InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Yes, cover your teeth."

Georgi had been watching Jason King with his pink goggles and his shirts about Muggleborn pride ever since he'd got here, working up the familiarity and courage to ask him about the whole situation. It had a lot to do with the war, he thought, but no one here really talked about the war; he hated to ask Ernie, who was clearly a mess over whatever horrors he and his schoolmates had gone through when they were hardly more than children, and while he'd read bits and pieces about what it had been like in Britain during those years, Georgi knew he didn't know the whole story. After a few weeks, then, he finally had been bold enough to ask Jason out for coffee after training to have the chance to ask about the Muggleborn movement.

Now that he was sitting across from him in a cafe, though, stirring sugar into his unsatisfactorily thin coffee in hopes of masking the disappointment with sweetness (he resolved to get himself a cezve and start making properly thick and rich Bulgarian coffee at home before the cravings drove him crazy), it was hard to know where to start.

"At home in Bulgaria we drink much more coffee than here," he offered instead of diving right in, and gave his teammate a tentative smile. "In Malkograd, my hometown, every street has a cafe and we are always meeting there with friends, every day. But here it's tea with milk." He didn't entirely manage to suppress his grimace at the thought, though he tried to; he politely drank British tea every time someone offered it to him, but he hadn't yet shaken the feeling that it tasted like watery soap. Even a lot of sugar couldn't save it. "Many things are different here," he added.

Jason considered the statement as he finished stirring his coffee. It might not have been particularly British of him, but he did prefer his coffee to tea -- although he still liked both light and sweet. “I think that’s true anywhere you’re away from home.”

He sat up a bit straighter, looking up from his cup and at the young man across from him. He didn’t mean for his thoughts to be patronizing, but Jason was a little impressed at Georgi’s story - or at least the public version that was known. Here was this man who spoke less than perfect English willing to uproot his life and come play for the BIL. Jason wasn’t sure he would do the same.

“I was fortunate enough to travel when I was on the broom racing circuit. Every place I went things were so different, but even then, often in the smaller ways, there were still ways foreign lands felt like home.”

Georgi shook his head in agreement, then caught himself and nodded instead -- yes and no were backwards here, and he was still mixing nods and headshakes up almost every time. "Yes, I think so," he agreed to make it more clear. "People have been very kind here, the team and Coach and his family and even owners. That helps feel less foreign."

He tasted his coffee, which was marginally better with the added sugar, and then set his cup down and looked right at Jason. "One different thing," he said, meeting his eyes with a look halfway between trepidation and hope, "is your… pink? The Muggleborn pink. I see many people are wearing it now in crowd at matches. But I don't know what it's for or why there is pride to be Muggleborn. We have nothing like this in Bulgaria. And I hope maybe you would help me learn."

“Of course.” There was no hesitation. While it might not have been an easy conversation for some, the war and the pink movement was a near daily conversation for Jason. “Rather than repeat everything - what do you know about the First and Second Wizarding Wars? The Death Eaters? And Voldemort?” It was strange how even now he stumbled over the name. After so long of being told not to say, of it not being said, it felt foreign. And while Jason didn’t want the narrative to celebrate the so-called Dark Lord, he didn’t think history was served better for not naming him.

Georgi couldn't help flinching at the name of power; that fear had reached even his home so far away, and he'd grown up with older cousins who'd delighted in scaring the younger kids with threats that the Dark Lord would come at night to take them away. "I know some about the wars," he answered. "And the Lord," he winced and lowered his voice, "Voldemort. He was the worst, most evil dark wizard in many hundred years. Even worse than Grindelwald." He'd dropped his voice almost to nothing to say that name, and made a superstitious sign with his hand to ward off dark magic out of long habit. "When I was very young he and his group were cursing and murdering many people in Britain and even outside. Muggles and those who fought to help Muggles and Muggleborns. Even in Bulgaria there were attacks by dark wizards who followed him and tried to be like him. And then Harry Potter, who is also very famous in my country, defeated him when he was only a baby."

He frowned down at his coffee, turning the cup around contemplatively in his hands. "I know that the Lord…" He winced again. "...the Dark Lord has come back five years ago. You know Viktor Krum? He is my cousin, so I've heard about this before many people believed it was true. Again he started to curse and murder, and his group took over your Ministry and your country. And I have read about the battle at Hogwarts school when again Harry Potter defeated him, and now he is dead, and his group is captured. That's what I know."

