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6:30pm

The Wizarding community was wonderful for many things...culinary diversity was not really one of them.  It had been a long day, and Moira's desire to cook was nearly non-existent.  The thought of fetching takeout from the Leaky Cauldron again had spurred no real excitement within Moira, and so it was either venture to a Muggle restaurant or make a half-hearted attempt at cooking something quick and not so healthy.

She wasn't supposed to see Marcus for a little while yet, and had thought perhaps takeout from Santini, the Muggle restaurant where they had their first official date would be a nice touch.  Of course, not being able to call ahead she knew there would be a bit of a wait.  So, exiting the restaurant she had decided a bit of a walk to ease the stress of the day would be best.

It was a bit cold, and opening her purse, she searched for the gloves she had stored inside.  They were located easily, but she hadn't counted on her wand being caught up in them.  As it tumbled to the sidewalk she went quickly after it, retrieving it before too many would notice.  To the untrained eye it wouldn't look like much, but mentally she cursed herself for not being more careful.

Tucking the wand away again, this time in the pocket of her coat, she put the gloves on, trying not to look around to see if too many people had noticed.

The immediate crisis had been properly averted and life had returned to something that resembled normal.  Not that it could really go back to the way it had been a month ago, when in the span of two days, she'd discovered her brother was a wizard, had left her job and small rented room in Amsterdam and had caught the next train, returning to London for the first time in three years.  Since then, she'd managed to find someone that knew her brother and had managed to be convinced that her brother was fine, healthy and doing better than expected.  He had not finally snapped under her father's pressure and hadn't gotten wrapped up some strange cult - which had been the original fear that had prompted Jacoba to leave her former life in Holland. 

Now that the concern had past, life was able to settle back to the mundane.  Yes.  Mundane was probably a better word than normal.  She was now, officially, jobless.  Though rent had been extremely low for that small farmhouse room she'd rented back in Holland, her nine months doing phone donations soliciting for Amnesty International hadn't left her with much of a savings.  When not finding her way up to the mountains of Scotland, her primary residence was still Dreogan Eleor's couch. 

The crisis past, the time had come for Jacoba to decide what was next.  Chances were good, if she went back to Amsterdam, she could probably get her old job back.  She might even be able to move back into her old room.  Back when she thought her brother's lack of communication was because her father had finally convinced him of what a bad influence she was it had been easy to swear off all of England and everything it contained.  But, now that she knew better, it was harder to walk away.  Especially now, knowing what she knew, she knew how alone he really was at home.  The kid seems to have resorted to seeking familial guidance from a random government official - as much as they seemed similar, it still seemed strange.  And sad. 

She assumed that, eventually, Dreogan would grow weary of his couch being converted into a camping ground.  So, Jacoba was job hunting.  Bringing her (short, meager) resume to any place that seemed remotely in her ballpark while avoiding any haunts that were too close to her family's usual routes.  She remembered Santini from her days of roaming the streets of London, doing everything in her power to avoid going home until the last moment.  Santini was in a chic, middle class and culturally diverse neighborhood - the type of neighborhood that almost seemed inoculated against her father.  Enough so that, if he happened to run into her here, it would be entirely his fault. 

She spotted the distinct wooden shape dropping to the ground before she noticed the woman who reached over to pick it up.  Jacoba froze, her eyes following the woman's hand to the ground and back up as she quickly retrieved the dropped wand.  She couldn't help wonder: how many times before had Jacoba seen something very similar without knowing what it was she had been seeing?  Now she knew what it was, but she also knew that she wasn't supposed to know.  Watching the woman tuck the wand away felt strangely like accidentally becoming privy to someone's deepest, darkest secret.  Was she supposed to pretend she hadn't seen - like it was, somehow, uncouth?  Was she supposed to pretend she wasn't aware of her brother's ... traits?   Was she supposed to know him, but pretend she really didn't know him - or any of his friends? 

