15th December 2003

The living room in the Aldridge family’s generously sized home was, for want of a better word, busy. The walls were covered with dark wooden shelves, filled with books old and new alike. And the panelled walls that weren’t covered made room for ancient and probably stolen paintings and relics of varying sizes. Nothing of any particular danger was placed in this room. Very small children were often brought here. Having cursed vases or stolen swords in the family room wouldn’t be one of Charisma’s most sensible ideas. But everything that was in here would have no doubt been of interest to any new visitor to the room. Either Ryan or Charisma Aldridge would have a story for the acquisition of every one of these items.

Two large sofas sat facing one another in the centre of the medium sized room. Large patterned blankets were draped across these and an old dark wood coffee table was positioned between them, a few open books spread across its surface. Closest to the fireplace was an old looking brown leather arm chair. The majority of the time when he was home, Ryan Aldridge could be found sitting here with a paper or a book in his hand. As it was he wasn’t in. The oldest of the Aldridge family was to return from his most recent trip to Morocco in a few days.

At the present moment Charisma was sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair at the aged looking bureau in the corner of the room. The surface was covered with old pieces of parchment and the woman, quill in her hand sat staring at a particular sheet, glasses perched on the end of her nose as her lips pursed in concentration. Mrs Aldridge had been sat in this position for hours and moved only from the chair when the loud bell at the front door started ringing.

Charisma pushed her glasses up off her face to stick them in their usual place resting precariously on the top of her head and stood up. Dark brown dragon hide boots began to lead their way to the front door as freshly cleaned burgundy robes floated behind the witch, wafting a fresh soapy smell into the air.

Without pausing to look through the window beside the front door, the curse breaker pulled the heavy door open and froze. Piercing blue eyes stared at the man on her doorstep and the colour from the woman’s face immediately drained, leaving her pale and gripping the door tightly for support.

“I thought you were dead.”

The Aldridge home looked much the same as he remembered it, but that hadn't done anything to quell his trepidation.  Jonas had come expecting either eventuality: the run-down hovel of a family obviously fallen on hard times or a virtual fortress, complete with foreboding turrets and writhing bodies left rotting on the front walk, with a great flashing sign overhead that said 'DEATH TO MUDBLOODS' as it was framed with glowing green skulls.

What he hadn't considered was that nothing would have changed.  This reality was almost more discomforting than the stuff of his nightmares had been.  He hadn't come expecting complacency.  The idea that six years could pass since the world had gone mad -- six years since the Ministry had turned barmy and he had to flee or risk death and worse -- and not a thing would change in the appearance of his former best mate's family's home made him want to turn around and race back to the road where he'd left his rental car, bad leg or no bad leg. 

It took a long, discomforting moment to even steel himself enough to knock on the door.  The private investigator stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, feeling for his wand, clenching a hand tightly around it to keep from fidgeting as he shifted uneasily on his feet. 

However much he might have liked to, he couldn't put this off any longer.  He knew it.  The job offer that Anna had gotten in London was lucrative -- it paid far better than the two of them combined could expect to pull in, even in a good year -- and with the recent birth of their second child, money was tighter than ever.  Jonas couldn't give his wife a logical reason why they shouldn't move back to the city.  Her family was there; with the new job, they could afford to find a neighborhood with a good local school.  They might even be able to save enough to purchase a house.

He couldn't give her a logical answer, and yet he couldn't move back.  He hadn't heard hide nor hair of magical England, the Ministry, or You-Know-Who for six bloody years, which was long enough to feel a lifetime ago, but that didn't mean that they weren't still there.  Jonas didn't want to think about what would happen if they found him, but the thought of conveying any of that to Anna made him feel physically sick.  There had to be something else he could do, some other way to ascertain the threat of it all before telling his wife.  Getting in touch with any of his old friends was too dangerous.  Ignoring the problem until he got to London was suicidal.

And so he'd come to visit the Aldridges.

