WHO: Martin Li and his girlfriend Rose. WHAT: “I’m telling you everything tonight.” WHERE: Martin’s flat in Brighton. WHEN: Thursday evening into Friday morning, mid august 2013. WARNING: moderate language.
Rose’s voice came out of the mobile sounding tinny, with her affected accent front and center, “‘ello my lover, you’ve just missed English Rose, leave a message if you want. If it’s really important, text.” She used this number for personal calls as well as booking for her stage persona; a kind of cross between Eliza Doolittle and Amy Winehouse.
Martin’s mouth was dry. “Hey love, it’s me. Listen, we need to talk. I have some stuff to tell you. Can you come to my flat?”
This was where Martin hung up the call. He didn’t know (or care) whether that was the way a muggle would leave a message. He didn’t have much reference anyway, not many people called him. He was standing in the kitchen of his cozy flat, where he had paced from the living room. He couldn’t talk on the phone about this, he needed to see her face to face.
Maybe five minutes later his mobile lit up with a text that simply said “???” He smiled. Rose had a knack for communicating, even when she chose not to use words.
He typed “come over” on the tiny touch screen keyboard, then put the device on the counter and walked away. He knew he was being a dick, but he couldn’t very well leave a written record of what he needed to say, and if he tried to explain he might let something slip.
He paced back through the living room and into the bedroom to pet Tommy. He heard another message come in with a ding and he buried his face in the cat’s fur. He just needed to wait it out.
An excruciating twenty minutes later, Rose was at his doorstep, irritated and slightly damp with perspiration. He pulled her through the door and lifted his heels to give her a quick kiss. When they broke apart she gave him an appraising look, “are we about to break up?”
“I don’t think so. Come in, do you need a shower?” Her clothes and messy hair betrayed that she’d come straight from dance class.
She nodded, “yeah. Can you tell me your news first?”
“I can’t. Go shower and put on something comfortable. It’s going to be a long night,” she started to argue but he shut her down. “I’m telling you everything tonight, you’re not gonna want to be in your dance kit.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Everything? Your mysterious scar? The cult you grew up in?”
“It’s not a cult.”
“Oh my god, Martin! That’s what you would say if you were brainwashed.”
He smirked, “who wouldn’t want a clean brain?”
“Martin!”
He swatted her on the bum, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom, “I put out a fresh towel. You’ll get naught from me until you’re in pyjamas. We’re doing this sleepover style or not at all.”
She rolled her eyes but went along without more pushing. He changed into some loose cotton shorts and a tee shirt. He hadn’t planned “sleepover style or not at all,” but once it popped out it felt right. He arranged tea and snacks on a tray and waited. This waiting wasn’t as bad as waiting for her to come round after his message, but it wasn’t easy.
When she finally sat across from him, he wanted to freeze time. She was so beautiful and kind, and he didn’t know how she would take this. If she took it badly he’d be forced to tell on himself to the Order, or else Obliviate her himself. Was there any other way? He hated putting her in this position…
She waved her hand in the empty space between them, “earth to Martin, you look like you’re dissociating.”
He glanced up and nodded, because he had been. “I need you to promise you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“In trouble with Sirus the cult leader.”
“Yeah. I mean no. Just promise me please.”
Rose leaned forward with her pinky outstretched but it didn’t quite reach until Martin leaned forward too and linked his pinky with hers. “I promise. I love you.”
“I love you too. Only problem is I don’t know where to start.”
“Start with the scar.”
Martin shook his head, “that’s too far in. I think I’ll just start at the beginning,” he took a steadying breath, “I’m a wizard.”
“Like a magician?”
“Not at all. I do real magic. I went to school for it with some of the people at the bar.”
“That sounds like a fucking cult.”
“It’s not! I can prove it.”
“I can’t wait to see this.” She was getting frustrated, but her face changed to pure shock as her boyfriend shrunk and disappeared into the form of some kind of weasel. She stood up and looked around, grasping for and explaination, “Martin?!”
Martin transformed back, his body seeming to almost inflate into shape. “So you see…”
“What the fuck!” She stood and navigated around the coffee table and grabbed his shoulders to examine him , “what the fuck??” She was almost yelling.
“I’m a wizard!” Martin’s own voice matched volume and startled him. “Shh, the neighbours.”
“Fuck the neighbours. How long have you been able to do that?”
Martin looked at his fingers, “three years? But I’ve been a wizard my whole life.”
“You said you went to school for it.”
“Special wizard boarding school. But I did’t learn how to be a wizard, I was born into it.”