The woman looked up after having slipped her gloves on and Jacoba realized, belatedly, that she was still staring.  Their eyes met and, even though Jacoba knew she was probably supposed to look away and pretend she hadn't noticed, she didn't.  She was curious now - about all of this!  She was tired of the 'I'm not supposed to say' response she kept getting from those who showed any interest in talking to her.  Finally, she managed to shake her head and looked down at the small stack of resume copies in her hand.  Say something, say something.

"So, this is when I pretend I think you're just kind of whacked for hoarding around a stick, right?"  She asked, grinning at the other woman.  Even she could hear the disappointment in her own voice. 

Moira’s eyes met that of a young woman not far away and she froze as she finished pulling her gloved into place over her hands.  There was a look of recognition in her eyes, and something about her was familiar.  The expression on her face was curiosity, one that usually wasn’t worn by those from the Magical community when encountering another.

The last time a Muggle had known her secret things had not turned out so well and Moira fought the old fears that threatened to bubble to the surface.  She hadn’t encountered any issues since June, and she told herself there was no reason to start being paranoid again now.  After all, curiosity was not something she associated with Brian and his friends back in Boston.

“So, this is when I pretend I think you're just kind of whacked for hoarding around a stick, right?"

She returned the young woman’s smile; find herself growing a bit curious as well.  It was clear she knew something, but Moira couldn’t be sure what without further conversation.  For some reason she could place her in her building, although it didn’t make sense if she was a Muggle as it was supposedly a Wizarding building.  Of course it wasn’t impossible, just not common.

“You could do that,” she began in reply with a slight smirk.  “Most people would, anyway.  But, I’m guessing you know I’m not hoarding some stick, so why pretend?”

Perhaps she had a relative who was a witch or wizard.  She had been lucky in some ways coming from a pureblood family that all of the relatives she knew had been a part of her world.  There was no hiding and no trying to explain Hogwarts or magic to Muggle relatives.  However, she had known enough classmates with family members who were non-magical to know there were plenty of Muggles out there in on the Wizarding world’s secrets.

“I’m Moira,” she said, extending her hand to the other woman.

Well - so far, so good which, Jacoba realized, was a bit of a relief.  This whole magic thing was starting to feel like her own dark, dirty secret.  Like a mismatched pair of socks.  She understood that it was better that people like her - muggles, they called her - were oblivious to this whole existence of magic.  Or, at least, that's what most of them thought.  Dreogan didn't seem to agree - though the whys and hows were still a bit foggy, he still seemed to stick to the rule.

But, she did know!  And it wasn't like she could go back and force herself to not know anymore.  Even if she wanted to - which she didn't.  Not if that meant knowing less about her brother, again.  It was clear, by now, that he needed the support more than this crazy magical world needed their secrets kept from her.  And, she hadn't told anyone else - it wasn't like she had anyone else to tell.  Most of the people she found herself around these days were witches and wizards.  Like this woman here. 

"Possibly," Jacoba said.  The other woman's smirk seemed light-hearted and Jacoba met it in kind, with a touch of her own humor.  Of course, all Jacoba really knew was that the woman wasn't strange for carrying around that stick.  An unhealthy interest in other sticks was still a possibility.  "But, I'm actually kind of tired of pretending.  It seems they expect me to do a lot of it."   It was aggravating, actually.  Like she was the sole lucky winner of a lifetime's invitation to observe some elite, invite-only party from the sidelines. 

She took the extended hand and gave it a shake.  "I'm Jacoba," she offered in return. 

"So, you're ..."  Jacoba hesitated.  A witch probably wasn't the best way to finish that question.  Not out here on the street, though it was what she wanted to know.  "Grabbing some lunch?  Do they still serve that kebab salad here?" she asked, nodding towards the restaurant. 

Pretending was one of those things Moira had never been particularly good at for one reason or another.  It was probably because of her inability to really tell a convincing lie, but she didn’t really consider that a bad thing.  Unless of course one found themselves sitting next to Rita Skeeter whilst she was looking to dissect every detail of your personal life for the enjoyment of the masses.

