Thursday, April 23, 2009
8:35 pm

There'd been many late nights, and not just for Knox Greyfriar who was playing catch-up, but for every member of the Wizengamot.  Elders, junior elders and then the score of 'listeners'.  The case load was mammoth.  Nearly a hundred people had been detained in March and April because of the werewolf attacks and the apparent mishandling of wolfsbane potion and each situation was a little bit different.  In each case, the law had to be consulted and werewolf law was old, some of the oldest, in fact.

But the burner of tonight's lamp oil wasn't werewolves (Knox's ilk), it was the topic of muggles.  There were always mumblings about muggles in the Wizengamot, but rarely did much actually make it to the courtrooms.  After all, what business did a muggle have with the Ministry of Magic?  Its whole existence, after all, was to hide itself from the muggles. 

But there was nothing neat and tidy about real life and from time to time the borders got fuzzy.  And as Knox poured over even older law concerning muggles, he found his eyes were getting fuzzy too.

"Oi.  Whitman.  You eaten?"

Knox turned in his chair.  He was in one of the small archive libraries, bent over a scroll.  He knew Oz Whitman was in the room with him somewhere, probably also prepping for some up-coming ruling.  Not everything went to court and was a hearing or a trial - so much of what the Wizengamot spent its time on was interpreting law to inform other Department decisions and policies.  The work was no less tedious.

"Going to owl in.  I could get you something?"

He was being nice, but mostly for the sake of Oz being the only other breathing thing still working at this hour.  He knew very little of Whitman, but what he did know, he didn't approve of.  But food was food.  What argument could there be?

Even after several months of his boost in position within the Wizengamot, Oz still grumbled because he was keenly aware that he was still nothing more than a glorified clerk in the grand scheme of things. He still lacked the power and prestige that he so longed to have and even if he ran himself ragged before he was 4o, he was determined to make all his wild imaginings about being a respected elder come into fruition. Surely that much want and determination had to amount to something, right?

Alas, the gap between idealism and reality was too wide for his tastes and it was quite the sore spot. Anyone itching to get under Oscar Whitman's skin need do nothing more than to mention the deficiency and it would immediately cause him to clench his jaw and do the male equivalent to pouting, if men were prone to such things.

Ribbing by the likes of his cousins only served to fuel Oz to reach his goal. He was constantly searching for ways to move up the ladder. Could another member be made to look bad? Yes? Then he was all for seeing that it happened at a swift pace. Anything that benefited his own position was favorable for him.

Knox Greyfriar was no exception. Despite the man being a halfblood, he was an elder and a well respected one at that. But given the more recent developments in Greyfriar's personal life -- namely his becoming a werewolf and the troubles of his son--  Oz had been following with interest. Would the man lose some of the respect of his colleagues? Only time would tell.

For now, Oz was forced to continue playing the game of politics seeing as the recent events hadn't completely ruined Greyfriar's reputation. In fact, in some circles it had bolstered it.

Oz bent over a stack of parchment and sifted through paperweight books at a rapid pace, choosing to drown his dislike of his whole situation in work. And luckily for Oz, the topic of his research was something of great interest to him, even if it did repulse him at times. Muggles. Blood Purity. Jurisdiction. Law. It all fell under an umbrella of topics on which Oz felt supremely confident that he was an expert

His attention was drawn away from his research when he hear Greyfriar's voice call to him. Oz resisted the urge to scowl and instead plastered a pleasant look on his face. "Haven't eaten yet," he admitted. But he hesitated when he felt the urge to mention that he was quite famished. And he didn't want to admit that the older man could be quite helpful and kind -- something Oz probably would not be in the reverse circumstances -- and get him something.

So, with a half sigh, he shrugged. "What were you thinking of getting?"

"Pizza."

Yes. Wizards eat pizza.

He went on scribbling the beginning of an order on a small bit of paper, which he'd send onto Machiavelli's Pizzarium via Ministry owl.  In the cramped alcove amongst all manner of books, codexes and scrolls, Knox Greyfriar was feeling isolated.  As much of a scholar as he'd ever been since the first war forced him to grow up and start using his head once in awhile, he couldn't go without human contact of some kind for long; be it a chat or a full on debate, he needed to see himself in another person.

And thus: Whitman.

"What've they got you on tonight? The muggle case?"  They would both know what Knox was referring to.  For the last few months a muggle (not a squib) had been working in Diagon Alley and the Muggle Liason Office was stumbling and bumbling for how to deal with her.  And so the Wizengamot was providing research and rulings and reports to inform the decisions.  It was murky as hell.

Even though Pizza seemed to be more of a muggle delicacy, Oz's stomach actually grumbled positively at the mention of it. He nodded, not thinking any verbal affirmation was required. He was content to go back to his work when Knox spoke again.

“The muggle case, yes. Among other things,” he said quickly, careful to avoid the elder's eyes. Oz knew of the man's status. All things considered, Oz would probably say that Knox was a decent guy and worthy of respect, except for that. Oz could barely reconcile the possibility that he would someday have family who were halfblood, let alone friends or mentors who already were. He couldn't seem to escape them, no matter where he went.

If Oz had his way, all muggleborns and halfbloods would be transported to a remote island where they could exist in their own little bastardized realm, thus leaving the purebloods in their rightful, untainted one. The vision was blissful in his eyes. If only he could make it a reality faster...

Reigning in these thoughts and composing himself, Oz finally turned to Greyfriar and serenely (yet clearly to him full of jest) quipped, “It seems as though we're being overrun by muggles at every turn. It's just such a shame they are so ill equipped in our world....”

