Author: Lyta Padfoot
Category: General
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. Characters and situations are used without permission, no infringement is intended.
Summary: April 1975: The Senior Department for Magical Law Enforcement Protector for the Channel Islands, Andrew Ketterly, has been busy training his new subordinate Alice Pevensey. All that remains is to remedy Alice's pureblood ignorance of Muggles. Andrew decides to start her off easily with a harmless day trip and bicycle tour of Sark. In retrospect, it sounded like a good idea.
Author's Note: Thanks again to LuthAn for the beta.
* * *
When Andrew Ketterly remembered his Hogwarts days, he always smiled at memories of Rory O'Neil, his favorite professor. O'Neil was an Irish Muggle-born who taught Muggle Studies so long he encountered the great-grandchildren of his original students. Unlike many of the other teachers at Hogwarts, O'Neil was fair and had a keen eye for spotting mischief. His mere presence served as a deterrent to bullies who were fond of targeting those half-bloods unafraid of their Muggle ancestry.
O'Neil was one of seven siblings, only four of whom survived a childhood of grinding poverty. In 1862, after a British officer murdered his sister, twenty-year-old O'Neil agreed to travel with one of his brothers to the United States to participate in the American Civil War. Many Irish men made the trip to learn the art of war in anticipation of a future conflict with the English.
The three years in the Army of the Potomac cured O'Neil of any romantic notions concerning war. His brother Liam died during a botched amputation, O'Neil himself was shot in the chest and nearly died of a camp disease, and nightmares of blood and death turned sleep into agony. When he returned to Ireland, he was addicted to morphine. A former classmate and St. Mungo's healer helped him off morphine, but he was unemployed until Hogwarts' very first Muggle Studies professor quit after realizing the subject would remain an optional one.
So O'Neil became a professor and the position helped him both recover from the war and come to terms with being a Muggle-born wizard. He was exceptional at explaining theory to students unfamiliar with Muggle life, though after the First World War his grasp of current technology faded.
No matter his fading familiarity with Muggle society, O'Neil was the only teacher Andrew could speak to about home. Andrew's father was a half-blood, but as he died of dragon pox in the 1921 epidemic, leaving his Muggle wife to raise their two sins, raised Andrew and his brother Lewis in the world she knew best. Andrew signed up to take Muggle Studies more or less to have one subject his mother could understand when he wrote home of his schoolwork. The young wizard quickly discovered that most of his classmates took the class because of its reputation as a soft option.
On a bright spring day shortly after the O.W.L. examiners departed, O'Neil summoned Andrew to his office. While he occasionally sought out his teacher, Andrew was not accustomed to being called into teacher's offices, and he could not imagine what he might have done wrong.
O'Neil's office was a space cluttered with Muggle books and items that were only odd for being displayed such as light bulbs, a collection of lighters, and unmoving photographs that never failed to unnerve pureblood students.
"I understand you're thinking of joining the war against Grindelwald," O'Neil said without preamble.
"I am," young Andrew said with pride. He already had a half-promise of acceptance. It would not become a formal offer until after his N.E.W.T.s.
"Do you think you know what war is?" O'Neil demanded.
Andrew stared at him. He wondered if it were a rhetorical question. "What war is?" he repeated.
"Did you take Care of Magical Creatures?" O'Neil asked.
"Yes?" Andrew wondered where this discussion was heading.
"Study Thestrals?"
"Horses that can only be seen by those who have witnessed death," Andrew said with a shudder. "My brother said they're bad luck."
"Look out the window," O'Neil got up and walked over to the single window in his office, which offered a view of the Hogwarts grounds. O'Neil directed him to look at an empty pasture. "What do you see there?"
"I don't see anything," Andrew said.
"The Thestrals grazing down there pull the school carriages," O'Neil explained. The older man's eyes fixed on a point in the center of the paddock. "One of them has wandered off from the herd."
"I can't see them, sir."
O'Neil moved back to his desk and sank down into his chair. "If you go into the war they will soon be visible to you."
Uneasiness settled in Andrew's stomach. He had never thought of war in those terms before. War was supposed to be about fighting evil and defending his country.
"Old Billy Sherman said 'War is hell' and it is," O'Neil continued. "I'm not telling you that you shouldn't fight, but the first truth of war is that people die. The second truth is that people are physically and spiritually maimed in horrible ways that no one who hasn't been through a war can truly understand. If you do fight, hold those truths close to your heart; the caution they inspire might keep you alive and sane."
