It was the last quarter of the day on a Friday, and Francis had finished early for the day, having been in very early that morning to make essential repairs for a colleague in the field. His face showed the early morning, especially as the early morning was extended by testing the turner an hour before giving it back.

Still, he had sent a memo to his good friend Dreogan earlier in the day to see if he might entertain a small interruption in the afternoon in a not strictly work capacity, which is what led him to knock briskly but softly on the door of the inner office within the Department of International Magical Co-operation after being stared at by a number of the newer staff in the department. He'd also spotted Johann and had muttered in a parental-like way to the other man that he looked awful and needed to sleep, not knowing Johann had spent the previous night celebrating Tapendra Trishna's birthday - who Francis was a friend through writing with, and had written to regarding said birthday.

"Dreogan, I'm not interrupting am I?" Francis asked his younger friend, stepping inside the office. On indication he wasn't Francis closed the door behind him.
"I really do appreciate you looking over this letter before I send it to the Daily Prophet. There have been mutterings I've been a bit too forceful with the phrasings in letters printed lately in it, and I'd rather not lose my job over defending my views if possible." The likelihood of that occurring was pretty low since Francis had a niche skill, but he worried.

Reaching into his velvet jacket, he brought out an envelope neatly addressed to the editor of the Daily Prophet but not yet sealed, within it three modest sized pieces of parchment in Francis' handwriting set out exactly why a piece printed on the 3rd March was appalling.

It regarded Muggle parents of Hogwarts students and the discovery that shop keepers in the Alley were purposely fleecing Muggle-born families, and the argument that these families should be accompanied and supervised throughout their visits set out by others who believed the shopkeepers were perfectly within their rights, showed how naive the author was to consider Muggles unable to understand our financial system or society.

Dreogan had seen the article in question, as had Tapendra Trishna, another person who Francis had consulted, though he would only run the letter past Dreogan so he could post it immediately for it to meet the next print.

Settling down on a nearby chair before Dreogan's desk, he exhaled and let his shoulders sink.
"How are things with you, these days? Its seems a while since we last spoke save for passing each other in the Atrium." He looked up at Dreogan's face. "How is Akiva?"

"Dreogan, I'm not interrupting am I?"

Two o'clock already? Dreogan jerked his head up from what he had been reading--a briefing regarding fluctuating exchange rates in Yemen and Oman due to the rising strength in the galleon, and the country's inability to tie their monetary system to anything in particular. For all that the wizarding world accused the Muggle world of unintelligibility, the Muggles certainly strove to ground themselves in concretes: gold standards. Science. Logic. Empiricism. And those very difficult to configure sets of wires found in almost everything that they used to record information and regurgitate it. But wizards -- they focused on the more nebulous, sometimes mystical, but sometimes insubstantial modes of the past.

Francis -- he was a much more welcome turn of subject, and Dreogan popped up from his seat, nearly knocking his knees against his desk as he did so. "Oh!" he said with a smile, "Never." Francis Pepper was one of those individuals one could be truly oneself with. Dreogan had found it rather easy to be pleasant with almost everyone. But it was individuals like Francis, or Akiva, or Aleron--people full of light and good intentions, that made conversing with them envigorating. There was very little cause for any calculated words with people so genuine as they.

Being pleasant to everyone could be taxing. But one could not help but be overjoyed to see Francis. That was, Dreogan could not.

Though, his enthusiasm was somewhat curbed as he noted his friend's expression was somewhat. . . careworn. Dreogan had not pried too extensively into the other man's life--they were, first and foremost, workplace associates--but he had gathered enough to know that his family's situation was particularly trying.

Which was why, when Francis stated: "I really do appreciate you looking over this letter before I send it to the Daily Prophet," Dreogan did not press with questions such as "How is your day?" or "How are the kids doing?"

Instead, held his hand out steadily for the letter.

"It's a selfish offer, really," Dreogan said with a sheepish smile. "I was of a mind to be the first to see it. And this just satisfies the need." His smile was crooked, masking the twinge of anxiety that he felt at Francis' comment on tone. Dreogan had learned so very painfully that there were more things to lose than one's job in letters like this. Dreogan had lost his father. You could lose your life.

