WHO: Caroline & Sturgis Podmore. WHAT: A tête-à-tête while making dinner. WHEN: Wednesday, March 14th. WHERE: Their home in Vicarstown, Ireland. WARNINGS: N/A.
“It’s frustrating,” Sturgis started as the tears began to form along the waterline of his eye. He really should have put on goggles or at least chewed a piece of gum before he started chopping up the onions, but it was too late now. The damage was already done. “Everyday it just gets harder and harder to bite my tongue. In the metaphorical sense. Can you pass me the prep bowl, dear?”
“Oui, mon petit chou.” Caroline handed over the bowl, watching her husband with some slight amusement. “Did you run the onions under water first? I personally find it entertaining,” she added as she thumbed through her messages on her phone. “Being perfectly amenable to their faces while I’m mentally sharpening my knives. It’s rather fun.”
Her husband shook his head to her question as the cutting and crying continued. “It’s entertaining to a point, I guess.” Or at least it had been for awhile on his part. “But eventually the fun part is actually getting to use the knives. Metaphorically, of course.”
“Metaphorically,” she echoed. There had been debates about capturing known Death Eaters and imprisoning them. Caroline would sooner execute them and eliminate the risk entirely. “Being forced into hiding—it would make things rather more convenient for Little Avery. Still, there seems to be a certain freedom to it. In being able to say what you pleased. Although self censorship has always been something I’ve needed to do.”
“You? Needing self-censorship? Never,” Sturgis answered with a small chuckle as he began to scoop the chopped onions into the prep bowl. “If only we were independently wealthy and didn’t have to worry about a source of income. They we could be free to be you and me.”
“It’s more that my cursebreakers and I don’t want to just hand Gringotts over to them,” she said, pocketting her phone with a hard look at the thought of Avery. “The goblins aren’t making things easy. We need to support them for as long as we’re able to. If the wizarding community as a whole hadn’t been such arseholes to them, maybe they’d make for better allies.”
Sighing, her husband placed the knife down on the cutting board and used his sleeve to wipe away the onion-induced tears. “Can’t blame them really. And the last thing we want is them getting lured into supporting You Know Who and his band of assholes.” The last thing the Death Eaters needed was more creatures on their side. “But the minute you no longer have a job, I’m going bollocks out on the network. No holding back.”
“That would be quite a sight,” Caroline allowed with a smile. “But no, the goblins would never support them. They know well what little regard the Death Eaters hold for other magical species. The problem is that the rest of us haven’t exactly been much better.”
“Speaking of supporters,” she added, “why are we still crying over the fact that some purist got hurt at a ‘heritage’ fundraiser? It’s like some of us have forgotten the difference between ‘civilian’ and ‘civilian who may not directly have got their hands dirty, but otherwise supports the Cause’.” He frowned as he picked up the knife and reached for some carrots. “They weren’t around when this happened the first time,” Sturgis suggested as he began to chop the root vegetable. “I think they see many of these people as folks they went to school with rather than folks who helped the Death Eaters rise to power. Both times.”
“And they still want to see the best in them.” Caroline shrugged. “I’d prefer to expend what little energy I have in helping the genuine victims of this war, not sitting down and having tea with every purist to find out their exact and individual motivations for cozying up to known murderers. At best, their motivations would be selfish ones.” She reached for a canister of herbs. “Oh well. They’ll find out soon enough.”
“Some lessons have to be learned the hard way, I suppose.” The original members of the Order knew that all too well. “But hey. Maybe everything will magically work out and we’ll never have to worry about using our metaphorical knives or having tea with purists to discuss their motivations.”
“‘But Death Eaters throw the best parties!’” The herbs were passed over to Sturgis. “Hopefully that day comes at some point. I have so much that I want to say…” An exaggeratedly wistful expression on her face.
Sturgis smiled at his wife. “Someday, Caroline. Someday.”