Continued from here. (x)

They floo'd from the secure floo in the Minister of Magic's offices.[1]  Together they emerged in the large double fireplace of the Three Broomsticks in a plume of emerald smoke and flame.   Pub-goers glanced their way.  Some stared for a long while at the familiar face of the Minister of Magic, and said to themselves that she seemed much shorter in person.  None might have recognized her tall, grey-haired travel companion, a credit to him, of course.

Madam Rosemerta barely seemed to blink at her illustrious guests and with a smile she greeted them and found them a table nestled away from most prying eyes. 

"Grenwald's, if you have it," was Persepolis's drink order.  "With a splash of gin."  Grenwald's was a brand of fizzy seltzer water that she'd always loved. 

As Mihai gave his own order, the Minister of Magic removed her hat and glasses and undid the buttons on her outer robes, settling in and no longer so worried about the appearances of a put-together, fashion-savvy public figure.

"You were saying about your daughter?" Persepolis asked when Madam Rosemerta left.  "Juni? She's not lived with you before?"

1.	I imagine some floos can be safeguarded with passwords or spells to allow only authorized access?

He was unconcerned about meeting in a public place—in fact, going to a pub in Hogsmeade only made him think about just how close he was to Juni—Hogwarts was a walk away, correct? Juni wasn’t going to be going to Hogsmeade anytime soon—a fact that she complained about in every other letter sent to him. To her, he was being controlling. He supposed he was, but it was strictly for her own protection.
Mihai settled into the chair comfortably. This setting helped—he didn’t feel as pressured to put on his professional mask. He wouldn’t go as far to say that this was like going to the pub with his drinking buddies, but it was somewhere in between.

“Ah, yes. Juni.” He sighed, “She’s never lived with me before, no.”  Mihai cleared his throat. “She’s always lived with her mother. I saw her the last weekend of every month, holidays, and a few weeks in the summer. With my previous job, I travelled a lot. I couldn’t live in one area for longer than a few months.” Moving a child around would have been far too difficult. It would have been stressful—moving her from place to place as soon as she got settled. Travelling appealed to him, appealed to his whole family. But, Mihai recognized that children needed stability, and that was not something his previous job allowed for. “I’m retired now, so things are much more stable.”

“Her mother and I were never really a couple. Juni just happened.” A fond smile appeared on his face, “Though I’d say she’s the best thing that happened to me.”

"You're retired," Persepolis echoed with a touch of disbelief.  For all the special assignments she sent his way, he hardly seemed retired.  But then, it might all be relative to this travelling past he described that was too turbulent for his daughter. 

As he spoke of his daughter he seemed softer, and just a tiny bit nervous.  She was no Legilimens, but it had always served her well to notice those little things. 

"I was pregnant once," she said with a smile.  "Not married," she added in a voice that was almost comicly baritone. 

"Just happened," just like he'd said of Juni.  And then a sadness in her eyes.  He would know, of course, that the Minister of Magic had no children, and so he might guess.

"I miscarried very early.  But I think on it sometimes, if I would have been a good mother." 

She'd always had to fight against the pressures to have children.  She had always wondered when the day would come that she'd join the ranks of all the other women and witches in the world and come to her senses and crave a child.  But the day simply never came.  And neither did the right sort of fellow, because she never looked for him.

Rosmerta brought them their drinks, and Mihai raised his glass of red wine at Persepois. “Yes, I am retired.” He grinned, “But typical retirement doesn’t suit me. I need to work.” He couldn’t stay idle. What was he going to do when he wasn’t working? Sit at home alone and drink wine and play his harmonica? Frequent bars? Collect quills? None of those appealed to him.   Juni was going to be gone for most of the year until she graduated Hogwarts—and then she was going to move out. He needed his own life, a life that didn’t depend on his child’s.

He didn’t have to dwell on that for too long. The minister had just revealed to him some very private, personal information.

That meant that she trusted him more than he realized. He had to be careful with his response, and honest.
“I’m sorry.” Mihai replied. He couldn’t even imagine what it was like to lose a child—as soon as he had known Lovise was pregnant, he had felt attached at least to the idea of Juni. There wasn’t much else to say. The thing that struck him the most, was she wondered if she would’ve been a good parent. That was something he could relate to—and he still questioned whether or not he was a good father.

“I think everybody has the potential to be a good parent.” Mihai took a sip of his wine, “It takes more work for some—some people naturally fit into the position. Others need to practice and learn, just like anything else.”