Rose sat down on the sofa, next to him now. Martin couldn’t read her face, “so I couldn’t learn to do it.”
He blinked. He hadn’t expected this line of questioning, “I’m sorry love, I think it’s a genetic.”
“How come you’re smarter than me but you don’t know anything? You don’t know a thing about science or taxes or fucking… mp3 players.”
“Wizards have whole communities completely separate from muggles. I didn’t grow up—what?”
“Muggle. Is that a slur.”
“No, it’s not. It’s what we call non-magical people.”
“Just… say something else.”
“… okay. I grew up completely separate from Non-magical society. We have everything your society has. Our own money, our own government, school, shopping districts…”
“If it’s so great, why are you slinging pints in Brighton?”
“Well. We’re actually in a war right now, and the mugg- the non-magical world is kind of a safe zone from the bad guys.”
Rose looked stunned. Martin bent over and fussed with the tea (now slightly cool). He handed her a milky mixture in a stolen mug from the bar. She took a deep drink before continuing.
“How can there a war I don’t know about?”
“I don’t know how they keep it secret, they don’t care who gets hurt during their witch-hunts, even un-magical people. But the war isn’t really on right now, we’re at a stalemate.”
“How many people are there? In the war?”
“I don’t know numbers. There’s a few thousand wizards in Britain but not every wizard is involved in the war, some people are just bystanders.”
“What are you actually fighting over?”
“A lot of things. It all started when a very powerful wizard basically tried to take over the world and kill everyone he didn’t like in the process. We had to stop that obviously,” he said this very nonchalant. “And they were hunting muggle-borns as well. Some witches and wizards have un-magic parents. No one knows exactly how that works, it might be, uh, recessive gene.” He looked at Rose for approval.
“Yeah that’s the right word. What do you mean hunting?”
“The Death Eaters were accusing them of stealing magic, which is horse shit. Then they rounded up the muggle-borns and took their wands away. Most wizards are rubbish without a wand. Some of them folded and live as muggles now, some of them went into hiding, fled the country, some of them fought. A lot of them died.”
“Jesus.”
“The bad guys run the government now. We’re the rebels. Were technically in hiding actually.”
“In hiding. Are they looking for you?”
“Not really, they’ve gotten lazy.”
“But they could change their minds and hunt you down.”
“We have a lot of protection spells in play.”
“We’re going to circle back to that. Can you show me your wand?”
“I guess so,” Martin pulled it out of his pocket and set it on the coffee table. It was a dark wooden thing with a single vein of some kind of shiny metal that traveled from tip to base. “It’s walnut with a phoenix feather core. The copper is supposed to help focus your energies, I think they just include it because it looks cool.”
She touched it lightly but didn’t pick it up, “show me some magic.”
Martin picked his wand up, flourished it at the tea pot, and said an unfamiliar phrase. The tea pot became a white rabbit. “I guess this isn’t helping my claim that I’m not a magician.”
Rose gasped in delight. She reached out and touched the rabbit’s soft fur, “is it alive?”
“It only looks alive.” He said. “If you want to pet a soft animal it should be me, I actually appreciate it.”
“Are you talking about that weasel?”
“It’s a marten. I can turn into it whenever I want. Sometimes it happens on accident because of, like, trauma. A few years ago I got in a fight and got stuck that way.”
“This is insane. Who did you get in a fight with? How long were you stuck?”
“It wasn’t really a fight. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and a Death Eater saw me. She shot a curse at me,” he pulled on the loose neck of his tee-shirt, revealing the scar on his shoulder, “that’s this. I transformed to get away and I just, I had never done it before, and I got stuck for a few months.”
“A few months.”
“Yeah. I found my way home and Theo looked after me. That’s why we’re so close.”
“Did he know it was you?”
“I didn’t even know I was me. It’s like I was a blank slate, no sense of self but natural instinct. Because of that, I imprinted on the first person who showed me kindness.”
“Oh my god, he’s not your boyfriend, he’s your mum?”
Martin crossed his arms defensively, “you know he’s not my boyfriend.” After a moment he said, “or my mum.”
“Sure,” she said, stifling a yawn. “This explains why you look at him like that.”
Martin ignored this remark and glanced at his favourite digital clock (he liked the numbers). “It’s getting early. How are you doing? How do you feel?”
“I feel like a lot of things make sense and a lot of things make no sense at all.”
“But you don’t want to break up?”
“What? No, I want to go to bed.” She ruffled his hair, and pulled him in for a forehead kiss. “I’m glad you told me.”