea is not a rare occurrence, especially not when he starts a conversation with some interesting facts about tea. It's that, or state some interesting facts about law. One of them's a lot more dull, I'm sure."

The volume of conversation from the small gaggle of witches in the corner rose for a moment. Lydia gave them a quick glance. "He maintains around three teas. Hasn't got the time to experiment a lot, settles quick on something that relaxes him. He'll admit to you that it's his vice easily enough. At work I imagine the options are very much fewer and of poorer quality, but I believe his take on it is that it simply makes having a cup of tea at home all the better for spending eight or more hours in the office."

She leaned her head to one side in a clear gesture of curiosity and pondering. "Hm. I doubt you and he cross paths often? Not much of a need for domestic law in your department? Or is that dealt with by your superiors? I don't know to what extent his role plays in the entire Ministry. To the MLE and MAC I do know, that isn't hard to figure out, but elsewhere..." She laughed a little as she waved a hand. "Oh, I must apologise for using acronyms like he does. He talks about them in the most suitable way a government servant would. Perhaps we're both meant to always remember the Ministry as a major employer in our lives, even when we retire."

The mention of "burned down" had her looking sympathetic. Though the Leaky Cauldron was not a favourite hangout of hers, she understood plenty of people had indeed made it theirs. Wizards and witches scattered alike seeking out a new drinking place...well, she was sure there weer still a good supply of them, just not as iconic or full of memories, dingy as it was, as the Cauldron.

"Not very often," she admitted, her gaze focused on his face but her peripheral vision capturing Johann's fenestration of fruit-laced sponge. "And I daresay as his own authority he keeps himself busy at work. We don't necessarily eat much at lunch, the overload of food can be rather lethargy-inducing. But once in a while he chooses, of his own volition, to go out with me and have a light meal, perhaps when he's tired of having to deal with whatever goes down at the Ministry. I don't ask, it's not my business."

Her tea would have cooled down a fair bit by now. Lydia lifted the cup and took a sip. "Mm, this is wonderful. The overtones-- I'm sorry, I shouldn't go into that." She set the cup down with a small clink onto its saucer. "It's very hard to break the habit when you've spent a lot of time hanging around a tea brewer. How do you like your tea?" She gestured at his. "Any old type, or a refined taste? Or somewhere in between, no judgement."

Providers take it upon themselves to insure the health and welfare of those in their care, but they are also the most sociable of all the Guardians, and thus are the great nurturers of social institutions such as schools, churches, social clubs, and civic groups. Providers are very likely more than ten percent of the population, and this is fortunate for the rest of us, because friendly social service is a key to their nature. Wherever they go, Providers happily give their time and energy to make sure that the needs of others are met, and that social functions are a success.

Highly cooperative themselves, Providers are skilled in maintaining teamwork among their helpers, and are also tireless in their attention to the details of furnishing goods and services. They make excellent chairpersons in charge of dances, banquets, class reunions, charity fund-raisers, and the like. They are without peer as masters of ceremonies, able to speak publicly with ease and confidence. And they are outstanding hosts or hostesses, knowing everyone by name, and seemingly aware of what everyone's been doing. Providers love to entertain, and are always concerned about the needs of their guests, wanting to make sure that all are involved and provided for.

Friendly, outgoing, neighborly - in a word, Providers are gregarious, so much so that they can become restless when isolated from people. They love to talk with others, and will often strike up a conversation with strangers and chat pleasantly about any topic that comes to mind. Friendships matter a great deal to Providers, and their conversations with friends often touch on good times from years past. Family traditions are also sacred to them, and they carefully observe birthdays and anniversaries. In addition, Providers show a delightful fascination with news of their friends and neighbors. If we wish to know what's been going on in the local community, school, or church, they're happy to fill us in on all the details.

Providers are extremely sensitive to the feelings of others, which makes them perhaps the most sympathetic of all the types, but which also leaves them somewhat self-conscious, that is, highly sensitive to what others think of them. Loving and affectionate themselves, they need to be loved in return. In fact, Providers can be crushed by personal criticism, and are happiest when given ample appreciation both for themselves personally and for the tireless service they give to others.

"Oh, it just occurred to me since that you travel so much you must at least enjoy something that isn't what you're used to, or not everyday fare at any rate." Lydia tried some of the cake. It was good, not exquisite but certainly something that made her want to keep eating it. "You sound very much like a man of simple culinary pleasures indeed! I'm familiar with those. Sometimes just give me bangers and mash and I'll be happy for the rest of the day."

She laughed. "Well, I suppose you'd love everything I cook, it's not like I have a son who's very skilled in poisons." A wink followed that. "But as much as everyone loves my cooking, I don't do it every day. It's a little tiring, all that washing up to do. Work lives like yours, my husband's and my son's don't give much space for sitting down and enjoying a good, hearty meal. What can I do?" Lydia heaved a resigned sigh. "Apart from allocating special days to go all out on the cooking, of course. You're familiar with that."