Dreogan carefully pulled the parchment from its envelope, but didn't read yet. "Absolutely. I think the most good to our cause," he said, glancing up at Francis as he settled himself down in the chair behind the desk, thought better of it, stumbling back upwards, and moved over to sit in another of the guest chairs, beside Francis. "Ah. . ." he fumbled over his thoughts as he resituated. "I was saying that I really do think that change is best accomplished not by urging change, but by stating that what you would like to see is already in line with the principles that are currently held." He smiled. "The wizarding world in particular -- well, we do not seem fond of paradigm shifts, do we?" He chuckled, then glanced back down at the paper. It was rude, to start reading in front of someone, but it was so very tempting. "But you always have a way with words; I've no doubt you'll represent our views well."

Well, Dreogan thought with some guilt, sometimes it was necessary to diplomacize with even Francis. Francis was a gifted writer and a great mind of the age. But he did have the same fire and zeal as his father. Which did not, particularly put him to rest. His father had been a great Voice of Muggle advocacy. But it had, for all its resonance, needed to be silenced. It was an unpleasant thought, the similarities between the two situations, and Dreogan opened his mouth to inquire about Francis' family, only to remember that this was not, perhaps the best turn in conversation. Instead, Francis made that move. As the recipient of the question, Dreogan was equally unprepared.

"Akiva?" Dreogan repeated happily, searching for an appropriate answer that did not reveal too much nor too little. Francis was a valued colleague and friend. "Well! She's doing well." The smile faltered somewhat -- and for this reason, Dreogan furthered: "a bit worn down, I think." While Dreogan's friendship with Francis was not particularly lengthy, the man had a way of reading him that put any facade to little or no effect.  "I've been trying to get home at a more decent hour now. Timeliness is something new to me," Dreogan said self-consciously to the chronomancer. "I can't help but think -- well, we're caring for Sasha, as you know," he stated, "and we're trying to do a good job of it. It's only that usually. . . " He blushed, once more self-conscious. "Well, usually when you have a sixteen-year-old to tend to, you've had fifteen years of practise." He gave a light, breathy laugh, pressing on.

"Still, we are happy to have him. A little tiredness or compressed schedule is nothing, when you consider what the boy's been through. . ."

Perhaps it was enough to talk about family. Francis had a great score to deal with on that score. Dreogan baited his breath, waiting for something--considering--until his breath broke free in a question: "And your family? How are your sons doing at Hogwarts?"

"Akiva?" Dreogan replied happily, though Francis saw his friend's expression falter. "Well! She's doing well… a bit worn down, I think."

"Oh, dear…" Francis sympathised ever so quietly in response.

"I've been trying to get home at a more decent hour now. Timeliness is something new to me. I can't help but think -- well, we're caring for Sasha, as you know, and we're trying to do a good job of it. It's only that usually. . . " Francis tilted his head ever so slightly, listening. Dreogan blushed, he appeared particularly self-conscious, so Francis softened his expression as best he could.

"Well, usually when you have a sixteen-year-old to tend to, you've had fifteen years of practise." They shared a momentary chuckle, "Still, we are happy to have him. A little tiredness or compressed schedule is nothing, when you consider what the boy's been through. . ."

"Why yes, he has. I'm sure he is very grateful for the stability you can provide, Dreogan. Also, even fifteen years of practise won't prepare you for a sixteen-year-old, believe me. We may have all been sixteen-year-old boys, so we can guess half the story, but I wouldn't for any moment, want to know everything that goes on in their heads." Francis smiled and shook his head. "If they need to tell you, they will, otherwise, don't force them to do more than grunt, they grow out of it."

"And your family? How are your sons doing at Hogwarts?" Dreogan asked politely.

"Enjoying it tremendously. They both write, Timothy a little more than Ambrose admittedly, but Tim is in his first year - everything is new to him. Tim came home with a pleasing set of results for his term at Christmas, which he appears to be maintaining, and Ambrose, well, I am glad he has found friends and a new love for Care of Magical Creatures." Francis gave a worried half smile at the thought of Ambrose and his magical incidents and fluctuating grades.

