WHO: Betty Braithwaite and Byron Kettleburn WHAT: Two colleagues having a chat WHEN: Monday, 2 April (backdated) WHERE: The Beacon warehouse WARNINGS: None
“Can I talk to you about something?”
Betty was uncharacteristically hesitant, quiet even when usually she’d not be that way around someone she knew as well as Byron. Stood inside the warehouse they’d been using to write and store The Beacon in, twisting her hands around her habitual morning cup of coffee as she waited for him to answer. The worried expression on her face that hadn’t quite left her in the last few days seemed to deepen somewhat, and she cleared her throat softly.
“I mean, after we work out what your plan is here,” she added as an afterthought. “The Floo network?” Even in her current frame of mind, she couldn’t help being curious about his investigation.
“I really think it could be our smoking gun,” he said with a nod, glancing up from his typewriter. He pressed his fingers against his eyes and sat back in his chair to give her his full attention. “What do you want to talk about?”
Betty took the seat next to him, placing her coffee down. “It’s a good smoking gun to have, there's only a limited amount of suspects.” She peered over at what he'd been writing. “What put you onto it in the first place?”
“Something Dedalus Diggle said before he died,” he answered and stretched his legs under his desk. Holding his arms over his head to get his shoulders into it, he continued, “The Death Eaters got to all those people, and they didn’t leave any evidence. No tampering with their wards, nothing to suggest they’d broken in.”
He collapsed back in on himself with a sigh. “So the question is, how did they do it?”
“The Ministry was my first thought, unless someone’s set up some kind of unregulated Floo network, but I have no idea how that would work,” Betty chewed over the idea slowly, trying to give answers to a question where she wasn’t supposed to have any. She watched him closely, curiously, trying to see what ideas she could determine from his body language alone.
“Do you need any help asking people that question?” Betty asked, trying to think of ways that she could contribute.
“If you can do it without drawing too much attention,” Byron said, dropping his gaze on the keys of his typewriter. “But my bets are on the Ministry too. I talked to Lakshmi and she said she’d do some looking in the Department.”
He scrubbed his hands down his face. “There’s an obvious person who could be behind all this and I’m hoping she’s not.”
Betty’s frown deepened. Her distrust of the Ministry of Magic had only grown in the last few days, but hearing of another potential betrayal was still disconcerting. She picked up her coffee again, breathing in the scent of it before taking a sip.
“Do you find yourself still surprised by revelations like that?” Betty asked him.
“Surprised isn’t the word I’d use,” he answered, shaking his head. “I don’t really know what word I’d use, actually. Angry, maybe. Betrayed?”
Both of those sounded about right to Betty. She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on her coffee. “Someone you know well,” she surmised, “or at least thought you did.”
“Yeah,” Byron said, his forehead creasing as his frown grew deeper. “Someone you thought you could trust. And then it turns out she might be using the Floo network to kidnap innocent people and kill them.”
Betty let that thought go unanswered, changing her attention to Byron’s typewriter. “Would you look to name names or just leave that conclusion to the reader?” She asked, concern for him rising. So far they’d been doing everything in secret, but it hadn’t been easy to sneak out to write. “Names might bring too much attention.”
“I couldn’t name names without proof, and so far I don’t have much beyond circumstantial evidence and my own suspicion.” He tried not to sound defeated when he concluded, “I’ll just have to hope everyone can fill in the gaps themselves.”
“The power of persuasion works wonders, especially when you’ve got a convincing argument like this.” Betty gave him the briefest of encouraging smiles, but it felt weak. There was something about trying that seemed so difficult right now.
Her hands laced around the coffee cup again, fingertips softly tapping against the cardboard in quick succession. She’d never had to try quit something before, and voicing it was genuinely difficult. Betty’s attention fixed on the coffee cup. “After this one, I think I need to take a step back for a bit.”
“What?” Byron’s eyes flashed up from his desk and he instantly seemed more alert in his chair. “You’re — But you — Is there anything I can say to change your mind?”
Betty shook her head, the most decisive gesture she’d made in the whole conversation. “I’m considering giving in my notice at the Prophet too.” Both jobs, legitimate and completely rogue, all in one go. “Maybe just for a few days. There’s been a lot of things happening. A fair amount of obituaries,” her lips twisted into a wry expression. It was still too soon to make a joke of them, even if just to cope. Flick was dead. Joe was missing and, although Betty staunchly refused to entertain the thought, likely presumed dead. Her stomach turned unpleasantly.
“I don’t want to give this up though. Of the two, it’s easily the more important one.” A beat. “I don’t know if you should try to change my mind.”
The revelation left Byron reeling for a second — he couldn’t imagine doing this without her. He couldn’t imagine turning up to work and not seeing her there. Without her and Gwen, the Beacon would’ve been nothing. And there’d have been nothing left for him at the Prophet.
He swallowed. “It has to be about more than just exposing the Death Eaters and writing the truth. I’m doing this for Andy. For Terry. Because it’s personal. They made it personal.” He shook his head. “I don’t know — maybe it’s not a bad idea to take a step back. Everyone has to, you know, do this their own way.”
Betty’s frown was back, more troubled than before, and she released her grip on the coffee cup just to clasp her hands together. She could feel a slight shake in her wrist. Nerves, and it showed. “It is personal,” she agreed. Perhaps the nervous feeling was a sign that she was wrong.
“Maybe it’s too personal,” he conceded. A moment later, he leaned forward in his chair and propped his elbows up on the desk. “I don’t want them to win. I don’t want this to be the best we’re stuck with.”
Unable to properly voice how defeated she felt, Betty didn’t respond to him right away. She gazed at the typewriter, at each key rather than the words on the page. “I don’t either,” she finally spoke, pressing her clasped hands against the edge of the desk as if to steady herself. “I hate feeling scared like this.” Like the ground beneath her was shaky, and it wasn’t just her.
“It’s not great.” He let out a short laugh that lingered in his throat, like he was overcome by the absurdity of it. “I’d take Fudge’s bullshit over all of this any day. The Death Eaters make him look harmless.”
“They make him look friendly, even,” Betty told him, trying her best to smile despite herself. It was a feeble attempt at best. “I think this is reaching people, you know?” Betty motioned to the typewriter, his next big article. “Maybe that’s reason enough to carry on. People aren’t content to just swallow the Prophet’s bullshit.”
“Maybe,” Byron said and managed a tight grin back at her. “I mean, there’s plenty of reasons to do it. But we still have to take care of ourselves too.” He paused a moment before saying, “If you need a break, take a break, Betty.”
She nodded. “Okay.” It was a decision she’d have to make eventually, as much as she hated the idea. At least that could be counted as support from him. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said. “For helping get us this far. I’m pretty sure Evadne Price would be proud.”
He gave her a small grin before he dropped his eyes to his typewriter and got straight back to work.
“So,” he said, freeing his page from the typewriter and holding it up to read. “Tell me what you think of this…”
They had a moral deadline to meet, and if this was Betty’s last story, he was going to make sure she went out with a bang.