Who: Gwen Miracle and Des Parkin What: Information-gathering, opinion-seeking, and general discussion of the BIL news of the hour. When: 27 September 1999, afternoon. Where: Des’s office, DOMGAS, Ministry. Warnings: Slytherin scheming
Immediately on leaving the Whizz Hard office, Gwen Apparated directly into the Ministry lobby and checked in at the desk. Her mind was full of questions and buzzing thoughts about the discussion she’d just had with Graham Urquhart, and in the lift on the way down to Level Seven she pulled out a notepad and her favourite Self-Writing Quill and set it to jotting down notes.
She walked briskly through the office, bestowing a smile on all her father’s busy little bees. “Is Parkin in?” she asked one of them, a petite blonde who must have been an intern fresh out of school, and at the timid nod she rapped on his office door.
It was Desmond’s regular practice to work with his door open, in part to make his people nervous but also because he genuinely enjoyed the bustle of DOMGAS. It was a much more congenial atmosphere than many other Ministry departments, and though he couldn't resist quashing it at times, there was more than one reason he'd kept working there so long.
But the work in reaction to BIL was too important to be widely shared, at least while their knowledge of the thing was still unofficial and their plans were far from solidified.
“Come in,” he barked, assuming it was one of the Minions he’d assigned to gather information on the team owners. His face brightened upon seeing his daughter in the doorway instead, and he rose to greet her. “Gwen! What a surprise, come and sit as long as you're not in a hurry. Fawley, no one’s to disturb us unless Madam Najafi needs me. Or the Minister himself. If there's a fire, put it out. Literally and figuratively.”
“Now, what brings my favourite child to my office?” he said, settling back at his desk.
Gwen greeted her father with a kiss on the cheek. “You’re in fine form today,” she commented, amused and unperturbed by his snappishness toward his staff. They all had to be used to it, surely, as she was; she knew how her dad liked to make people nervous. He’d always said it made them work harder. “I’m sure they’re all very glad you’ve closed your door.”
She settled herself in the chair across from his desk, though she stayed on the edge of her seat, primed to jump up again. “I just came out of a meeting with Graham Urquhart, where I learned something extremely interesting. Something about the League’s commissioners.” She raised her eyebrow at him, smiling. “Do you want to know?”
“Ahhh,” Des said with a knowing smile. News from Scotland, and serious enough to bring Gwenyth to him right away. Unless he very much missed his guess, this was about the motion. He very much hoped it was -- that was going to be enough of a challenge without adding new ingredients to the cauldron. “I most certainly do.”
Gwen sat back, satisfied, and a little smug to know something this important before her father. “I thought you might have heard before I did. Well, according to Fraser Macmillan, who is Urquhart’s wife’s cousin’s son or something like that, some of the commissioners are proposing a motion to strike the ‘97-’98 season from the official record. Rankings, player statistics, everything, just as if the League missed two years due to the war instead of one.” She paused, eyeing her father skeptically, when that didn’t produce the reaction she’d been hoping for. He’d barely blinked, and she’d expected at least some cursing. “You’re not looking very surprised about this, Dad. You knew already, didn’t you?”
“For a week,” he admitted, his smile softening in what wasn’t quite an apology. He’d had his reasons to hold back, and besides which, at his age it was good for the children to see that he still had it. “Macmillan brought it to Yaxley first. Well, I say first, but first was undoubtedly Una Macmillan, then they passed the word to us through Yaxley once she gave the go-ahead.”
Desmond leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I would have told you, but then you would have told Graham. I wanted to see who told him, and how long it took. Did he mention when he heard about this?”
Gwen made a very unprofessional face at him. “Well, of course I would have told him. I am excellent at my job.” She frowned, pulling out her notepad and setting her quill to jotting down notes again. “Fraser came to him about it during the match yesterday. Graham told me he thinks Una wants us to be the ones to come out against it -- she can’t very well be the face of Scottish opposition to it, not with her unfortunate family connections. If Portree or Wigtown publicly oppose the measure, she can sit back and reap the benefits, without appearing to support anything to do with the previous regime.”