"We've all been invited to the annual employment event, I see. I think sometimes the Department of Mysteries shouldn't turn up to be yet more mysterious. Will you be attending with your Department?" He asked Dreogan casually.

"Why yes, he has. I'm sure he is very grateful for the stability you can provide, Dreogan."

Dreogan flushed once more, looking down at the cuff of his sleeve and tugging on it like a self-conscious school boy. "Well, that is my hope, yes. But I'm not so certain things are all that stable, even still." He looked up hopefully to Francis for some words of wisdom. The man was a father; well respected.

"Also, even fifteen years of practise won't prepare you for a sixteen-year-old, believe me. We may have all been sixteen-year-old boys, so we can guess half the story, but I wouldn't for any moment, want to know everything that goes on in their heads." Francis smiled and shook his head. "If they need to tell you, they will, otherwise, don't force them to do more than grunt, they grow out of it."

Dreogan gave a silent, disappointed laugh through his nose. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure you're right," he said, simply. But Sasha--he wasn't just a sixteen year old boy. And Sasha had trained himself to avoid any impulses to go for help, even if he might otherwise feel the inclination. Dreogan took in a sharp breath, preparing the words, and glanced back down. When he was ready, after a moment, he met Francis' eye. "I'm rather more worried that Sasha has learnt to grow into his silence. It's a habit I'd like to see him grow out of. . . but you think I shouldn't encourage him to. . ." Dreogan made a vague, airy gesture. "--open up?"

He gave a light sigh as he crossed one leg over the other, considering. Not even Francis Pepper could explain parenting in one session. It was something he would need to continually consider. Though, as a not-parent, Dreogan wasn't even sure it was, particularly his place. "Still," he said after another sharp breath, "it is only a temporary solution. Until a more permanent guardian can be found to accommodate his parents' will." He gave a wry smile. "I'm certain I was not what they had in mind." For one, he was Jewish. For two, he was a wizard. Two things, Sasha had hinted--and Jacoba had maintained--which were diametrically opposed to their ideologies.

Where Sasha Schlagenweit was concerned, there were no easy or readily apparent answers. Dreogan was beginning to accept that. But the answer to Francis' question of the career fair, well! That was readily answerable.

"Yes!" Dreogan input in quiet excitement. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand as he thought. "Yes, I will certainly be attending," he said, allowing an amused chuckle for Francis' quip at the Department's mysterious comportment. But, even then, it became apparent that he was thinking entirely of something else.

"Yes, I will attend," he repeated distractedly before snapping his focus back to the man across from him. "I've only to decide in what capacity. . .  Certainly there are a few who may be interested in international diplomacy." Dreogan seemed less excited by this prospect, as he waved his hand distractedly. "But then, there is the other thought that I can't quite lay to rest. . ." Dreogan smiled as he looked down at the letter. "Sasha's told me a bit about the Muggle Appreciation Club he started whilst at Hogwarts and it seems there might be an interest. . ."

This was more difficult to say than he'd anticipated. Francis was always a great champion of the cause. Now that Dreogan was laying forth his plans, he didn't want it to appear as though Dreogan belittled or undercut his influence; not in the least or that, worse still, Dreogan's efforts to move forward in this direction would be poorly executed. "Of course I know that if I were to appear at the Career Fair, I ought to be presenting a viable career in this regard. . ." He drummed his fingers upon his knee as he spoke, full of a nervous energy.

"I've come to the conclusion--months ago, really--that I would throw myself into advocating for increased Ministerial dealings with Muggleborns and the Muggles directly impacted by our world. What I must decide now, it seems, is whether that is best accomplished within the structure of the Ministry--say, in this department--or beyond its bounds. An NGO, perhaps. . . The career fair is when?" He looked up at the ceiling, as though his calendar might have been inscribed there.

"April 18th. . . hardly time. . ." he gave a bit of a sigh, there. "It would seem the perfect opportunity, though, wouldn't it? I would like this to be something that young minds could actively engage in. From what Isaac and Sasha have said, it would seem this is a matter of importance to many."

Of course, there was also the hazing. Dreogan suspected that as many were for the increased knowledge and interaction with Muggles, there were at least one to stand against it. Hogwarts was no exception.