“But I also think, being a parent isn’t for everybody. Many seem to view it as the end all, be all of life. The goal. There is more to life than the ability to procreate and raise a child. Not having children doesn't make you any less of a valuable person.”

She might not have expected a wizard to understand. But then, there'd been very few witches who could have articulated how she'd always felt about children.  That was her own prejudice, perhaps, that a man the likes of Mihai wouldn't be able to relate to the pressures on witches to bear a new magical generation. 

She raised her eyebrows and nodded as he gave his condolences and spoke words that were familiar to her heart.  She took a sip of her drink and agreed.

"Dear man, don't I know it."  She was the most powerful witch in Britain.  But the taboids hadn't been able to avoid speculating on why she was a single witch in her forties.  The lack of men and babies in her life was apparently cause for alarm for hand-wringers and lookie-loos the countryside over.  She didn't like that kind of attention, so she mostly ignored it.  She let Maurice handle any inquiries along those lines.  And he did it with the slam of a door, if she remembered correctly.

"I always imagined I'd resent a baby. Twenty-four, no father in the picture, moving back in with my mum, having to take time away from my career to be there.  There was just never a good time.  And I kept waiting to for that time to happen, but I realized, I didn't want it to."

There wasn't any pain behind her eyes, just a firm resolution.  It was nice to talk about it with someone who seemed to understand. 

He sat in a comfortable silence, not feeling the need to say anything. Mihai sipped at his wine.  In his opinion, people shouldn’t have children unless they were one hundred percent sure about it. He found it strange, the pressure that society put on people to have children. Muggles seemed to be the same way—and he wondered if it was a part of human nature. Some sort of drive to make sure that there would be another generation.

Still, people were having children every day. Mihai had no worries about whether or not there’d be a new generation of witches and wizards. He had one daughter who was brilliant. And many other magicfolk he knew had children. In fact, the adults who were his age and childfree were a minority.  (he rather hated the term, childless, as it implied they were losing something instead of simply not having something)

“So it seems, because you don’t want that time to come. It won’t.  And that’s fine.” Mihai shrugged, “I do not envy the childfree. It must be so exhausting, hearing about what a gift children are and what you’re supposedly missing out on.” He rolled his eyes. His parents had very much been that way since the moment he became an adult. His poor brother Emilian was still hearing all about it because he hadn’t had children yet. 

"That is fine," she echoed with glinting eyes and a cozy smile.  So much as she expressed the conflict of the past, she was happy now in her present.  Pleased with the life she'd made for herself, with few exceptions. 

But Mihai was correct; it did make one grow tired when there was constant talk of the miracle of children.  She rolled her eyes and looked across the pub out a window.  In the far distant the faint outline of Hogwarts castle was barely visible above the tree tops a few miles away. 

"But I do love children.  You know this."  She'd served on the board of School Governors for many years and had always enjoyed the moments she'd had to visit the castle and interact with the students.  Bright, chaotic things.  They experienced things so intensely, saw the world with brand new eyes.  She rather missed that.

"Last summer I met with some Hogwarts students," she said, eager to tell an anecdote.[1]  "They had formed a student society.  A club for support for werewolves.  They had a cute acronym I remember...

"Among them was the Foley girl.[2] Very strong young witch.  They all were.  Asked me some very difficult questions, to be honest.  Quite an effective little clutch.  They did manage to convince me to intercede with Headmaster Reid to allow Foley back in.  But they'd already done so much on their own. They were already petitioning Level Four with owls for better legislation for youngster werewolves.  Really quite remarkable."

1.	11 July 2009, What Counsel Has The Hooded Moon
2.	I feel like it would be somewhat common knowledge around the country that in 2009, new Headmistress Analiza Snark expelled Olivia Foley for being a werewolf.  Olivia Foley's mum went on to write a book about their life.  Olivia left Hogwarts on her own this year, during her 6th year.

Yes, he did know that she liked children.

But, Hogwarts students weren’t really children anymore. Pre-teens and teenagers. It was whole different breed. They viewed the world through a lens that adults tended to forget once they no longer have it.

Being the father of a teenager himself, he had to constantly remind himself that her world was drastically different than his own. Advice that would work for him, wouldn’t necessarily work for her in her circles.

As soon as a club for werewolf support was mentioned, his expression went grim.  “SAWS is what they’re called.” Mihai shook his head. Juni had written him lengthy letters about her concern over werewolves in the school, expressed relief at Foley being gone, only to freak out again when it was uncovered that another student was a werewolf, and a first year was one as well!