The door opened and no one tried to hex him immediately, which was a good sign.  Charisma Aldridge stood in front of him, looking as pale as if she'd just seen a ghost.  She gripped at the door, and Jonas wished that he could have done the same; for once, neither knee felt entirely steady.

“I thought you were dead.”

"Yeah," Jonas agreed, shifting uncomfortably.  That had been the intent, after all.  They were supposed to think he was dead.  His throat was so dry that he couldn't swallow and his wand felt odd in his hand, even concealed inside his sleeve.  It had been six years since he'd used it; even if something had happened and he'd had to apparate or cast a spell, he wasn't entirely sure that he could.

He swallowed, visibly setting himself, and then tried to meet Charisma's eye.  "Not a horrible time to drop by, is it?" he asked quietly.  "Do you mind if I come in?"

It wasn’t that Charisma had expected any particular person at her door. On the contrary, she’d had no idea who would be there requesting her attention. She’d returned the day before from a mission in Turkey after recovering an exquisitely created and engraved sword from a cave deep in the rural countryside of the territory. Therefore it had briefly crossed the witch’s mind that it could be a neighbour from down the lane with inane muggle gossip about others in the village or Taryn surprising her with a visit. It wasn’t the full moon at the moment. That had been while she was abroad.

Jonas Trevelyan was certainly one of the last people Charisma would have expected to find stood on her doorstep, looking equally as wavering as the owner of the house. When her eyes had taken him in, the witch’s heart had ceased beating for but a moment. The world seemed to have halted in its rotation and she suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Charisma couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. Her youngest son’s former best friend was stood on her doorstep, alive, breathing and looking extremely uncomfortable with the situation.

"Yeah," was all the man said in response. He’d vanished from her life 6 years ago when Voldemort’s psychotic followers had begun to take over the ministry and Charisma hadn’t heard from this man since. She’d presumed him dead and all he had to say to her was ‘yeah’. She had so much to tell him, so much to say and yet her body couldn’t catch up with her brain. Or was it the other way around? She just stared at him, pale faced, her bright eyes taking him in.

"Not a horrible time to drop by, is it?"

A very tiny, breathy nervous laugh escaped Charisma’s lips before she put a hand to her face, covering her mouth. This couldn’t be real. Tamis, Tait’s former fiancée had ignored all contact from her since her son’s death. So why had his best friend suddenly shown up? Why now after six years of nothing?

He asked to come in and Charisma’s brain finally caught up. She blinked, still mildly dumbfounded before stepping back, allowing room for his entry. “Please do.” The curse breaker’s voice was shaky, barely more than a whisper as she extended her arm, a signal of her invitation.

Jonas stepped inside and she pushed the door closed carefully. A loud snap echoed in the dark hallway as the lock clicked into place and Charisma turned on her heel to face Jonas. She studied his face intently for a moment, still disbelieving before stepping forwards, robe covered arms enveloping him into a tight, maternal hug. As she held him, she ignored the few tears that began to form in the corners of her eyes and roll down her cheeks.

He had been very mentally clear with himself that entering the Aldridges' home did not increase the chances that he was going to end up dead.  Even if he was years out of practice, apparation could take place in a foyer just as well as it could on a front porch, and Jonas would much rather risk a splinching than end up stunned and delivered off to the Ministry. 

There was a reason he had chosen to approach the Aldridges, too.  Even if they were pureblooded, even if it had been six years, they had still been Tait's parents, and in all the time he'd known them, not a single member of the family had ever said a word against Muggle-borns.  He knew that Charisma and Ryan Aldridge had fled with their family during the last war; the odds were better that they'd still be alive than someone like Tamis Raynor or Archer Radley, both of whom had very clearly been in the thick of things back at the Ministry.  Jonas hadn't exactly expected to catch them at home on a day off, but even pressure from Death Eaters had to die down eventually.