"I'm sorry," Dreogan apologized with a soft chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over to his friend. "I suppose you were expecting a mere 'yes' or a 'no.'" He grinned sheepishly. "Only, perhaps you know me a bit better." His coworkers certainly did. Johann Storm -- heaven help him -- had been the only person to meet loquacious enthusiasm measure for measure. Though Johann, he had to admit, outdoubled him in witty rejoinders and, well, youthfulness. Dreogan was beginning to feel old in this world, and he was not certain if this was due to a restlessness for social change; a constant dread of threat to Sasha, to his wife, and his own person; or the grating anxiety and heartbreak he felt about how things had settled between Adon and himself regarding Jonas Trevelyan and Adon's rather idiotic work habits.

And then, of course, came his job; which was to solve others' troubles. Dreogan was struggling to solve his own. He could not worry about the problem-addled Middle East. He was certain he'd hear more of it with this Rumespoor case, too. It was tempting, so very tempting, to break free of all now and run with a fresh start: Start a Muggle Affairs organisation of some sort. Elope with Akiva.

Abscond to Bermuda.

"Well!" he said, cutting off that line of thinking abruptly, and clasping his hands together with enthusiasm, "You can just imagine, from that little display there, how happy I am to read your letter! I will have some of my own -- if you have time -- to look over. . ." Like the one sitting on his desk. To the Wizengamot. "Do you think you'll be going to the career fair? It must be fun, to think of seeing your children in their element," he gave an amused smile. "Or will that break down a necessary barrier? I can't imagine what I would have done when I was at school, if my parents had shown up. I always pitied the children of the professors particularly." A bubbling, merry laugh escaped him -- "But I am not discouraging you! Heavens. I should be happy if you were going, in fact. And I would like to meet your boys; if they'd like, of course." He smiled. "It sounds like both are doing well." Though, of course, Dreogan had picked up on the fact that Tim had brought home good grades and was generally enthusiastic.  Francis was only happy that Ambrose had friends and was beginning to take an interest in his schooling. After several years at Hogwarts. "Is Ambrose -- I'm sorry; I've forgotten exactly what year this happens --" (though Dreogan had really actually only forgotten Ambrose's precise age) "but is he going to consider an internship? I'm sure that Level Four would have something to catch his interest."

"I'm rather more worried that Sasha has learnt to grow into his silence. It's a habit I'd like to see him grow out of. . . but you think I shouldn't encourage him to. . . open up?"

Francis considered the question carefully.
"He will in time, he's probably quite unsure of his situation, protective. I wouldn't force him, or attempt to induce talking, it tends to do the opposite. Time, and the effort to be attentive and make time for him whenever you are in his presence, is a better strategy. Though, I admit, I don't know the answer for sure either, Dreogan." Francis upturned his hands in a shrug.

"Still, it is only a temporary solution. Until a more permanent guardian can be found to accommodate his parents' will. I'm certain I was not what they had in mind."

Francis' question regarding the fair was rather more readily answered by Dreogan.

"Yes, I will attend, I've only to decide in what capacity. . .  Certainly there are a few who may be interested in international diplomacy. But then, there is the other thought that I can't quite lay to rest. . . Sasha's told me a bit about the Muggle Appreciation Club he started whilst at Hogwarts and it seems there might be an interest. . ."

"Mmm." Francis nodded, he had heard about the club from Ambrose, who had felt a little awkward to join it.

"Of course I know that if I were to appear at the Career Fair, I ought to be presenting a viable career in this regard. . ."

"Alas, that is the purpose of the gathering." Francis echoed softly, encouraging Dreogan to go on, and so he did, Francis nodding at regular intervals as the explanations and verbal thinking fell out.

"I'm sorry, I suppose you were expecting a mere 'yes' or a 'no.' Only, perhaps you know me a bit better."

Francis laughed at his dear friend.
"I always admire your enthusiasm and zest for such subjects. You are a man of great plans, Dreogan. Makes me wonder if I should be so complacent with my workshop and time with my family, and whether I should be out changing the world. I think you younger men are far better positioned and vocal in your ideas, and that they should be given fair hearing." He smiled.