Jason nodded, giving appropriate silent affirmations as Georgi spoke - it was probably lost in translation, but he was an attentive listener and there were some habits he couldn’t break. “Well, you know quite a lot, more than some who grew up embedded in it.”

He took a deep breath, trying to think of where to begin. The issue was complex with nuances that were likely also lost in translation. “We use the term muggleborn today, or even the more offensive, mudblood, because it reflects a system of prejudice and pro-pureblood laws and beliefs. It was meant to signify that I am somehow less of a wizard because my parents couldn’t produce magic.”

Jason didn’t know he was setting up for a lecture, but maybe he was more of a Ravenclaw than he thought. And Georgi seemed willing to learn.

“However, looking back to before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692, the term was Magbob.” Jason paused there. Maybe he needed shirts that said this instead of Muggleborn. “It was a term of endearment because most wizards thought muggleborns were more gifted than wizarding of purely magical lineage.”

Georgi blinked at this unfamiliar bit of information, startled by the idea that Muggleborns could ever have been considered more powerful than purebloods. "Oh," he answered, his forehead creasing in thought. "I have never heard of that. Why -- no, it's okay, go on," he interrupted himself, ducking his head at Jason in apology. He could look it up on his own time.

Jason had been about to share the theories of why, but those could be saved for another day. “The events leading up to the Statute and certainly afterward changed all that. There has been a long history of distrust and fear of non-magic society and how it poses a threat to witches and wizards. People fear what they do not understand or know, and that’s a failure of communication and education.”

“This fear of the non-magical is well-spread. Our muggle studies curriculum is lacking and optional. As a society, we do a poor job of educating children on how non-magical folk live when they are becoming more connected and aware of the world around them. And it’s not exclusive to the United Kingdom or Hogwarts. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think Durmstrang Institute accepts non-wizardborn students.”

That fact still astounded Jason and not in a good way. He could all too well imagine what it might be like growing up that way.

Georgi nodded, then changed his mind and shook his head, and then, because it was too confusing to go on like that, he agreed, "No, at Durmstrang are only pureblood and halfblood students. It wasn't always like that, but after Statute of Secrecy this was the law. Some have wanted to change it, but not all countries can agree, so…" He shrugged with one shoulder. "Nothing is changed."

He hadn't even met anyone who admitted to being Muggleborn until after school, and he'd never thought there was anything strange or unfair about not allowing them to attend. His history teachers had proclaimed that there were other schools for Muggleborns that could help them adjust to this world more easily, that both they and the wizardborn students at Durmstrang were safer if they were taught among their own kind. It was just how things were, and until recently he'd never even thought to question that.

Now, though, he had a sense of what discord that kind of enforced segregation could sow, living among people who had just been through a horrific war based on blood purism. He drank some of his coffee to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth and stayed quiet, listening as Jason spoke on.

“We saw the emergence of a progressive movement in 1960s and 1970s with our first muggleborn Minister, Nobby Leach, squibs marching for their rights, and many minority groups demanding to be treated as equals. However the response was more fear and anger. Many old, elite, pureblooded families felt their ways were being threatened and that gave way to the Death Eaters and their allies.

“It came to a critical point during the Second Wizarding War where these groups had gained so much power they were able to openly create a Muggleborn Registration Commission within the Ministry of Magic. They registered all muggleborns and brought us forth to be investigated and often found guilty of stealing magic which left us wandless or in Azkaban, and if you were lucky you were on the run from snatchers or forced to flee the country and your life.”

He paused again, glanced down at his hands and the rather fantastic folding of the sugar packet he had created between them.

Georgi frowned, watching him closely. That kind of news hadn't reached Bulgaria, at least not the major newspaper, the Mirror, which was edited by Georgi's own father; the stories they'd printed were of murders and disappearances, not the more subtle horror of the legal system turned against Britain's Muggleborns. He did remember something about convictions for the widespread theft of wands, but he hadn't realized what that actually meant. Had his father not known that "wand theft" was just a more palatable way of disguising the persecution of Muggleborns for no crime other than being born to Muggle parents? ...Or had he chosen not to print the story?

