Tuesday 5th August 1997

From the onset of the Second War, from Voldemort’s return, Evangeline Kuester had been metaphorically thrown to the dogs. Her husband of four years had decided he wanted nothing to do with her and things were beginning to deteriorate at work through people no longer wanting anything to be seen to be sympathetic of a muggleborn who could get them in trouble.  Eva had powered through, desperate to keep some normalcy but as the months went on, it became harder and harder.

Four days ago the ministry had fallen.
It was only two days ago that Cameron had come to her office, insisting she leave the country, that she get away and stay away. Stubborn as a hippogriff, Eva had suggested he’d been trying to get her out of his way and thus, remained at the ministry. She was not going to be pushed from her job and home.
It was one day ago that Eva had watched muggleborns being dragged into the holding cells on Level 10. The world around her was becoming unrecognisable.

Today had been the climax. Upon entering the ministry, Eva had been acutely aware of the changes. Not the changes to the building, but the changes towards her. She’d only been at her desk ten minutes when an auror barged into the small office, demanding all documentation on every case she was currently working. The muggleborn lawyer was no longer trusted and she could feel things brewing.

At 11am, while collecting a fresh cup of tea, a kindly hitwizard had bumped past her and she’d felt something in her robe pocket. When alone in the office, Eva had removed the note.
Go now. You’re next.

The ink faded to nothing immediately yet the witch continued to stare at the now invisible warning.

You’re next...
As calmly as she could to not arouse suspicion, collected her bag, as if to go for an early lunch and she left the ministry, apparating to her home from diagon alley. It was a small house not too far from central London. A simple two up two down on a long street of similar and unexciting properties. It had been affordable after a quick divorce but it was by no means homely or what she wanted to settle in. Everything about the house was bland and muggle, currently unloved by its owner.

It had taken 48 hours to see her husband’s words come true and Eva had been unwilling to follow his advice. Words from a former loved one had done nothing. A warning in faded ink on a slip of parchment had been enough. It only took 20 minutes to pack most of the important things into the magical suitcase currently open on her bed. As clothing and books danced into the suitcase, a loud bang signalled her front door caving in.

Everything fell to the floor and Eva span around to the open bedroom door which afforded a view down the stairs to the intruders stepping over her front door. The bedroom door was slammed shut with a flick of her wand. She needed to get out of the building to apparate, to escape. Running to the bedroom window, the witch yanked it up, and groaned in frustration as the old wood was rigid and stuck.

Her wand was then pointed at the window and she blasted it, glass smashing and flying in all directions as she covered her face with her bare arm. Shards grazed her but it didn’t stop her from running back across the glass covered floor to the bed to grab her suitcase and clip it shut.

“Kuuuu-eeeester!”

The sinister sing-song call came from just outside the bedroom door. A heavy pair of boots carried a figure into the doorway, wand raised in left hand. The light from the tip reflected in the shards of glass littered across the bedroom floor and reflected in the hazel eyes of her pursuer. He took in the suitcase.

“Going somewhere?”

Evangeline Kuester was just one name on a list. A growing list. Thicknesse had signed an order on taking charge at the end of the previous week, and overnight, Lawrence Musgrave’s directives as an auror had changed. He was no longer pursuing those who Scrimgeour was convinced were after him, since the Minister had resigned[1], and was now pursuing those who were not worthy of magic.

So-called Muggle-Borns were thieves. The Department of Mysteries was sure of it, they were set out to prove it for Thicknesse. Evangeline Kuester had caused no end of irritation for Aurors as a lawyer, getting criminals off on technicalities. They had crossed swords - or more quills given their legal setting, and now she would understand what it was like firsthand, with nobody to get her off on a loophole.

Her wand was pointed at the auror now stood in the doorway to her bedroom. Blood was drizzling down her arm from the glass shards. Bright blue eyes were alert, wide, terrified.

“Expelliarums!” She cried, wand pointed directly at his chest.

Lawrence threw up a targeted shield against the scarlet jet of magic from Kuester’s wand. It knocked him back a step in the doorway with the anger behind it, but he smoothly followed it with an attack of his own, wordlessly casting Infligo Proterex, aiming to sharply blast his quarry off her dainty feet onto her bed with the suitcase, advancing into the room inside the door as he did.

Others in the house could hear the exchange and footsteps began to diverge on the bedroom doorway behind him.

The power with which she was blasted against the bed was immense. Slim legs smacked off the wooden frame and she gasped in pain. But her wand was still in hand, still refusing to back down.