"Well! You can just imagine, from that little display there, how happy I am to read your letter! I will have some of my own -- if you have time -- to look over. . . Do you think you'll be going to the career fair? It must be fun, to think of seeing your children in their element, Or will that break down a necessary barrier? I can't imagine what I would have done when I was at school, if my parents had shown up. I always pitied the children of the professors particularly. But I am not discouraging you! Heavens. I should be happy if you were going, in fact. And I would like to meet your boys; if they'd like, of course. "It sounds like both are doing well."

"I think I know my role for the day - keep well out of their business unless they approach me. Classic embarrassing father act is apparently easily achievable. Yes, of course I shall introduce you, and you are always most welcome at our home in Biggleswade." Francis offered, "Its been too quiet there of late."

"Is Ambrose -- I'm sorry; I've forgotten exactly what year this happens -- but is he going to consider an internship? I'm sure that Level Four would have something to catch his interest."

"He's a year or two away from that, but I hope he will in time. Though as his father I'd quite like him to keep all his limbs," Even if Ambrose was doing a good job of putting that at risk without being involved with creatures "At his age, I was already beginning to learn my father's trade with time turners. I'm not sure either Ambrose or Timothy are inclined to do the same. Something I must respect, however much it saddens me the family tradition may end with me." The Peppers taught their sons, though at the periphery of Francis' mind he knew there were other possibilities.

"I would be very interested to help with your crusade, Dreogan, though I cannot guarantee assistance at that particular event, you have my full support." Francis gave a broad smile, and nodded to his friend.

"He will in time, he's probably quite unsure of his situation, protective. I wouldn't force him, or attempt to induce talking, it tends to do the opposite. Time, and the effort to be attentive and make time for him whenever you are in his presence, is a better strategy. Though, I admit, I don't know the answer for sure either, Dreogan."

Dreogan gave an uncomfortable smile. The symptoms sounded accurate. What Dreogan doubted was the cure. “Yes. . .” he said absently before looking down at his hands and nodding. “Yes,” he repeated. “you are probably right there, too.” With a more secure smile, he looked back at his friend. “I trust you wholly in matters of time.” Dreogan was characteristically a patient individual. But this felt like waiting for tears from a stone wall.  Shaking his head, he banished it to a later place and time: to night, when he considered all the things he wished he’d have done differently—just before he went to sleep. Night was the time for remorse.

The present—the early afternoon was dedicated to contemplating the things he planned to do differently.  Day was the time for strategy, ambition, optimism.  But Francis’ mood didn’t seem to match. He seemed at first reserved at the topic—the Muggle Appreciation Club did not prompt a smile or a delighted spark in his eyes, as Dreogan had supposed it would. Though there was no doubt that Francis identified the club. Once more, Dreogan felt troubled—perhaps Sasha was not, entirely, as well-liked as Dreogan would have wanted him to be. Or perhaps it was the club; perhaps the club was seen as a lost cause. Perhaps Sasha’s optimism on it had been merely calculated to win praise from his guardian. Oh dear. He gave a light sigh.

"Alas, that is the purpose of the gathering."
“It may be too early—too early to tell. . .” He glanced to Francis, considering the chronomancer cautiously. “This may be another instance in which time—” he broke off, abruptly. “Francis, do you really believe in that adage?” His tone grew rounder, more deep as he contemplated its syllables. “Time cures all?” He wet his lips. “I don’t see how it can. The way I’ve always seen it—it’s not time itself, but what we do in that time. . .”

His thoughts collapsed in on themselves, and Dreogan gave a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing bemusedly. “Well. I suppose either way, I would have plenty of things to do to fill the time until next year’s fair, I’m sure. It’s much too much—there is so much to be done, and it is so necessary that this be taken on favourably; gradualness is the key, I think. I can’t jeopardize generations of progress in a fit of impatience.”

"I always admire your enthusiasm and zest for such subjects. You are a man of great plans, Dreogan. Makes me wonder if I should be so complacent with my workshop and time with my family, and whether I should be out changing the world. I think you younger men are far better positioned and vocal in your ideas, and that they should be given fair hearing."