A pause to let Johann eat, and to take a few more bites out of that cake as well. She really had to remember this place. Perhaps Mordecai would like it. "Do you eat out with colleagues, I suppose? Things definitely must have changed in the Ministry since I left, but I always remember the occasional pub excursion with coworkers, and the late-night fish and chips. And of course there's the Ministry occasions, but those were few and far in between. I assume you might be too busy these days even for that? Tsk." She shook her head. "We're not machines, taking breaks and holidays is in fact a good thing despite what some employers might think."

"Two-hour lunch fiend?!" Lydia gasped in mock indignation. "What do you take me for, Johann Storm?" She laughed and reverted to her normal manner of speech. "No, Transport was a busy place the last time I was there, and no doubt it still is. Had to eat at our desks, keeping an eye on the network and monitoring for the slightest suspicious activity."

She picked up her cake fork and gently teased apart the bright green sponge. It smelled good, not too sweet. "Completely off the wall, I suppose, for you," she said, watching Johann navigate around his selection with his own fork, "but what sort of foods do you enjoy or turn down? Apart from my cooking, I'm sure that everything that comes from my hands you'd willingly eat, even if it was unfamiliar to you."

The housewife gave him a playfully shrewd look. "Or would you?"

There was something about Johann's tone that made Lydia decide to drop the topic of her son. He hadn't been hostile or negative in any way, it was his reluctance to continue on the subject. She was curious, but she knew better than to continue if that were the case.

"I'll let him know," she replied casually as she turned to the cakes on offer. Her eyes roved over ones that were familiar, and a few not so familiar that she would know them off the top of her head. After some heavy consideration that was nonetheless decisive and satiating her own curiosity at the same time, she finally settled on a square of green sponge with white cream and a delicate iced green flower on the top. The flower gently spun clockwise as she looked at it, as if it knew.

"I...is that key lime?" she asked, pointing. The flower spun anti-clockwise. "Is that a yes or a no? Either way, I'll have that, it looks delicious. Anyway...your question. I don't miss the Muggle world as much as I like to think I do. To me, the vehicles, the engines, the science of that world, they're all still strange things, and yet they're just as normal to a Muggle as magic is to us. They live very ordinary lives compared to us, I think." She picked up her teapot and tipped it over her cup. "Oh, this smells wonderful."

She remained silent until she'd poured enough and set the pot down. "Perhaps what I miss from it most is living a life as ordinary as that. Excitement is all very well, but when you reach a certain age...well." She chuckled. "I hope I don't need to go all old person on you with 'at a certain age things need to slow down'. I don't actually believe in that, but a breather is nice once in a while. Like right now."

Lydia watched him pick the cakes both of them had selected with care and plate them gently. "Do you get many breathers, yourself?" she asked, turning her blue eyes up at him. "I don't suppose so, the Ministry's always a busy place getting things done, but even a break for two minutes would count. If a concept of such a break exists - the last time I was there, some people took two hours to have their breaks, and some none at all." She smiled fondly at him. "Are you the former or the latter?"

The gate charm rang. Lydia, in the kitchen writing notes based on her observations of her plants growing in the garden, paused for a moment as if disbelieving, and then looked up. There was already a clicking on the doorknob, a sound that only a Hollingbury wand would be capable of once the gate charm had gone off.

She headed out into the hallway just as the door opened to reveal Arc's silhouette against the light streaming in from the streetlamps outside. The cold draught swept in behind him, bringing in tendrils of fog, but then was quickly shut out by her son.

"Arc? You don't usually come in on weekdays, what's up?" she asked, approaching him. The warm light in the passageway illuminated his face; Lydia felt concerned about his appearance. "You look tired, have you been getting enough sleep?"

"I don't have much time to spend here, sorry mum," he said. He hadn't taken off his coat or scarf. "I need your help."

"With what?" Lydia didn't necessarily like it, but she'd long accepted that her son was highly independent and preferred to not bother his parents unless the situation was dire, so this made her all the more worried. "Come, take your coat off, let's talk in the family room." She reached up to help him take his scarf off, and realised he was still wearing his healer's robes underneath.

"No, seriously, I have to get back to the hospital as soon as possible." Arcturus brushed his mother's hand off his shoulder. "It's about the contaminated medical supplies, I'm sure you know."

"Yes, I do." The news had been broadcast first thing in the morning on the 5th. "But surely you don't need me to help y-- St Mungo's with clearing out the poisons, right?"