“Think what you're doing Lawrence…” she breathed. “You're an auror…”

“But at least I’m a true wizard,” he replied smoothly, approaching as another figure forced their way into the room behind him, dashing to the smashed window, crushing glass on his way. Lawrence ignored him, he was a grunt in these terms, heavy lifting, not an auror.

“Drop the wand, and you can come in dignity, Kuester.” Lawrence’s wand was unwavering in its direction towards her, there was no doubt in his movements, especially now he had an audience.

“Not yer wand innit?” The third party helpfully chipped in.

1.	Pius Thicknesse - the official line on Scrimgeour was that he resigned rather than was murdered

“Dignity!?” The witch laughed nervously, pushing herself up on the bed. “Fuck off.”

Lawrence laughed genuinely, not at all humoured, and swiped his wand across her like a slap, casting Infligo hard enough to draw blood from her cheek. A shriek of pain came from the witch whose eyes were watering.

“Thought you said she was a posh lawyer?”
“No, just a thief.” Lawrence corrected.

He attempted to wrench Eva’s wand from her grip with a fight. Her grip tight and unrelenting, the witch willed the glass shards from the floor to rise into the air. They began to dangerously swirl in the air, a small tornado of glass shards spinning through the bedroom in a fast circular motion, rushing at the two intruders. Lawrence’s companion looked up and about him, raising his arms to protect his face as he became surrounded.

The auror was distracted by the threat. Eva took the moment to kick Musgrave hard with her heeled boot. It sent him recoiling from the bed, and she flung herself off, nearly falling around the wooden post on the corner to reach the window. She crouched at a low height, avoiding the spinning glass at head height, wand still firmly in hand.

Regaining his balance, Lawrence snapped his hawthorn wand to, and ropes snaked through the glass, snagging at the slight witch as she crouched, yanking her backwards, binding her arms first and then tightening as they descended, wrapping and circling. Behind her, the as yet unidentified wizard protested in anguish as the shards slashed his robes, seemingly unable to stop the magic.

“Finite!” The auror snapped, not keen to shred his scarlet robes, and gave his assistant a shrewd look as glass rained down around and from above them, littering their shoulders and Lawrence’s curly brown hair.

“There’s a good girl,” he called to Evangeline, “Clyde, be a fellow and drag her downstairs.” The shorter, thicker law enforcement patrol member grasped a thick handful of Kuester’s bright blonde hair as Lawrence stepped away, reaching for the discarded suitcase to inspect the contents.

The rope was biting into her skin, tightly cutting off circulation as she lay bound, the great brute yanking hard on her hair. Despite the pain and fear, despite her heart hammering in her chest, Eva was staring around the room for anything to help her. Her wand was on the floor, impossible to grab.

“ARGH!” Suddenly, the pull was harder, more viscous and her body began to move. Fighting, Eva began kicking out, struggling with her whole body, desperate to not be taken without a fight. “I’m innocent! I’ve not stolen anything!” Her eyes were streaming with tears as he dragged her by her hair towards the stairs. “Please!”

Lawrence ignored his former colleague’s struggles as Clyde bodily dragged her from the room. He was busy examining the suitcase full of clothing and books. He summoned Eva’s wand and used it to lift a suggestive lacy item from the case for casual inspection.

“Hmph. Take the case as well!” He called out to the third member of the team who was bumbling around in an adjacent room. Not that they needed three of them to take down one witch, but evidence from the house needed to be collected, proving guilt. A packed suitcase, books, magical equipment, evidence of a Muggle lifestyle.

He followed Clyde and the protesting prisoner down the stairs.
“Oh do be quiet. So unbecoming of a woman to beg.” Lawrence remarked lazily from behind.
“Outside of the bedroom, eh?” Clyde suggested, and the auror behind him pulled a face, considering that a tad crude despite what they were up to.

“Come now Clyde, we’re not monsters,” Musgrave chastised as they reached the bottom of the steps.

From the floor, a stream of German expletives spilled from the witch’s lips. Puzzled, Clyde gave their prisoner an odd look. Lawrence wondered if he’d ever heard someone speak any other language than English. The Law Enforcement Patrol officer’s wand shot out at Kuester’s head.
“Stupefy!” He snapped, “Ain’t no speaking in tongues. We’re pureblood.”
“That was German you fuckwit,” Lawrence retaliated, “That’s settled - you’re carrying her back to London.”

Five hours later, in London

The August evening was still bright outside, but inside interrogation room three, there was no hint of the beautiful weather. Lawrence Musgrave had been considering how much he would need to water his garden full of pots once he got home that evening. His niece would not forgive him if any of their hard work cultivating went to waste through his negligence. She had not forgiven him for Archie[1], and that was three years ago at least now.