“No—no, no,” Dreogan insisted firmly. “Family is. . . family is the most important. There is nothing better to throw oneself behind than this.” Dreogan frowned slightly. It didn’t fit, though—Dreogan’s conviction for social change and his dedication to his family. His father had been in the same predicament. He’d chosen social change. And then, when it was too late, he’d chosen family. And Dreogan had promised he’d never—

With a rueful smile, Dreogan said, “You are watching after your family. And I’m going about my family business.” The Eleors had developed the social idealism crusade to perfection. “Which just so happens to be taking care of a much,” he paused as he considered his words—“larger family.” He took a deep breath, steepling his fingers. “It’s a delicate balance, though, really. Family and work. But that’s what this is about. I’ve seen what the lack of Muggle communication does to families. Children feel they grow up strangers in their own family. The distance increases—and look at Sasha! Those newspaper articles, and what damage it had caused to his family! Even Akiva struggles with it, at times. I’d like to see my children, someday, grow up knowing both sides of the family—not ashamed of anything.” He gave a smile to his friend, having regained ideological footing. “No, Francis; take care of your family. That is first. It is what we are all doing. In our own ways.” He gave a slight smile. “I don’t have a child to think about, either.” He considered Francis’ concerns—that the familial tradition would be lost with his sons. That had been, Dreogan knew, a concern of his father’s, though he’d really never had much real cause. Dreogan was too much his father’s son for that.

Dreogan remembered the reading lists his father would compile. The special outings, where they’d walk about the country to provide them time to discuss. His father’s attention to his priestly education. And Francis had none of that. Sons—who did not take an interest in carrying on the work—that was not only a concern for posterity, that was a recipe for loneliness. Dreogan’s expression was kindly as he looked at his friend. Perhaps their reciprocal letters were more of a service than he’d imagined. Perhaps that was giving himself more credit than he deserved.

Nevertheless, the invitation to the Pepper home warmed Dreogan and he beamed at the compliment. Dreogan could not confer such high praise on anyone—and he didn’t take accept it lightly, either. “I would be delighted to. And you, of course, are most welcome at our home at any time. We sometimes have dinner with Akiva’s family on Fridays. Her father is particularly interested in our world, and we often discuss such things. You’d be a wonderful addition to our party—any night you choose.”

He considered. With two children gone—three?—and his wife in Mungo’s, the house had to feel like a large and empty space. Haunted, even. “I won’t press you for a date,” he began, with a self-conscious smile, “but next Friday—” he’d need to check with Akiva. “I’m getting ahead of myself, Francis. You need to be more cautious with your invitations. First the letter, now dinner. . . Only means more letters and dinners will be headed your way.” He ran his thumb along the rough edge of the parchment as he spoke, a soft smile on his lips. “We can figure out a location and occasion soon.”


"I would be very interested to help with your crusade, Dreogan, though I cannot guarantee assistance at that particular event, you have my full support." Francis gave a broad smile, and nodded to his friend.
Abashedly, Dreogan waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, yes. Well. I realise now that hoping for something that soon is much to…ambitious. Your support is all the assistance I need.” Though, if ever Dreogan were to get the Muggle Affairs established in the Ministry, he would need a staff and—but no. Certainly not. Timeturners were the family trade, after all. Dreogan would not wish him to abandon that, no matter how delightful it might be. There were always other options.

He was silent a moment, before he said, “It doesn’t really need to be a crusade, though. Really, society is quite nearly there; they simply do not know it. The architecture is there—it just needs slight remodeling.” Taking a breath, he added quickly, “Certainly not where we would want it to be, of course. No, I don’t see the Statute being repealed in our lifetime. But there is still a good deal of good that can be done with some pointed effort.” He smiled. “Even in this very department, here.”

“It doesn’t really need to be a crusade, though. Really, society is quite nearly there; they simply do not know it. The architecture is there—it just needs slight remodelling.” Dreogan explained.
“Certainly not where we would want it to be, of course. No, I don’t see the Statute being repealed in our lifetime. But there is still a good deal of good that can be done with some pointed effort.” He smiled. “Even in this very department, here.”