She pursed her lips, fiddling idly with one of her golden lion earrings. “Graham asked me to come up with a response on Portree’s behalf in preparation for the press getting hold of this, if and when that happens in advance of the commission’s voting on it next month. So, naturally, I had to come here straightaway and see what my dear old dad has to say about it all.” She crossed her legs and folded her hands demurely in front of her, her quill still scratching away on its own, and gave him an inquisitive look. “It goes without saying that we at Portree respect the authority of both the League Commission and Games and Sports over our little organisation, and we certainly don’t want to rock the boat. In either direction.”
Des snorted. “The trouble with having a pack of Slytherin owners is that no one’s ever willing to make the first move.” Generally that was a strategy he approved of, but it was hard to herd people who were constantly on the watch for weaknesses in everyone in the vicinity, and for ways to turn every situation to their advantage.
Still, with Una clearly against it and trying to, in her way, rally for an opposing vote, and Graham opting to wait and see, that made Wigtown key. That was important, though distasteful, information. Parkinson was an ass and Desmond hated to deal with him.
“Wigtown might be convinced to oppose,” he mused, drumming his fingers on his desk. “It wouldn’t have happened if old Ransom Parkinson was still in charge, but with Stirling as director… well, they’ve certainly been vocally purist for some time, and they benefitted openly during the war. But Stirling moved quickly once the war ended, and he’s made very generous donations to the Ministry for rebuilding. Money can do wonders toward rehabilitating one’s image, even if one knew exactly what one’s friends were up to and wouldn’t have objected to their continuing. It could be enough for him to get away with opposing, or it could be suicide. But the Parkinsons have always had a certain perverse Gryffindor streak, however canny they may think themselves. I could well see him jumping right into the flames in the hopes of passing through unscathed.” It was a tremendously cheering image, in fact.
Gwen listened intently, her quill scratching feverishly away on its own while she sat with her arms folded and head cocked. It had definitely been a good decision to come to her father first -- he’d been around forever and knew everyone and how the pieces of the puzzle fit together, and she’d always trusted his judgment about people.
“Do you think we should oppose, then? Honestly, in terms of the actual vote, it hardly matters what we do -- we don’t have a chance of swaying Fraser once Una says jump, since he’s for Montrose’s interests in the end, not ours. This is all showmanship and posturing, and it’ll be up to me to make it a win for Portree no matter what happens.” That was what she loved about her job, so it wasn’t even a complaint. “At the moment I’m of the mind to finagle it so we can support the measure. Our marketing this season is heavily focused on bringing in the Muggleborn sector, and we can frame it as making a stand against the exclusion of Muggleborns from the League that year and affirming our commitment to equality and inclusivity, et cetera. Of course, some of our athletes and fans won’t be happy about that, either, though framing it as a strike against the Thicknesse Ministry might at least shame some of them into staying quiet. But I thought I’d come here and see what the mood is in the MInistry before writing up our statement.” She smiled up at her father. “So? What can you tell your favourite child?”
Des looked at her appraisingly, but the smile playing around his mouth showed that was just an act. Not only was it wise to share information where one could, to keep important sources willing to communicate, but he'd help his family before anyone else.
But he couldn't tell her everything. He respected Gwen’s intelligence and enjoyed seeing her at work too much to tell her what to do or feed her her lines.
“It would be easier for us if you opposed, as it would make the District Four vote more sure,” he said after a moment. He was by no means satisfied that Una would tell her nephew to vote in opposition if Urquhart and Parkinson both openly supported it. She had waited a week before passing on the news, after all. Why? “Though obviously making my job easier is not your prime concern, nor should it be. If it fits with your marketing and it’s what Graham wants, by all means, go ahead and support it.
“But there are no unimportant players in this matter. There's such a thing as being too strategic, and I would say in this case not to support anything you're not willing to see actually happen.” There was, after all, also the chance that Parkinson would oppose the motion and suffer for it, in which case Una might not be willing to risk being tarred with the same brush. One pureblood with bad connections opposing the motion looked bad, but two could look far worse, especially so soon after the war, especially if opposed by a halfblooded owner. Una clearly didn't like it, but what wasn’t clear was how far she was willing to stick her neck out to stop it.