In later years, Andrew had reason to think of that conversation whenever he encountered new recruits or thought back to the firsts that he wished he could forget. The first time a colleague returned home in a box, the first time he heard the screams of a colleague under the Cruciatus Curse, or the first time he ever killed. When he returned to Hogwarts on a Ministry errand years later, he passed by the school Thestrals and thought longingly of the day when the carriage horses had been invisible to him.
Now it was April of 1975, and he was Chief Protector for the Channel Islands, a long way from that innocent student. Despite being in the midst of another war, Andrew arrived at the Guernsey Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in a good mood. It was not until he slipped out to buy a copy of the three-page weekly paper, the St George Owl, and the morning Daily Prophet (delivery service was astronomically high for someone on the Ministry payroll and the newsagent usually gave him a discount).
The past few weeks had been quiet ones; Andrew and Alice had been able to clear away the paperwork that had piled up and even managed a little spring-cleaning. The only excitement had been a protest against the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy by Carlotta Pinkstone. Fortunately, a local wizard had been able to Memory Charm the Muggle witnesses and turn the flamingoes back into chairs before Andrew even arrived. He'd let Alice cope with the irate Ms. Pinkstone. Having a junior was proving to be very useful, though he did feel a trifle guilty about inflicting Carlotta Pinkstone on Alice.
Andrew sipped his tea and spread the papers across his desk. He savored the ordinary news. The local drama club was producing a play by Malecrit and there was a Gobstone tournament next week. Alice, an avid Gobstone player, had already requested time off to participate in the tournament.
Through the open door, Andrew could see his secretary Basil reading a Fifi LaFolle novel under his desk. Andrew shuddered and moved on to the Prophet.
Four pages into the paper, a brief article shattered Andrew's good mood. In two small paragraphs, an anonymous reporter wrote of the murder of a retired Hogwarts professor Rory O'Neil. Someone had slipped poison into O'Neil's tea. O'Neil's death did not have the heart-stopping impact of his brother Lewis's, but it was another person from his past whose death had not been natural.
"Did you ever meet Professor O'Neil, Pevensey?" Ketterly asked his protege. He felt strangely...old. Every year there were fewer people older than he was. So many of his classmates were dying - of murder, disease, and the despair that sapped their strength when their children predeceased them.
Alice looked up at him over a stack of old manuals she was arranging. "A few times. I thought of taking Muggle Studies but my mother wouldn't hear of it. She thought it was a soft option."
"What did you take?" He was supposed to observe her, after all.
"Ancient Runes and Arithmancy." Alice frowned at her bitten-down nails. "I wish I had taken Muggle Studies now. I feel so foolish around Muggles. It's hard to believe we live in the same country."
Who was it that said 'A professor is one who talks in someone else's sleep?' Andrew could not remember, but what better way to honor O'Neil than to pass on the knowledge he imparted. "I suppose we'll have to remedy that," Andrew said. Over lunch, he went home and brought a few books for her to read.
* * *
"Do Muggles really believe witches behave like that?" Alice asked the next day as she pointed to the famed three witches scene from Macbeth. "Potions isn't my forte, but I do know that Potion would never work. Hemlock and dragon in the same cauldron would cancel each other out."
Andrew sighed. Alice had a tendency to strict interpretations, and the concept of a book's meaning was lost in a culture without literature education. Andrew owed his knowledge to his early education from his maternal grandmother. She had taught literature in a Muggle school after her husband died in the 'War to end all Wars' now known as World War I. Andrew heartily wished the Muggles had ended war with the armistice in 1918. Unfortunately, human beings proved themselves incapable of learning from the past.
"Modern Muggles think witches are rebellious youngsters who wear odd clothes and worship nature. But in the past witches were thought to be in league with darkness." Andrew recalled the histories his grandmother had shown him and how they compared to Binn's lectures on Wendelin the Weird. Wizards viewed witch burning with some amusement and it had often struck Andrew that Muggles carried the deeper scars. Of course the unfortunate victims burned alive or hanged en masse were Muggles and thus unimportant to wizards.
Unaware of the grim nature of Andrew's thoughts, Alice shook her head. "Do they really speak like Mr. Shakespeare? I've never heard anyone outside of old portraits sound like that."
"It's from the sixteenth century." Andrew resolved to give her a modern book. He was not sure what had possessed him to offer her Shakespeare, but it still seemed wrong that wizards were unfamiliar with the bard.
He then introduced her to Muggle photography. After the initial interest wore off, she found the still images dull. Muggle appliances, however, fascinated her.
Andrew had a Muggle cousin who let Alice poke around her flat. The refrigerator was of particular interest. Alice kept returning to open the door to check if things were still cold inside.