And despite it all, he wanted to trust them.  He'd trusted Tait.  If his best friend hadn't died years before everything had changed, Jonas wanted to think that the other Auror would have been in lock step with him until the end.  Not everyone believed what had started to come out in the Prophet and from the Ministry.  Raynor hadn't.  He hoped desperately that Tait wouldn't have, either.  His murdered friend's parents were the best window he'd ever have into how his old schoolmate would have thought.

He stepped into the house, still on edge, still ready to bolt.  When Charisma turned to him, Jonas very nearly jerked back, his wand half drawn from his pocket before he caught himself.  Taking a deep breath, he tried to force the worry and panic out of his mind, to remind himself that they had no way of knowing he'd ever come today and no reason to suspect it, but a knot caught in his throat.

Swallowing hard, he stepped back.  It was easier to look somewhere else.

"Sorry," he started, letting his gaze play over the details of the entryway instead of Charisma.  It was exactly the same as he remembered it, the details all in place with a few new bits here and there.  Jonas breathed in, tried to relax.  There was no reason to panic.  "For dropping in like this.  I mean, I know it's sudden.  But I was - ...I was in the area, and I thought..." 

The conversation had gone much more smoothly when he'd rehearsed it in his head.  The red-haired man grimaced, biting his tongue, and then looked helplessly back at Charisma.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, suddenly feeling much younger than he had in a long time. The words poured out in a hurried, clipped rush.  "Look, I don't mean to make trouble for you lot; I'll be off proper and quick.  Can we...can we talk?" he asked, unable to keep the anxious edge from his voice as he crossed his arms,  hugging them defensively against his chest.  "There's not much trouble in that, is there?"

Charisma took a step back, continuing to watch her visitor with piercing blue eyes. He was nervous and agitated. He reminded the curse breaker of a small boy having just been found in the forbidden forest with his hands down his trousers. He looked, and sounded like he was trying to explain to a scary professor at Hogwarts why he’d been out after hours instead of asking his former best friend’s mother if they could talk. And no matter how Charisma may have chuckled at him when she hadn’t just received such a surprising shock, the woman could only stare at him pale faced for the moment.

As she watched the young man and his verbal diarrhoea, Mrs Aldridge’s mind became flooded with memories. She saw the Jonas before her at 12 years old. And next to him stood Tait, black curls flopping over his face as the boys proceeded to excitedly recount one of the adventures they’d had in a tomb they shouldn’t really have been in on that trip to Egypt. She saw a thoroughly handsome Tait and Jonas stood proudly in front of her, Red Robes hanging from their shoulders, golden badges glinting from the lapels and huge beaming grins plastered on their bright faces. Charisma blinked, trying to fight off any tears that threatened to make an uninvited appearance.

“My family’s a niffler for trouble, Jonas.” Charisma stated calmly to the young man before turning on the heel of her boots and walking slowly down the hallway. She stopped at the door to the living room and turned back to him, a weak smile on her lips. “It’s good to see you.” A hand reached out and she squeezed Jonas’s arm softly before pulling back and stepping into the living room.

It was mid December. Ten years ago, at this point, the Aldridge’s home would have been filled with festive spirit.  It used to be a winter wonderland especially for the kids, even once they’d grown up. Now? It seemed disrespectful to the memory of Tait to have any decorations up any time before the 22nd. In fact, it was always Taryn reminding her mother that such decorations should still go up. So today the living room was its usual self. No sign of Christmas or excitement. Just books, parchment and antiques overcrowding the wood panelled room.

Charisma slowly sat on the sofa and waved her arm at the seat opposite for Jonas. “Do you...do you want tea? Coffee? Pumpkin juice?” The witch asked, not sure what else she couldn’t actually say to her visitor just yet. “I can summon Herby.” The house elf would be just as shocked to see an older Jonas Trevelyan sat in the family’s living room.

The witch frowned down at her hands before looking up at the ginger haired man. “Where have you been?”