"So, you're ..." 

Jacoba stopped and Moira couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow slightly knowing the question she asked was probably not the one she had been thinking.  But, for now it was probably better to not launch right in to a series of questions in the middle of the sidewalk about the magical community.

“Dinner, actually,” she said.  “Take out…I just found I don’t feel much like cooking today and I have a guest for dinner later.  I haven’t tried the kebab salad, but everything else has been good.”  Sometimes it helped that Marcus has an aide who seemed to know her way around most of London’s restaurants.

Part of her dreaded talking to a Muggle about the world she had grown up in, she didn’t have particularly good experiences doing so in the past.  Perhaps it was her…something about the way she explained things?  She wasn’t sure, but she somehow had a feeling that unlike her insane ex, Jacoba wasn’t a threat.

“So….do you mind if I ask how it is you know that I’m….you know, not just hording a stick?” she asked, changing her question slightly when a man passed quickly by them.

Pondering proper etiquette when inquiring about one's magical status in public and analyzing the cover question about food to identify the proper meal to ask about were not really two activities that could occupy Jacoba's mind at the same time.  At least not yet.  If a day came when all this magic stuff grew ... ordinary? ... perhaps it could.  But, for the time being, Jacoba just blinked, her eyebrows arching in thought for a moment before her mind was able to redirect to the new topic. 

"Oh ... well," a sheepish and slightly embarrassed grin replaced the momentary confusion as Jacoba nodded.  "Well, it's good to know your meal times are comparable to ours." 

Really?  Really?  Her attempt at a smooth transition sounded as foolish in her ears as it had in her head.  So far, Jacoba seemed to be flunking Casual Conversation with Random Magicy People 101.  Perhaps now was the time for a dose of confessing, humbly, to her uncertainty as to the best way to approach this conversation.  "I'm sorry - I'm usually not this awkward.  All this is," she waved her fingers vaguely at the woman's bag, again finding it immensely difficult to discuss a rather novel topic discretely.  "- is just a bit new and I'm still not sure what the rules are." 

Their cover story for 'witch' seemed to be getting more amusing.  Was it was helping their case any with the casual passerby?  It was impossible to say.  Whether the man that passed would have offered the two of them a more confused and suspicious glance had they been talking about being witches rather than stick horders was a question they'd never know the answer to.  And, of course, confessing oneself a 'witch' among muggles could mean one of many different things. 

But, her curiosity kept her from ending the conversation and letting the woman just walk away.  The question was one she could answer, if she gave an honest attempt at continuing this cover story.  "Well, I've met a few other individuals who ... merely have a healthy fascination ... with..."  But, it was failing miserably.  And, she was sounding even more foolish than when she was discussing mealtimes.  "Look - I barely know what I"m talking about when I know what I'm able to actually talk about.  Is there some place we can go to talk - get coffee or ... I don't know.  Somewhere I'm not trying to make stick fetishes not sound disturbing?"

In her mind Moira was laughing at how utterly absurd the conversation sounded.  So when the thought of perhaps getting coffee was brought up she couldn’t help but give a slight chuckle of relief as she nodded in agreement.  Honestly, the last thing she wanted was to have to explain her way around the entire subject to some passerby.  Also, she was quite sure that would not be a topic of conversation Marcus might find particularly amusing.

“Coffee sounds good…I have some time before the take out will be ready.  There’s a little shop down the end of the block and it’s usually pretty quiet,” she told her.

At least in this coffee shop she wouldn’t have to worry about Rita Skeeter popping in…or so she hoped.  It was a Muggle shop and the odds of the encounter were much more rare.  After being pervious trapped by the woman’s questions and without Marcus who was used to dealing with the press she wasn’t terribly confident that a second round would go so well.

With any luck, she could focus on answering Jacoba’s questions.  Clearly whoever she knew was keeping her in the dark about an awful lot.  Perhaps there was a reason for it, and she would certainly try to find out before saying to much.  She really just wanted to speak freely.