"Why is it cold?" Alice wondered as she ran her hand over the door in awe. "It's not cold on the outside.
"The cold keeps the food from spoiling."
"How?"
Clearly, Alice's wealthy background hindered her in this regard. He knew she had enjoyed a privileged childhood and probably had little concept of how quickly food could spoil.
Now, how was he to explain the concept of bacteria?
* * *
April was a fine month. Andrew usually took a day or weekend trip at this time of year, but this time he did not want to go alone. It was not prudent for officials in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to take trips alone these days. He would have to bring his junior. A firm believer in never doing things for just one reason, he combined the holiday with an exercise in Muggle Studies.
"We're going on a Muggle holiday to Sark," he told Alice over lunch. "We'll use Muggle transport and partake in Muggle activities. Rent bicycles and tour the island."
Alice clapped her hands together in delight. "Will we dress like Muggles? I have some authentic Muggle outfits and I've been dying to try them out."
Andrew decided it was wise to approve her selections before they caught the ferry to the island. He was glad of this precaution when the morning of the trip arrived and he saw Alice's idea of "authentic" Muggle attire.
Andrew rejected her first outfit outright. "Kimonos may be appropriate in Japan, but not in Muggle Britain."
"What about this one?" Alice held up a sari.
"No."
Alice pulled out an empire dress. It probably looked lovely on Alice, and she even had shoes to match, but Andrew had no desire to accompany someone masquerading as a character from a Jane Austen novel.
"No. Maybe for a fancy dress party you could go as Elizabeth Bennet."
"Is she in Parliament?" Alice asked as she dug through her trunk. From all the complaints he had heard from Alice corning her lack of clothing, the sheer size of her wardrobe was overwhelming.
Andrew decided Pride and Prejudice would be the next book he loaned her. If Alice liked it, she would probably tell Basil about it; Alice might even tempt Basil away from his bodice-rippers and society pages into reading a quality romantic novel.
One could hope, anyway.
Eventually, Andrew took Alice's place and rummaged through her wardrobe before pulling out a few items lurking in the back.
"Those are from my friend Sarah," Alice explained. "She works in Muggle relations."
"They'll do," Andrew said gruffly. Nothing was more Muggle than polyester.
"I can't wear those...trousers," Alice protested, staring at the proffered item of clothing with horror. "They're too confining."
That explained why Alice had buried the clothes in the back of her wardrobe. "Muggle women wear them all the time."
"Maybe a long skirt and blouse?" Alice asked hopefully.
Trousers might have been too much to ask, Andrew realized. He finally approved a cream jumper over a brown skirt. He vetoed the flight goggles, but Alice secretly brought them anyway, slipping a pair into her moke purse.
* * *
Wardrobe issues resolved, the ferry ride to Sark went smoothly. Andrew insisted they both take nausea-reducing potions before leaving as he had no intention of having to cope with a sea-sick witch. The only hiccup occurred when Alice gave the wrong denomination note to the ticket agent, but she recovered quickly.
"I think I should have brought my glasses after all," Alice stammered as she gave the man the correct amount.
"Good excuse," Andrew complimented her. "Pretending to be foreign also helps cover up any lapses."
"I knew I should have worn the kimono," Alice said as she leaned against the ship's railing and watched Guernsey grow ever smaller.
* * *
Andrew expected Alice to pester him with questions, but several porpoises appeared alongside the ferry and Alice spent the entire trip watching the animals frolic. She was disappointed when the porpoises left them, but cheered upon realizing they were about to dock.
After they disembarked from the ferry, they walked to a place that Andrew remembered rented bicycles to tourists.
"The island's lovely," Alice said as she craned her neck while looking around. "I can see why Muggles like to visit, though I wish we were going by broom instead of bicycle."
"We are supposed to enforce the Statute of Secrecy, not break it," Andrew said. "I seem to recall you saying as much to Ms. Pinkstone."
Alice scowled. "My ears still hurt from her shrieks. I don't think the way we treat Muggles is wonderful, but can you imagine how things would be if they knew about us?"
Andrew, with far more exposure to both Muggle society and human nature in general, could imagine. A woodcut depicting a witch-burning from one of his grandmother's books appeared in his mind's eye and he had to repress a shiver.
"I've read their papers," Alice continued "and I don't understand everything they talk about. But I don't have to understand everything to know that the Muggle government is like ours and always looks for someone to blame. If they learnt about magic we would be held responsible for everything that went wrong."
"That's a rather depressing view."