"Yeah, tea's grand," Jonas said uncomfortably, lowering himself to sit with care on the chair.  Even seated, he couldn't relax; he stayed right on the edge, one hand resting on the armrest in case he needed to push himself up again in a hurry.

He'd come expecting the question.  Whatever kind of reception he received, Jonas had had no doubt that she was going to ask.  How he'd gotten away; what he'd done since.  Charisma Aldridge was no Legilimens, not that he knew, but he still took a deep breath, steeling himself as he pushed any thought of Tamis Raynor, Anna, and the children far from his mind.

"Up north," he replied with a weak smile.  "I left when they started asking Muggle-borns to report to Level Ten."  The few brief hours stuck out like a bonfire in his mind.  The change in policy had come quickly, so quickly.  Confusing rumors of an attack, Scrimgeour resigned or dead, and suddenly everyone in the Ministry had switched sides.  He'd received the summons at his desk:  'As a purported Muggle-born, you are hearby required...'  He could still remember meeting Tamis's gaze.  In an instant, everything had fallen apart.

He let out the breath he'd been holding.

"So I stayed away," he said, making eye contact with the older woman again.  "Been keeping me head down, just staying clear of it all.  Haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone since."  Once, just once, a pair of wizards coming to his uncle's house.  He'd been lucky he'd gone to stay with Arthur.  Nothing would have ended so well otherwise.

Jonas swallowed, his throat tight.  "What's happened since then?" he asked.  The knot in his stomach felt so real that it hurt.  He'd known for years, spent countless hours steeling himself for the deaths of everyone he knew, but even reasoning through the only likely outcome in his head somehow didn't destroy all hope.  Hearing the truth from Charisma would.  "How bad has it all been?"

Jonas accepted the offer of tea and Charisma’s hand slipped into the large pocket of her burgundy coloured robes, fingers enclosing around the wooden shaft of her wand. She thought briefly about the house elf and the wand glowed ever so dimly within her pocket before she withdrew her hand, eyes never once moving off of Jonas. He was perched on the seat, still seeming to be in great discomfort. Charisma’s lips pursed as she studied him.

The welsh witch found herself nodding ever so slightly as she sat very still in her seat, also not looking in the least bit relaxed. The woman remembered these days when everything in the ministry had changed to become even worse like it was yesterday. She remembered seeing the devastation that began to occur, the fear spreading across the entire country. Even muggles were being affected. Ryan Aldridge had insisted they take Taryn and stop in Bulgaria with Tristan until it all died down. Charisma had refused. The very idea of running and abandoning everyone she knew appalling her. They’d done it the time before because they had young children to protect. This time she’d wanted to stay. This time she’d needed to help friends.

Her actions in the past meant that Charisma didn’t blame Jonas for going into hiding, leaving the wizarding world behind him given his situation. What she found herself upset with was the fact he hadn’t entrusted anyone, least of all a couple he’d known and trusted since a young age and they’d been left to think him dead. But he was here now. She should have been happy. But she could only find herself staring at him.

There was silence in the small room after his question for a few moments that seemed to drag on for much longer. This was broken by a crack and the appearance of a small, skinny looking house elf, clad in a stripy pillow case, a teatowel covering his head.
“Mistress called?” he asked, wide eyes travelling from his master’s wife across the room to the family’s guest. He blinked, lips parting in surprise.

“Herby, tea.” Charisma stated, far more sharply than intended. She looked at the house elf who continued to stare at their guest, “Now.”

The house elf reluctantly wandered out of the door and Charisma finally answered the question, her welsh accent somewhat softening the tone of her voice. “The war’s over, Jonas. It ended five years ago. Voldemort was killed and his followers are safely locked up in Azkaban.” The witch paused, frowning down at her hands.

“There was so much destruction.” Charisma muttered. “Ryan and I lost a lot of friends. You’re lucky you managed to get away to be honest, son.”