But instead of making his way home to his flat, Lawrence knocked to be let into the pokey little grey room, suggesting to Clyde that he might take a break for a leak as he entered. The broad, young wizard in his dusty uniform seemed only too happy, having held his bladder for an hour.

“Right then,” Lawrence addressed the remaining figure in the room, still sporting the cut across her cheek from him several hours earlier. “I had a look in your desk for the teabags you use.” He set down a tray on the table between them, complete with steaming mug and a salad which had seen a long day. He grasped an apple rolling around on the edge of the tray, and bit into it as he took a seat opposite. Lawrence considered the other party.

“I know Clyde’s shite conversation, but silence in this situation isn’t going to help, Kuester.” He bit into the apple noisily and chewed. He had lost his long scarlet over-robe, and was dressed in a dark shirt and trousers now. His hair still glinted occasionally from the glass he’d not managed to completely remove. “Thicknesse has signed a direct order. State of emergency. You’ve been arrested for stealing magic, as a so-called muggle-born. There is no wizengamot between here and Azkaban, as of about nine-thirty this morning.” He inhaled deeply, “though I suppose you weren’t included in the memo.”

1.	July 1996, How Soon is Now, a Christmas present of a houseplant which did not survive Lawrence’s lack of attention due to extra hours at work.

The entire ordeal had been humiliating. Eva had arrived on Level 2 to be dragged to the holding cells that she regularly visited prisoners in. She’d been ordered to strip off her clothing and thrown a striped prisoner uniform to change into. Apparently, her own clothing would be evidence of her muggle activity. The witch would have laughed had she not been so petrified.
 
She’d been allowed to wash her face and arms, wiping dried blood from her skin with a rough flannel and cool water. The cut was still clear, ugly. She’d not been left alone. It was barely a few minutes after changing that she was taken to the interrogation room and sat down opposite the bastard that had dragged her down the stairs by her hair.
 
Despite question after question, the well-experienced lawyer had remained silent. Perhaps that was why they’d brought in the auror after several hours of attempted interrogation.
 
Eva stared at the tea on the tray, suddenly realising how thirsty she felt. Musgrave’s words, unfortunately, were enough of a distraction. She silently stared at him as he spoke, feeling the hopelessness of her situation overwhelm her.

“You’re astute.” Her voice was croaky, dry and sore. “No wonder you passed auror training. You figured that out all alone? That I wasn’t informed? Bright boy.”

“Oh, she talks!” Lawrence replied with equal sarcasm, turning his chair at right angles to the table with a relaxed demeanour. He rested his elbow on the table as he continued to tear apart the apple with his teeth. “Look, I was surprised as you are to hear. Truth be told I’ve never had a problem with Muggle-borns having magic, until I heard the evidence.”

“Until you decided it was in your interest to have a different opinion, you mean.” The witch retorted. Whatever evidence he thought there was against muggleborns having magic, it was the preposterous propaganda of he-who-must-not-be-named. The tea and salad were still ignored. It was a common approach from aurors to give ‘gifts’ to prisoners, a chance to show their human side and win their trust. It wasn’t about to work on the witch that saw it everyday.

“Department of Mysteries.” Lawrence stated, “Preliminary research, but what do I know, I’m just an auror.” He shrugged. “The food isn’t to butter you up, by the way. It’s dinner time, and we interrupted lunch. That’s what you normally eat, isn’t it?” He bit into the apple again, chewed and rubbed at his chin, thinking.

Eva didn’t say a word.

“What I don’t get, and what we’ve not had much information on, is how you actually go about stealing it. Like, you’re a clever girl, but that’s got to be advanced science for a Muggle.”

“I’m not a muggle.” The witch said, exasperated. He was right, silence hadn’t gotten her anywhere before. It had only served to make ‘Clyde’ nastier. Perhaps reason would make some difference.

“Don’t you see the pure ludicrousness of these allegations, Lawrence?” Her voice remained calm, trying to channel her usual manner when sat in this room. “I went to Hogwarts when I was eleven, just like you. What eleven year old do you know capable of such a feat as stealing magic?”

“Then your parents must have been magical.” Lawrence shrugged, “Easy enough to sort if they were.”

“Yes. My parents were magical. I can go now?” The sarcasm rang in her voice as she began to stand. “I’m so glad we cleared that up. I was beginning to think you’re a fucking moron!” She shouted the last bit, hands on the table between them as she finally lost her temper.