Gwen nodded, seriously considering that last bit of advice. It was equal parts reassuring and aggravating how her dad so often managed to say exactly what she needed to hear. “You’re right, of course. At this point it’s hard to predict what results we at Portree would see if this motion goes through without knowing more of the specifics about the proposal. Graham didn’t know much, not even where it was coming from and who was behind it, except that it wasn’t from Fraser Macmillan.” She fiddled absently with her wand while she spoke, a tic she’d had almost as long as the wand itself. “It would be nice if it were as simple as good optics and a boost to my ‘We All Fly WIth Pride’ initiative, but I suppose nothing the League wades into is ever simple.”
She shook her head, picking up her quill to study her notes so far and hand-inscribe careful stars next to questions that merited further research. “I’m going to have to go and charm a hell of a lot of people today to get anywhere near the whole story, aren’t I?”
“I should say so,” Desmond said drily. “We've been working on it a week and we don't have the whole story. I have the highest faith in your abilities and in your charm, but if you’re able to suss it out in a day I’ll give up my throne and go work in Magical Maintenance.”
The most annoying thing about this was how little evidence they could find to prove any of their working theories. Everything was guesswork, everything was uncertain. Whatever this was, simple was not the word for it.
But that was a good thing. Not only did complicated make for a better challenge, but complicated couldn’t be kept a secret for long. And the more people knew, the more people would talk. “Make as much of the day as you can, though. I expect it to be leaked before another week is past, so you’ve only so much time to prepare.”
Gwen grinned up at him, her eyes crinkling in the way they did when she was legitimately amused. Which didn’t happen often; the list of people who could make her genuinely laugh was short. “Best brush up on your Unsticking Charms, then. I’m sure you’ll fill out those handsome Maintenance robes nicely, and Mum will be so proud.”
She folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “I’ll leave no stone unturned. I know you and your team will have talked to everyone who’s anyone already, but I imagine some might say something different to a lowly team employee than they would to anyone affiliated with the Ministry. And if I find out anything interesting, I’ll pass it on, of course.”
She stood, sliding her notepad back into her bag and collecting her quill. “Depending on how this goes, I might not make it for family dinner tomorrow. Can you tell Mum? And be nice to Trev if he’s there without me, please.”
“Ah, you’re a harsh taskmaster,” Desmond said, walking her to the door. “Fine, fine. I’m sure I can remember how to be nice by tomorrow night.” Trevor’s reaction to that should be amusing, in any case. If he couldn’t faintly terrify the man, he could at least confuse him.
And maybe Gwen could figure out who was behind this motion and what it was really about in a day. Why not? She was his girl, after all. He might like to prove his own ability, but what parent didn’t want to see their children surpass them?
As he opened the door for his daughter a Minion blocked the way, arm raised to knock and face frozen in comical panic at the sight of Parseltongue’s sudden scowl. “What’s this? Didn’t I say not to disturb me?”
His words jolted the young man back to life, and back a couple steps as Desmond came through the doorway toward him. “Yes sir, of course sir, only I thought you’d want to see-”
“You thought.”
The Minion looked barely equipped to handle aggressive scorn, but managed to stand his ground. “Sir, it’s District Six,” he hissed, eyes darting to Gwen, clearly unsure if she was allowed to hear this. She widened her own eyes at him innocently and stayed put.
Desmond paused. “District Six?” he repeated suspiciously, snatching away the paper the young man held before him like a shield. He’d been expecting news on the team owners, but he hadn’t expected Ireland to be a main focus.
“Yes sir, it’s right there sir, in Paragraph-”
“Kavanagh,” he interrupted. Of course it was Kavanagh involved in this. How had he been so stupid to suspect District Two? Shafiq had a name, but no will to him. He was a passable pawn, but he wasn’t good for much else in a situation like this. Lethbridge could have twisted him into knots.
Siobhan Kavanagh, on the other hand, was all will. Hadn’t he said himself that she was one of the only ones who wouldn’t cave to her owners’ demands? Set herself on fire she might to prove a point, but she’d also be perfectly willing to burn down DOMGAS and the BIQL in the process.
“Right,” Des said, grimacing at Gwen. “Back to work for both of us. Fawcett and Whelan, in my office,” he barked, waving his daughter out and the two startled men in. He paused before shutting the door behind them. “And this time, really, no interruptions!”