"No, we've done that already. It's the alternative remedies." Lydia was struck by how weary her son sounded. "The medical supplies that were affected were healing potions, the ones administered orally at least, and painkillers, oh and sedatives as well. We've got a lot of patients who still need treatment and we haven't actually figured out what other alternatives we can use while avoiding the contaminated potions, and we don't have a lot of time, and we have to figure out how to neutralise the poisons--"

"All right, all right, calm down." Lydia took a deep breath. "Take your coat and scarf off, and we'll sit down properly and talk. You're shivering, and there's a fire over there." She wrapped her arm firmly around his as a sign that she wasn't going to take no for an answer. There was a moment where Arcturus hesitated, his eyes darting towards the door as if someone was suddenly going to barge in and reprimand him for not returning to the hospital immediately, and then he relented, taking his coat and scarf off.

Once they were seated, the first thing she asked was "Are you sure you should be telling me all of this, Arc? This sounds like confidential information to me."

"I got permission from my superiors," Arcturus said wearily.[1] The fire in the hearth was revealing far more exhaustion on his face than she'd realised - dark, sunken eyes, his face a little thinner than usual. He hadn't been sleeping well, no wonder he hadn't answered her question. "And this is just a little more in-depth than the national broadcast, I'm not giving out patient details."

"Why me?" she asked. Curiosity was always the feature of a Hollingbury.

"Because I felt you might be able to have some of the answers we're looking for." Arcturus passed a hand over his face. "We've already isolated the culprit ingredients, but as they're not usually used in medicine finding a compound antidote to their mixtures is taking much longer than we thought. I've been through calculations of Golpalott's Third Law up and down and sideways for the past few days, it isn't getting any better."

"Tell me what the ingredients are," Lydia said. "I need to have an idea of the scope you're dealing with here. Are they just ingredients that have been substituted or...?"

"Hellebore, poisonous variant, most likely the black hellebore type." Arcturus tried to recall. "Staghorn and Horklump mushrooms. Willow bark."

"Apart from hellebore, Staghorn, Horklump and willow bark are not poisonous," said Lydia, looking puzzled.

"In general no, but there's been traces of Death-Cap Mushroom combined with Staghorn extract. Same with Horklump, only Deadlyius." Arcturus was staring at the floor, seemingly in an attempt to focus as he recalled, so he missed his mother's expression changing from bewilderment to shock, and then horror. "And the willow bark's got stritter? Str...something."

"Streeler?" Lydia suggested in a disbelieving tone. Arcturus made a pointing gesture as if to indicate that her answer was right, except that he did it very limply and it turned into a half-hearted wave instead. "Streeler venom? Where did these supplies come from?!"

"Now's not the time, mum, I don't know, we haven't had the time to check the paper trail. Please focus."

"It's important, please." Lydia sat back in her seat. "Whoever's using those ingredients meant to do a lot of lasting damage, if not meant to kill." She chewed her bottom lip as she pondered. "I...I'm sorry to say that I have nothing, Arc. Poisons are really not my specialty. I've heard of those variants and I know the estimated lethal doses, but I don't know much about countering those. Have you tried the usual remedies? Antidote to Common Poisons? Bezoars, even?"

"Mum," said Arcturus, in an uncharacteristically heavy, cold tone and not looking at her, "if those had worked I wouldn't be here."

"Right. I'm sorry." Lydia frowned. "Hm. In that case...I don't want you to have come all the way here just to find out you'll have to go back and tell them I can't help." She sensed movement behind her and turned to see Mordecai standing at the doorway, a tawny owl perched on his shoulder and alertly staring in the direction of the fire. He gestured towards Arcturus' back with a questioning concerned expression; she shook her head and turned back to their son. "Besides, I'm just an amateur herbologist, Arc. What did you think I could do on such a large-scale emergency such as this one?"

"I don't know." He sounded small, subdued. "I couldn't think of anything else."

"Lydia," Mordecai said, causing their son to jump and look around, "perhaps you could send a letter to Ashenmoore? I think he may be able to help. Metis just came back from hunting, I can get you ink and parchment."

"Ashenmoore?" Arcturus asked. "Who's--"

"Phineus Ashenmoore, he's a professional herbologist who runs his own supply company to provide for local apothecaries. He doesn't supply to St Mungo's, as far as I know," she added, in response to Arcturus opening his mouth, "but he helps support apothecaries in Scotland as well as consolidate herbology research. He's the president of the British Association of Herbologists, and I can probably contact him to rally the other herbologists."

"Are you sure he'll do that?" Arcturus said. "That sounds like a lot of work for someone not involved in this."

"If it's to do with herbology, then the BAH can help," said Lydia. "Perhaps many of the local apothecaries will have their own supplies of alternate remedies, or other herbologists can recommend based on their own findings. We have a wide network of contacts." She caught movement from the corner of her eye; Mordecai had disappeared.

"And he's your friend?"