Lawrence laughed, sucking the last stray chunks of apple from his fingertips.
“That’s Clyde. I’m sure he’d only be happy to establish your family tree with you. We’ll invite your parents in, have them wave a wand, and if all’s clear then you’ll be free to call yourself pure like the rest of us.” He lifted both his eyebrows to look at her, challenging her to suggest that wouldn’t be possible. “Easy, hmm?”

Eva didn’t move from her position stood leaning on the table. Her rate of breathing had increased, stress starting to take over as she could see how heavily indoctrinated or imperioused Lawrence Musgrave must have been.

“What evidence do you actually have to hold me here?” She finally questioned, fingernails digging into the wooden surface. “You have broken into my house, attacked me and arrested me for crimes that didn’t exist a week ago! You are threatening charges that aren’t even possible and you don’t see the preposity of all of this? I’m a lawyer, not a thief and a muggle scientist.”

“I demand to be released on the basis that you have nothing concrete to hold me here with. A refusal to comply is a criminal act in itself, Auror Musgrave.”

Clyde was going to be so upset when he heard Evangeline Kuester was irate to the point of demands to Lawrence. The youngster thought he had the makings of a hitwizard, but hadn’t stuck at school and lacked the common sense. He was thick as two short planks, of course, but he could follow an instruction. Demanding answers out of Kuester wasn’t worth Lawrence’s time. He still had a workload as well as these new directives, though he could foresee that success in his new tasks would keep him safe, at least in the short term.

“About ten and a quarter inches of lignum vitae, a cauldron, house full of books on magic, and an exceedingly guilty conscious slipping off from work to pack a suitcase before resisting arrest. Not to mention the paperwork maintaining your muggle bloodline throughout your tenure here at the Ministry.” Lawrence replied, tossing the apple core onto the tray. “I don’t see preposity, I see a thief in the eyes of our new Minister. A filthy Muggle experiment.”

He maintained a stare at Kuester, and despite her leaning over the table between them, he did not get up. “Thicknesse requested you submit for evaluation, the Minister said to us all, ‘if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear’, and yet there you were trying to flee the country when we turned up. Surely you can see how that looks?”

Suddenly feeling beaten by a barrage of ‘evidence’ seemingly impossible to disprove, Eva fell back into the chair. She closed her eyes, counting silently to ten, willing herself to wake up from the nightmare she'd found herself in.

“You see a thief because you've been told to see a thief.” She finally started, speaking slowly, clearly. “I can guarantee that if I searched your home, I would find a cauldron, magic books and the wand you have in your holster there, is that evidence? Should you be sat here, facing a sentence in Azkaban because a prejudiced bastard issued orders to someone who used to be a good person to arrest and ruin your life?”

“You were a good auror, Lawrence. An uncle, I know. You don't have to do this.” Her eyes had teared up. This wasn't something she'd wake up from.

“That’s our Minister you speak of, Kuester,” Lawrence warned her, though it wasn’t entirely committed. Thicknesse had been their boss as Department Head a week ago. Now it was Corban Yaxley. “And yes, you would find all those things in my flat, but the difference is, both my parents could transfigure your salad, and the Musgraves are old wizarding blood. Well established. The Kuesters…” He shrugged, lifting both his hands up to emphasise. “And I’m still a good auror, Kuester, I’m the one sat this side of the table, after all.”

Eva would have retorted, but for once, the shock of his opinion and her situation left her completely lost for words.

He sighed, pulled his chair back to face her properly and leaned on the table between them in a reasoned manner.
“Look, you’re charged with proving your magical heritage as a Muggleborn. At present you’ve established historically that your parents are both Muggles, and under current law, based on current research, you need to be shipped off to Azkaban, or undergo a lovely treatment I’m hearing about on Level Nine.” He weighed up the two with his hands.

“Of the two, I’d say your survival rate is better in the North Sea, personally.” Lawrence cringed, even corpse-like Mortimer Gamp had swallowed when he’d explained the process that morning while they waited for the lifts in the Atrium.

“I’ve nothing against you personally, Kuester, I mean you’ve been a right pain in the proverbial over the years, but a fact is a fact. Correct your heritage with suitable evidence, or collect your ticket for Charon’s Point. Or… confess… and.. well… ” He gave a marginally sorry look to his former colleague, knowing that of all the options that meant the shortest lifespan. “Orders from the top.”

“I look forward to the day that they're dragging you to Azkaban. They will. When these monsters lose.” She wished she could believe it. “And I'll be fucking cheering them on.”

End