Standing in the middle of the sidewalk was entirely too awkward for her taste.  It made it seem like she had something dark and terrible to hide, when in fact it wasn’t anything like that.  She didn’t want to spend the next few minutes discussing sticks like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Jacoba nodded and started in the direction Moira had pointed.  A small coffee shop seemed to be about the right idea.  She could use the shot of caffeine to get her through the afternoon of job hunting and resume distributing.  And, really, she'd reached the limit of what the euphemisms could do for her.

She followed Moira into the little coffee shop and ordered a small drip coffee - the cheapest thing on the menu - and took a seat at a table in the back corner.  It was probably the closest they were going to come to privacy.  "That's better," she admitted, cradling the cup of black coffee in her hands.  "Who would have thought infatuations with sticks would be as awkward a topic as ... well, wands."  Realizing what that could very well sound like to the casual eavesdropper, Jacoba laughed slightly.  "So, I have to ask, are there a lot of ... well, stick and wand and, well, guy jokes?" 

Jacoba took a small sip of the hot coffee and set the cup down.  Now, to safely get back to answering the woman's previous question. 

"Well, I guess, I know because - well, I'm staying with a fellow who's a," she hesitated a moment.  "Do you really call them wizards?" she asked.  "I mean, the guy I'm staying with ... doesn't really look the part.  He's not nearly hairy enough, right?   But, I guess that doesn't matter."  Jacoba took another sip of her coffee.  "And, well, mostly - a lot of this came up since my brother told me he's become a wizard.  I presume, then, he's got one of those?"

Getting a cup of regular coffee, Moira settled herself in at a corner table near the back of the shop.  At least they would have a bit of privacy as most of the other patrons seemed to be more intent on remaining near the front.  Without giving anyone a reason to be a curious busy-body there would be no need to worry.

"So, I have to ask, are there a lot of ... well, stick and wand and, well, guy jokes?"

She gave a slight chuckle, thinking that at least her new aquaintance appeared to have a decent sense of humor.  Sometimes it was the only thing that could get someone through certain situations, to approach it with a bit of humor.  It made her fairly certain that Jacoba had a good head on her shoulders, something Moira couldn't necessarily say about herself a few years ago.  Making rational decisions didn't always mean one was mature.

"There are a few, to say the least," she offered.  "Although I think I heard the better ones while I was studying in the US."

As the conversation turned back to how Jacoba knew about the Wizarding community, Moira took a sip of her coffee.  At the mention of her friend not being hairy enough she smiled, knowing well the preconceived image a Muggle might have thanks to various supposedly fictional characters.    There were very few who still fit the centuries old sterotype, especially among younger Wizards.

"Well, if your brother is attending a Wizarding school, then yes he would have a wand," she explained, keeping her voice low.  "Most of us don't receive wands until we're eleven and ready to begin school since we're really not supposed to use magic outside of school while we're underage.  And most Wizards don't fit the sterotypical image...although I've known one or two."

She had a vague image of the former Headmaster of Hogwarts who had been killed during her second year in her mind.  She couldn't say she had known him terribly well.  The war had already been building by the time she was sorted into Ravenclaw. 

"Is your brother at Hogwarts then?" she asked curiously.

So, at least the wand question wasn't an entirely stupid one.  With only a casual understanding of what wands were about, Jacoba could just imagine the crude potential.  At least it was reassuring to hear that even these wizardy people weren't above thirteen-year-old-boy's-locker room humor.  And, it was a relief to find that Moira wasn't offended by the question. 

"The US?" Jacoba repeated, sounding rightfully impressed.  "I could just imagine the humor.  We had a couple American exchange students in our apartment building at the Uni and they had some of the raunchiest jokes.  It was hilarious - especially when they tried to tell them in German.  So - do you have any examples?"  Of course, finding the topic amusing and being willing to share were two entirely different things.  But, it was worth a try.  "What were you doing in the US, if I can ask?"