His own opinion on werewolves was complicated. It was an issue—if werewolves were truly being careful, then there wouldn’t be brand new ones popping up every day. They were still human beings though, and deserved to be treated as such when they weren’t experiencing a wilder time of the month. Still, it was hard to forget that they would be willing to kill their own families and forget their own lives when that time came.  One missed dose of wolfsbane was all that it took for disaster to strike.

“Juni mentioned them, in her letters.  She seemed to think that Headmistress Snark had the right idea.”  Mihai let out a tense breath. “And that opinion seems to have gotten stronger since November.”

Oh, she'd forgotten.  Frowning, Persepolis remembered that Juni's mother had been among those killed in November - killed by a werewolf.  As much as she recognized that the society she represented was still divided, she had her own sympathies.  It made sense that both Mihai and his daughter would take on a grimness around the topic.  She'd have to be more sensitive to that - she had no wish to alienate a man she'd come to confide in. 

She hoped her contrite frown would communicate her regret at bringing up a tense subject.  "That's right.  Such a tragedy."

Now was not the moment to console with policy ideas or headway made in the name of public safety.  Nor was it the time to commiserate about the problems afflicting the Registry.  The duplicate werewolves, the rumors of an underground pit-fighting ring... it was all irrelevant to a mourning daughter.

She sighed and sat back, again looking towards the fading light outside.  It got dark so quickly this time of year. 

"I'd like to meet her," she said turning back to Mihai.  "If she's amendable, bring her round for a visit."

“It’s… Fine.” He shook his head. Mihai was surprised at how little Lovise’s death had affected him emotionally. He grieved for a short period of time, but not for himself. He was sad for his daughter’s loss rather than his own. The holidays had been a bit rough for him and Juni, but she found solace in spending it with friends, to get her mind off of it. “She was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. There’s nothing any of us could have done to prevent it. We need to accept it as it is.” Mihai set his wine glass on the table and massaged his temple as if it would ward off any potential headache.

"I'd like to meet her."

Mihai raised his eyebrows in surprise, that was not something he expected, though it was very welcome.
“Well, I am certain she would be ecstatic about that. She’s rather ambitious. Hopes to have your job one day.” Oh, he could only imagine all the questions Juni would ask, she’d probably even bring parchment to take notes on.

“I’ll have her visit. She may be coming home for Spring Break, but we’ll see. She’s at the age where she’d rather spend time with her friends. But I’d like to think she misses her old dad enough to visit.” He let out a low chuckle, “But, we’ll see how it goes.” 

Persepolis reflected Mihai's smile.  It was surprisingly bright and she felt a funny sort of personal pride that young Miss Zamperia shared her own ambition.  It wasn't many little girls who wished to be Minister.  Zephyr knew as well as any woman of color in this country how rare it was to achieve high posts, what with all the barriers and entrenched prejudices.  She always hoped that anyone who followed in her path would find the way a little more marked, a little more smooth, as the pathway had been smoothed for her in turn.  Little by little.

"We'll see," she echoed, optimistic and luminous in saying so. 

A clock chimed and she checked her pocket watch before the tolls ended.  It was late.  She raised her eyebrows high on her head and she said, "they'll be missing me.  And I've an early morning."

"You're kind soul, Mihai.  I'm glad we had this time."

Her smile was warm and sincere, all over a smile of gratitude.  The time had passed so quickly and she'd found herself feeling normal.

“I will let you go, then.” Mihai smiled, “I… Have an early morning tomorrow as well.” He was sure he had a mountain of paperwork on his desk. Not that he particularly minded. It was just another box that needed to be checked off on his list of responsibilities. He has a few, but Persepolis—well, there was much more at stake if she didn’t do her job. 

A kind soul.

There were those who would argue that he was anything but kind! But those were the people who he had crossed. His list of enemies was not small. Still, those words were nice to hear. To an extent, he believed them. Not sure how to accept it, Mihai nodded politely in response.

He put some money onto the table—enough to cover both their tabs. Mihai stood up and pushed his chair in. “We should do this again sometime, if you’re open to it.”

Oh, he was a bold man, and she welcomed it with a feeling of personal appreciation.  Since achieving office, she'd received no personal invitations to socialize and spend time.  Only official requests to benefits, balls, galas, and summits.  She accepted this as part and parcel of the life she'd chosen.  But being requested for her person and not her position? It made her feel a little bit giddy. 

"I'd like that."

They paid their bill, said their goodnights, and went their separate ways. 

fin