Knox deftly folded the note up and scribbled on its destination (Owlry) and then flicked it into the air.  At first it behaved like any other bit of paper and fluttered erratically towards the ground, but as though a draft caught it, it suddenly jerked upwards.  Then it flitted along skyward, over the shelves and out of the archive room. 

The elder wizard paused involuntarily as Oz Whitman responded - Merlin, Knox had nearly forgot.  The Whitmans were afflicted with a centuries long genetic disorder of bigotry.  He frowned.  He was long over getting slighted for his blood status.  Two wars over blood status had thickened his skin.  So how was this going to be?  He was silent for a moment as he moved a few papers over the desk.

"That does seem to be a complicating factor," he said carefully.  "I have here a complaint that the Auror assigned to her case..."[1]

He slipped his reading glasses back onto his nose.  "She 'levitated the subject off of the ground by the neck with an unrestricted non-curse spell for a period of less than one minute.  Subject sustained no injury...'"  He ceased reading, set the report down and turned in his seat again towards Oz.

"But then, children, squibs, former Azkaban inmates - none of them are any more equipped than this muggle either.  Do you think it's her lack of wand that limits her?"

He was trying to be civil, keep it professional.  Knox wasn't so naive to think that everything that might come out of Whitman's mouth to be foul.  There was logic even in anti-muggle dogma.  Perhaps that was the beauty of the Wizengamot, that it took all types to come to balanced decisions.

1.	It's You Again; wherein Zora Roh threatens Jacoba Schlagenweit.

Oz was oblivious to his elder's contemplation of the outdated mentality that the Whitman's held. It didn't occur to Oscar that what he or his family thought was wrong in any way. It just was the way their world was and had always been. No one could accuse them of collectively not adhering to tradition, that was certain. And thank goodness for their conceit or they might actually care that what they said or did more recently was not right or popular anymore.

Oz listened as patiently as he possibly could to Greyfriar's recount of the incident in question. The younger wizard tried to hide his bored expression. When Knox addressed him directly again, Oz actually considered carefully his response.

“I think it's her lack of everything that limits her,” Oz bristled back. To him it was a simple statement, but Oz seemed to realize that he should expand on it. “Muggles, Squibs...those who are sent to Azkaban...it is impossible for them to truly be functioning members of our society. Why waste time pretending otherwise?”

Knox's thick black eyebrows popped up at Whitman's quick and startling reply.  Knox creaked in his chair as he shifted, hoping to get a better angle on the bizarre perspective Oz Whitman apparently saw the world.  The old bear could feel his temper starting to brew, but he made a deliberate effort to quiet that growling in the back of his mind.  These days that's what it took - catching it early and quite purposefully setting it to rest.   Lycanthrophy had done very little to help is hot-headed nature.

"I'd disagree," he responded simply. 

"Well worth the effort in many cases.  Non-magic folk, reformed criminals - they can't just be vanished as useless.  Undesirable.  That kind of thought gets quite close to the troubles we barely survived not a decade ago, troubles at the hands of Purist.  It seems we have a choice of a yet a third war on ourselves, or to find some way to accomodate our brothers and sisters on the fringe."

"Hypothetically speaking..." he began careful, "what would you have us, the Wizengamot, do with the wandless?"

Perhaps he shouldn't be raising such issues with a fellow Elder.  Even a Junior like Oz Whitman carried a vote, just the same as he did.  That and he came from a very powerful family - a luxury Knox Greyfriar (the werewolf) did not possess.  Part of him thought that maybe dark opinions, opinions that Knox believed tarnished the Wizengamot, should be left in the dark.  But the other part of him had a good deal of trouble letting things go.

And again, Oz still had no concept that his concepts were in any way warped or in the minority. And Oz, or any Whitman for that matter, was not likely to be swayed into thinking that they were in the wrong for thinking as they did. That simply was not possible or acceptable. Further, Oz seemed unfazed that a person in a place of influence such as Knox Greyfriar might not enjoy his commentary on their world.

It was a credit to Knox' position that Oz listened to his rebuke as patiently and politely as he did. It wasn't often that Oz respected many who were less than pure.

"On the fringe," he murmured an echo of Greyfriar's words. "Yes, that certain is a good way to put it. They all have a deficiency. I don't think it's something that can be made up or magically changed,"  he added matter-of-factly. Then Oscar briefly smirked at his choice of words. "And even if we did have spells, potions or magic in the world to fix it...or we strive to pass laws to protect them...I'm not inclined to say we should." Oz's jaw hardened. "They are inferior."

Oz bypassed the Elder's hypothetical question for a moment to expound on that. "With due respect, Elder. Whether you or anyone else likes to admit it, there is a hierarchy in out society. And I believe it ought to be upheld." Oz splayed out a hand and began to use it as he spoke. He pointed to a finger in turn. "You have your Muggles, Squibs and your criminals -- they are at the bottom. Though even I am hard pressed to admit they have value in our society, Muggleborns and Halfloods fare better. But please, make no mistake that purebloods do and always should occupy the place at the very top. By birth...through the careful records of history...it is in our blood. And it should be upheld by anyone who treasures it at all costs."

Those words could be dangerous and as soon as they were spoken, Oz realized it. But if anyone pressed him as to what he meant by his last words, he would simply state it was something he only cared about in regards to his own family. And in that case, it was none of anyone's business.

But for now, Oz tempered both his demeanor and comments. He held up his hands and shrugged. "But to answer your hypothetical question, Elder, I say we do nothing. Allow them to fend for themselves." He paused and then frowned. "And then won't the strongest of them survive and find a way to adapt?"