It was an uncomfortable thought, and one he couldn't easily dismiss, knowing his father. He swallowed hard and didn't say anything as he looked down into his half-empty cup, listening intently to what Jason would say next.

“Which is ridiculous. I didn’t choose to be magical. I was born this way and once it was clear I had this power it was not something that could be ignored. I left my whole life behind at 11 for another world parallel but never quite intersecting with my old life. I was expected to succeed and find my way into a society that didn’t really want me, but would say so. Until they did, when Registration became widespread, I went on the run. Then I got caught and spent some nine months in Azkaban.” He spoke in simple facts. Not that this was anything but simple. “Not because I broke any law other than being born and not being able to prove anyone in my family also had magic.”

Jason was then very aware of the solid weight of Mandela who had shifted every so slightly, so he was on top of his feet while still under the table. It was good. It kept him grounded.

“All this to say, the purpose of the neon pink is simple. I am tired of hiding. I wish to be seen, and counted on my own terms. I’m not going to hide or lie about my family and if I get to reclaim the word muggleborn in the process, then I’ll do that too.”

Georgi was very quiet for a long moment, processing everything Jason had said. It was a lot to take in, and he wasn't sure he completely understood everything, but at least he had a basic background now.

"I understand, I think," he said after a few moments. "I'm… I'm very sorry you were in… how did you call it, Askaban? Prison, yes? I'm very sorry." He met Jason's eyes, solemn and sad. "I am pureblood, but I would not want that to happen to anyone. I don't know how people can do this to other witches and wizards. Even if they were scared of the Dark Lord, the right thing to do was help you. And I'm sorry your country did not."

The easy answer was to let out a sigh of me too, but Jason knew it was deeper and more important than that. “It reflects long-standing things that are wrong with how we treat each other. I am hoping to start more dialogues, to start to get over the fear and lack of communication between different disenfranchised groups. We have a chance to be better.”

“I don’t claim to be the smartest or even the best man for the job, but I have a platform and enough fame to ensure my voice gets heard.” Of course there were going to be consequences, but Jason was ready to take those as they came.

Georgi watched him carefully, keeping his big hands curled around his half-empty coffee cup. "I think you're good at it," he volunteered a bit timidly. He shifted a little in his seat, very conscious where he put his feet so as not to disturb the dog under the table; he still wasn't completely comfortable with the animals, but Mandela was the most trustworthy dog he'd ever met, and he'd been convinced through exposure to Jason's dog that he wasn't about to suddenly bite him.

"I think… you will make some witches and wizards very nervous and angry with this pink things," he said after a moment of turning the words over to make sure they didn't sound offensive. "We are not so good at changing how we think sometimes." Georgi shrugged apologetically. "But I think it's good what you are doing. I am foreign and pureblood and my country has these problems too, so I know I don't have anything to say, but it's good. Then what is next after Quidditch? Are you wanting to have a Muggleborn Minister or something in politics like this?"

It all harkened back to people feared what they didn’t know, didn’t it? “I am hoping that we can muster enough support to actually start to put new laws and practices in place that change how the magical society views those without.” Jason swirled the coffee in his mug, the rhythm soothing. “We’re going to have to change our education system, rewrite some laws, but most importantly, I think we need to start talking to each other about the war, about what we’re afraid or don’t know."

“None of it will be easy,” said Jason, looking back up from his mug and at Georgi. “And while this might not be your history, I appreciate your willingness to learn and ask questions.”

Georgi gave him a small smile and tipped back the rest of his coffee just to get it out of the way. He really needed to get a cezve and make it properly at home, or find a Turkish or Middle Eastern restaurant somewhere nearby. "Thank you. You are a good speaker. And I always like to learn."

He had a lot to think about before he had more questions, but in the meantime he wanted to stretch his legs. They'd been sitting a while, and thinking was always easier in motion. He reached into his pocket for a few of this country's silver coins to pay for both coffees -- that was the least he could do after Jason had taken the time to give him so much information. "Maybe your dog would like to walk?" he suggested. "If you're done with coffee." He smiled more naturally at Jason, carefully offering Mandela his hand to sniff, and not even flinching back when the dog licked it. "I am learning many things here. Maybe I'm learning to like dogs, too."