Jacoba had yet to see her brother, though she was very eager to do so.  Her wand-carrying wizard brother.  It was hard to imagine her younger, chubby-cheeked book-worm of a brother playing Gandalf or the Wizard of Oz or something.  But, then, despite being told he was a wizard - she still didn't fully grasp what 'being a wizard' meant. 

"Yes, apparently," Jacoba offered with a slight chuckle, shaking her head.  No - he wasn't attending the Appenzell School for the Gifted in Switzerland.  Did such a school even exist?  "He's - they say he's in his fifth year.  And, he plays on a sports team - which is supposed to be a big deal."  Apparently, it was the only sport the school offered. 

“Let’s just say I’ve heard a good many comments in reference to over compensation,” Moira said with a smirk when Jacoba questioned her further on the wand jokes.

She should have suspected that the mention of the US would bring about more questions, but at least she was going used to talking about her experiences there.  Her mind no longer instantly went over the list of all the reasons she left.  It was refreshing to think that she could once again focus on the more positive aspects of things.

“I was studying healing,” she told Jacoba.  “My family is in London, so I grew up here, and I wanted to experience something new.  Outside of Boston there’s a Wizarding community and they have a hospital there that accepted me into their program.”

Seven years of her life spent trying to experience something new and find herself outside of who she was under the watchful eye of her family.  It had really been the best thing she could have done for herself, knowing that if she had stayed in London her life would have taken a completely different path.  She was content with where she was not, and she had learned to accept the bad parts of the past as what had helped bring her to this point.

“Quidditch, I would imagine,” she said in reference to the sport in question.  “It can be quite exciting…although I never really played much other then for fun.  It can be a bit intense.”

Peering over the rim of her coffee cup, Jacoba's eyes twinkled with humor.  Men were so predictable - even in this world, it seemed.  "So, like cars?" Jacoba asked with a chuckle. 

If the woman across from her felt some discomfort about discussing her time overseas, it wasn't apparent to her muggle companion.  In fact, aside from the whole Wizarding community outside of Boston comment, it seemed like an entirely normal and straightforward answer.  And, it was an answer Jacoba could relate to. 

"Mine's in - well near London, too.  My father still works in London, though."  So far, Jacoba had successfully managed to avoid crossing the man's path.  She figured, if she continued to maintain the company she was currently keeping, her chances of finding herself around her father's associates were probably delightfully small.  "I only made it as far as Germany and Amsterdam when I set out for the great escape, though.  My brother may be getting to the US this next summer, though." 

"Yes, that's it!"  The term 'quidditch' seemed rather tricky to remember but quite easy to recognize.  Of course, 'bit intense' could mean a variety of different things - some might find the last goal of a football game a bit intense, others might find nothing less than bungee jumping a bit intense.  "My brother's pretty athletic, though.  Don't know what position he plays - sort of like a forward, though."

"So, you're whole family ... they're, well, like you?"

For Moira the conversation had taken a turn towards being a bit more easy when one considered the awkward beginning.  It seemed they had a few things in common, although she sensed perhaps there was more to the story of the great escape then what was on the surface.  If her brother was a fifth year then the Wizarding community wouldn’t exactly be new to him, and in most cases it wasn’t new to immediately Muggle families at that point either.

"So, you're whole family ... they're, well, like you?"

“My immediate family is…I’m not entirely sure about the rest,” she said, sighing a bit at know that statement would require further explanation as to the questionable sanity of some of her extended family.  “My family is a little complicated.  In the magical community there is this notion of blood purity and some families that that quite seriously.  I’m what’s known as a ‘pureblood’ which just means for a certain number of generations that can be directly linked to me there have been no Muggles in my family line.  For some families, like my mother’s it’s simply a matter of luck that the supposed purity of the line has continued on as long as it has.  Now, my father’s side, most of whom I don’t know, parents usually interfered trying to find a ‘suitable’ match for their children.  Frankly I think it’s a bit of a sick game of vying to show off the fact that they think wealth and power are more important then actually happiness.”