Alice folded her arms across her chest. "And wizards don't blame the problems in our world on Muggles and Muggle-born wizards? People fear what they don't understand and Muggles will never understand magic! If they learned about us, they would never leave us in peace. There are only a few thousand of us in Britain, but millions of Muggles. And all of them would want magic done for them."
Andrew remained quiet. She did have a point. Until the day she died, Andrew's Muggle mother never ceased trying to figure out where Vanished items went or how a car could be twice as large inside as out.
The conversion on Muggles ended when they arrived at the bicycle place.
"I would like to rent two bicycles, please," Andrew informed the man working there.
"Oh, wanting a nice cycling holiday with your daughter?" the Muggle asked. He reminded Andrew of a sunburned Father Christmas and obviously spent little time riding the bicycles he lent to others.
Andrew scowled; he thought he heard Alice snicker behind him.
"I'm his cousin," Alice improvised as she stepped forward. She wondered if Muggles had odd customs about unmarried men and women socializing. It was not something she had thought to ask before.
The man nodded and helped them with two bicycles. Alice watched Andrew pay him with interest. Muggle money was so odd. She did not understand why they used paper; coins were so much more practical.
* * *
Before they could begin their tour, Alice had to learn to ride a bike. Fortunately, many of the same skills needed to balance on a broom worked for riding a bike. Alice quickly mastered the art of pedaling, which she found quite odd.
Just to be safe, Andrew placed discrete balancing and cushioning charms on both bicycles. Alice would not know enough to realize anything was different and Andrew felt safer about taking a neophyte cyclist on a tour of the island.
Sark was an extremely beautiful island divided into two halves: a natural causeway, the Coupee, connected Greater Sark and Little Sark. When he was younger, Andrew had enjoyed racing down the windy causeway at breakneck speed. It was, in its way, better than flying because brooms usually rode smoothly and without the feel of the ground below. Andrew liked to feel the ground moving underneath him; the bumps and jolts connected him to the earth.
They were halfway over the causeway - going at a safer speed than the younger Andrew - when a strong gust of wind nearly bowled them both over. Andrew felt his wand fall out of his coat pocket.
"Your wand!" Alice pointed. The wand landed at the edge of the causeway. As Andrew watched in horror, the wind gave it another push and it disappeared over the edge.
"Can you…?" he asked Alice, nodding at the pocket where her wand lay concealed.
Alice looked behind them at a party of Muggles walking nearby and frowned. "I don't think I could summon it without the Muggles noticing."
Andrew grunted. He could always borrow Alice's wand, but his summoning charms had never been delicate, and using someone else's wand would only increase the difficulty.
"We could Memory Charm them," Alice reminded him carefully. She knew Andrew hated Obliviating people, but it was an option that had to be considered. "Or wait until they leave."
Andrew shuddered; he loathed using Memory Charms. "No, we don't know when that will be. I'll just have to go and get it without magic. That was the point of this exercise; to spend a day like Muggles."
He got off the bike and moved to the edge of the road. His wand wasn't very far down, but it would not be an easy climb. Only Andrew's stubbornness kept him from taking Alice up on the offer of her wand.
It was a good thing Andrew did not look back as he started to climb down after his wand. The sight of Alice biting her lip and shaking in an effort to hold back her laughter might have convinced him that a few Memory Charms would hurt no one, including Alice.
Cursing under his breath, Andrew picked his way toward his wand. It had wedged itself between two rocks at a very awkward angle. It took several minutes for him to reach it, dislodge it, and scramble back up to the road.
The group of Muggles was gone now, but another local woman gave him a peculiar look as she passed by.
"The good news is that our accents mark us as hapless tourists," Andrew explained after he caught his breath. He really should have just Summoned the wand. "Muggles know tourists are strange creatures. It's a useful thing to know sometimes."
"I'll remember that," Alice said.
"And Pevensey?" he growled.
"Yes?"
"If this story is ever repeated, it will be easily traceable back to you."
"I'll remember that as well, sir."
Andrew got back on his bike with all the dignity he could muster and did his best to ignore the fact that Alice's brown eyes were bright with amusement.
* * *
Retrieving the wand had taken more time than Andrew expected. When they returned the bicycles, they made another discovery: they had missed the boat back to Guernsey.
"We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way," Andrew said. Secretly, he was glad for the excuse to Apparate back. He just wanted to go home.
Alice, however, was disappointed. She had been looking forward to another ride on the ferry watching the porpoises. "I suppose."
But she obliged, and then there were two pops, one louder than the other; but where there had once been a man and a woman there was now only empty space.