Francis gave a nod,
"I'm not entirely sure myself that entirely repealing it would be a positive move without a lot of work, if I'm honest Dreogan. Muggle society has changed such a lot. Whether they'd view us with fear or hilarity, I'm not sure - depending on the magic exhibited, I would suggest the former still, and they don't do hanging or burning at the stake any more - well, at least not in Britain." He looked positively worried at the suggestion.

"I'm all for collaboration and rights of Muggles and Muggleborns who are exposed to our world, but there are many miles to go on the best way to treat the statute long term. It would be an incredible task across so many cultures." Francis fell into quiet thought a moment, contemplating the reaction of Muggle friends of sorts he kept back in Biggleswade. Would they still treat him as a trusted neighbour, the type they could ask to pick up their post while they were on holiday, and pile carefully on their kitchen table?

He'd love them to understand, certainly, to marvel and share in what he had to offer with magic, but the scale of the situation and the animosity still present on the magical side were still huge hurdles to overcome.
"Your new group would certainly begin things though, Dreogan." Francis agreed. "And given the time its going to take, you most certainly will have to recruit a few younger faces than the two of us." Francis chuckled.

"I'm afraid they still do in the Middle East," Dreogan said, eyes quite sad. "I've been working on exonerating Fawze Falih in Saudi Arabia--she's a Muggle, actually, but she's been condemned to death for witchcraft by King Abdullah. In 2008, if you can believe it." He frowned. "I wrote to the Prophet on that, actually. It's interesting, because of all the Muggle activist groups standing against it--Human Rights Watch and the Islamic Human Rights Commission, to name a couple--say that she should be allowed to practise any witchcraft she wishes; it's not against Saudi law, actually. That's a support for the paranormal I'd not thought possible just now."

He frowned, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought. "I can see, though, with the fear of actual power behind such practise, that sentiment would change against it. Falih's case has garnered support because of her impotence and minority status; and the sheer inpopularity of King Abdullah, really." He looked at Francis with a sheepish smile. "But of course, I talked about that aspect, too, in the article." Which Francis had probably already read.

"No, I don't expect moving to repeal the Statute would be beneficial at present. If anything, that was the one great flaw in my father's theories. Too much trust in society's--any society's--ability to admit to a power greater than theirs without making them scapegoats." A slight grin, even more sheepish. "I'm sorry. I read too many theorists on the Holocaust, I'd imagine. But really, you'd be alarmed how closely our little world mirrors that of Diasporic Judaism."

A comparison that usually made people uncomfortable to think about.

"But!" He said, brightening, "yes. I do think that there is a lot of good that can be done, incrementally. A wholesale conversion to our way of thinking is downright impossible. But a gradual one--just think of it. There are what, three or four Muggleborn students every year admitted into Hogwarts? One or two witches or wizards who marry Muggles every year? That brings us up to four or five Muggle families who are exposed to our world a year. If each family consists of say four. . . well, that's about twenty. And each year, those numbers add up. I do really think that if Muggles know a witch or a wizard--someone they love or respect--and if it becomes a gradual knowledge of their world, and not an overwhelming revelation, really, such things will be increasingly easy to admit into the public conscience."

Dreogan had gone on for some length; this was usually about the time that Dreogan sat forward in his seat, made some joke about losing track of time, in order to preempt the yawns and save face.  But then he remembered that he was with Francis.

"And given the time its going to take, you most certainly will have to recruit a few younger faces than the two of us."

"'The two of us!' Now, Francis!" he said with a bright laugh as he turned an accusatory finger towards his friend, "You can't let time get away from you like that! Just a few moments ago, you were calling me the young man!" But Dreogan felt old. He felt older than a lot of people his age. He was just about to get married, but Dreogan--he had Seen so much already. Had experienced the past, present, and future, and tried simultaneously to change it all.

"Well. You and I. We aren't doing so bad, just yet. But yes. It would do well to get some fresh faces and opinions on the matter."

Dreogan looked down at Francis' letter, thoughtfully running his thumb along the rough edge once more. "Francis, I certainly do not mean this question to be alarming. . ." He compressed his lips. "But it's been a concern of mine, with all these letters we've been writing in. Have you ever gotten any hostile responses?"