She wasn’t entirely sure it would make sense to Jacoba.  When one considered they way things were for most of the Muggle world the whole practice seemed to be completely medieval and outdated.  She hoped it was clear from her tone that she didn’t really agree with the practice, and part of her was extremely thankful that her father had managed to keep all contact with his parents and siblings to a minimum.

“I guess all families have their issues,” she added.  “When one takes into account the world outside the magical community it just makes some of my family seem like complete nutters.  Well, at least the ones my father isn’t on speaking terms with.”

The question had been intended as a simple one.  Were there other witches or wizards in her family?  But, it became apparent, almost immediately, that it really hadn't been simple.  Nor, unfortunately, welcome.  Yet, it seemed they finally had broached a subject that was, at least in general terms, familiar to Jacoba.  Not the magic bit, at least - that was still rather new -though, supposedly, it was now relevant.  Now that the Schlagenweits had their token wizard.  Or, at least, the Waldgraves did.  Gerhard knew the Schlagenweit's didn't lay claim to his wife's son but, from what Jacoba understood, he was still the only one in the family that did know. 

"Aren't they all," Jacoba offered sympathetically as Moira launched, a little reluctantly, into her explanation.  Families and complications really should be components of each other's definitions.  The explanation did make more sense to the younger woman than perhaps was expected.  The concept - family status, preserving family heritage and nobility, marrying for the sake of ensuring your family would be seen as better than others weren't isolated to the wizarding community.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.  While the concepts might seem new as they applied to wizarding blood, in general terms, however, it was far more familiar. 

"Oh, but wealth and power are the key to happiness.  Every fool knows that."  The sarcasm was rich enough in Jacoba's voice that even the casual bystander would know not to take the statement as Jacoba's own words.  "In other words, our worlds aren't really that different.  We just have different excuses for the same behavior.  Religion, culture.  Bloody hell, us muggles have gone as far as to use hair color to define a person's worth." 

It was apparent, obviously, that the young woman across from Moira did not share those ideals - otherwise, they would not be having this conversation.  "But, it sounds like your father broke the mold?"  Jacoba asked.  If her father wasn't talking to his family, that seemed the reasonable assumption.  "And, your mother's family wasn't as pigheaded - so, at least, in your house it wasn't that bad?"  At least that was Jacoba's hope.

"Oh, but wealth and power are the key to happiness.  Every fool knows that."

Moira smirked slightly at the evident sarcasm in her younger companion’s voice.  She was exactly right that in reality the magical and muggle community were not that different.  There had been quite a few times over the last several months she had wished everyone had seen things in such a fashion.  That usually led to a little reminder that things in life tended to happen for a reason and she wouldn’t change anything about where life had taken her in the present moment.

"But, it sounds like your father broke the mold?  And, your mother's family wasn't as pigheaded - so, at least, in your house it wasn't that bad?"

“I can’t for a moment complain about my childhood,” she said.  “I never had to worry about arranged marriages or high society because my mother kept everyone grounded.  The thing my parents are guilty of is hovering…which seems to have eased thanks to the fact that I spent seven years across the pond.”

Sometimes they slipped back into their old habits, but she knew it was based on concern and love so she didn’t usually protest too much.  There were times she very much hated being the only child and therefore the sole focus of all parental attention.  There was no one else to take away a bit of their interest and so there were times she was forced to remind them that she was indeed a grown woman.  It was in those moments she realized where she got her own tendency for worry from.

“It’s a bit disturbing sometimes though to think that there are people out there who are so obsessed with the idea of people fitting into a certain category to determine their worth,” she said softly.  “It’s only been ten years since the last war in the magical community…and I’m quite certain that prejudices caused by narrow-mindedness will never truly go away.  The killing may have ceased, but the intolerance is still there for some lying just beneath the surface.”

She took a sip of coffee shaking her head a bit as she added, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for the topic to get so…heavy.”