"I wouldn't consider him a close friend, no, he's a little too spacey and self-centred at times for my liking, but he still is a rather good friend." Lydia smiled comfortingly at Arcturus in an attempt to cheer their son up. Her husband reappeared just then, paper, quill and ink in both hands and with Metis still perched on his shoulder. She gave him a quick smile as thanks and turned back to Arcturus. "Will that help? I can send the owl tonight. Phineus is a bit of an owl himself, and for this kind of situation he will want to attend to it immediately."

Their son seemed hesitant for a moment, and then sighed. "I guess that's better than going back and...and telling them that I didn't get much help."

"It is," Lydia agreed. "How have things been going? Have you managed to prevent anymore afflictions? How many casualties have there been? Or is that last question a little too private?"

Arcturus shook his head. "I...it's...I don't really know the exact count right now, we've stabilised, I think...Spell Damage's taken at least five deaths, we took maybe six...I don't know, I didn't want to look into the morgue." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. His parents watched him worriedly, but not daring to ask.

After a moment, he slowly exhaled. "Most of them were elderly...or children, who were admitted to the hospital earlier for treatment. We gave them those remedies. They...they were getting better." His voice quietened almost to a whisper. "And then they started showing signs and symptoms. We couldn't do anything. Some of them went too fast."

Lydia's head snapped to her husband. She signalled to him to move away. Mordecai gestured to himself and then to Arcturus in indignation, but his wife then raised her eyebrows and motioned for him to either comfort their son or stop watching. It took a moment's consideration for her husband to awkwardly slip away, leaving the two alone.

"Arc," she began quietly, meaning to comfort him as she reached out, but his shoulders had already dropped in clear despair. Lydia rose from her seat and knelt in front of him, reaching out to grasp his wrists, but he pulled away. Warning signals. She knew them too well. She was too late.

"There was a girl, she was just two, she was so sweet and happy, and then it was like...watching a candle burn out." In the firelight tears glimmered in his dark eyes. "There were others just like her, both Spell Damage and Potions Poisoning, we didn't manage to save them. We didn't realise how much they'd taken, it built up in them and then started slowly killing them."

Lydia watched as her son covered his mouth with both hands, drawing a shuddering breath as he clearly tried to calm himself down. She couldn't think of what to say. What was there to say that didn't make things feel cheap? "Arc, you didn't know. None of you did."

"We should have!" The outburst made her jump a little. "I didn't...take this job to hurt people. We didn't check the potions when we should have, and we gave them to the patients!"

"You didn't intend to kill them, Arc. None of you did."

"It's still by our hands! You can't deny that we didn't--" and here Arc buried his face into his hands and started sobbing. Lydia grimaced in sympathy and irritation at being unable to comfort him; she was familiar with the signs of stress her son showed, and nothing she could do about it. Nothing. A decade later, and the wounds were still too deeply gouged to properly heal over.

She pulled him into her arms and gently but firmly rubbed his back as she felt him physically crumble, trembling as wave after wave of everything he'd been holding back surged through him. It was reminiscent of her time returning to Britain after she'd heard the war was over, to be met by two family members fresh from watching people die. How fragile the present was, and still is. And sometimes that her family tended to keep up appearances just to hide that fragility.

It took maybe ten minutes for Arcturus to pull himself together, but Lydia was aware of how much emotion he tended to express when there was too much to bear. Odd to see him express himself like this in front of only his family, rather than friends. Odd, and sad.

"You should stay here," she said, as he wiped his face of the remaining tears. "Rest. I think you've been pushing yourself too hard these past few days."

"N-No, I...I have to go back, housemate will get worried." Arcturus got to his feet, but she could still feel him trembling. She kept him stable, gripping his upper arm firmly. "Sleep, take a shower, go back to the hospital. I'll tell them you've sent for help. Thank you, mum."

She smiled. "Anything for you."

---

After her son had left, she found Mordecai in the kitchen looking through a leather-bound book, with Metis perched on the back of his chair. She didn't need to look at the book to know what it was.

"I'm glad you didn't start spouting legal terms off during all that," she said, pulling up a chair to sit next to her husband. "Thanks for the ink and parchment."

"No, I figured he wouldn't want to hear it. It's not his responsibility to answer for the legalities as well, though we'll see how that goes." Mordecai shut the book. "I would have comforted him as well, but..."

"But?" Lydia raised her eyebrows in the midst of dipping her quill tip into the ink bottle. Mordecai stared at the table for a while.

"But I would have probably done a poorer job of comforting." He sighed and placed the book on the table. Metis made a small ke-wick sound as she fluttered onto the table and settled onto the book.

"Make up for it on Christmas Day," Lydia said, as her hand carefully pressed the quill tip down and began transferring ink on the parchment. "As far as I'm concerned, you two need each other more than you think you do. Leave Linus to me."

1.	Possibly to be threaded later.