WHO: Ernie and Fraser Macmillan WHAT: Cousin to Cousin talk WHEN: last Sunday, 11/5 WHERE: Ernie’s Shed at the Macmillan Estate WARNINGS: none
The door to the small wooden shed that once held the gardening equipment had a small, handwritten sign that was spellotaped to the wood and charmed to sheet water off of it. It read: ‘do not knock - insert wand’. Under that was a small hole in the door. The curtains on the windows were drawn closed, but the inside of the seemingly quiet box was lit warmly, indicating that someone was indeed inside of it.
Inside, however was raucously loud as the victrola played the latest delivery from Oliver Rivers - the ska-flavored rock record Stephen and the Sun Gems - and Ernie, perched on the backless stool and wearing a pair of microscopes, sat tinkering on a case-less wireless. Rather than a sound, the blue light drew his attention. He pulled off his microscopes and turned his attention to the door -- the blue light above blinked as the split-flat display turned until the name settled over the knocker.
‘FRASER’
Flick of a wand to turn off the music. Flick of a wand to turn off the blue light. Slide on his real specs and tap the captioning on. Take a deep breath.
“Come in.”
Fraser opened the door and slid into Ernie’s domain. “I was wondering if you were going to be warm enough in this drafty old shed, but you’ve got it fixed up pretty well.
He smiles. “Well, I guess I’m here because I’m worried about you, and I’m really lousy at leaving things alone.”
It was indeed fixed up really well - aside from the work bench with the tools outlined on pegboard on the wall, there was an apothecary cabinet, a small icebox, two well-cushioned (if small) chairs and a table, and a cauldron hung over a hearth.
Ernie slid off of his stool and went to the aforementioned cabinet -- inside one of the doors were bottles of butterbeer and bottles of brown ale. “Can I get you something?” he asked, pulling one of the ales out for himself.
“Ale would be lovely.” he said, taking his cousin up on his offer. He quick-chilled the bottle before opening it. “Thank you.” He looked around the shed, smiling. “You could live here for weeks. Longer if Bethoc was bringing you meals.”
“I’m not the best at reading people over Journals. It strips a lot of the nuance of talking.”
“Mm,” Ernie said thoughtfully, if noncommittally, as the top popped off of his and he took a sip. Ernie went back to perching on his stool, featuring for him to sit in the comfortable chair. “Yeah. It does. Tone’s hard.” That was an understatement, but essentially it was good practice for real life. “And it breeds familiarity that might not be really there.”
“True. But it can also help tear down walls we put up when we self-select who we’re willing to interact with, face-to-face, and it can help us sharpen our presentation of our ideas and opinions so that we are able to persuade others and not just be right and alone.
“The last year has been an eye-opener for me. Working with the BIL, I’ve found that even when I’m sure I’m right, that’s not enough. I’ve got to be able to help other people get there, too, because I only have one vote. I feel like I’m in Aunt Una’s School for Diplomacy, and she’s not even my boss anymore.”
A year ago, maybe two, he would have sat in his chair and listened voraciously - Fraser was the cool version of himself he knew he couldn't achieve, and the time they spent together felt… well, special. But now, he felt older, and even if he wasn't sure of himself, he felt a little more on equal footing. Less boy, more man.
“People always listen to you, Fraser. You're eloquent and charismatic. I'm pompous when I try to attempt it,” Ernie pointed out, then shrugged his shoulders.
“Kind of you to say, but if it’s true (and it doesn’t feel that way to me), it’s only because I’ve practiced. And because people expect me to listen to them. It takes a while to build that, and build those relationships. You’re gonna hate this, I hated this when I was 21, but since they won’t listen to you for a while because of your age, it’s a good time to learn how to build working relationships. This is chapter 5 from my book, by the way: Things I didn’t do when I was 21…”
Ernie took an extra sip of his beer rather than answer immediately.
“That’s what I mean, kinda. That the journals make you forget that no one really listens to you. It’s a false… whatsit. Paradigm.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his hair falling somewhat like a curtain across his brow despite the clear part in it.
“Define that. Working relationships,” he said, setting his bottle aside for the moment and looking back up at Fraser. “Working towards a common goal, right?”
Fraser shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be that strong to have a relationship, or to develop trust. While you might have mutual areas of agreement, it’s both more and less than that. That’s true even in a strict business sense. Can they trust you to do what you say? Can they trust that your word is good? I don’t have to like Saxy Lethbridge or want the same things he wants to work with him on the commission. He’s a stuck-up, dried-out currant that rolled behind the sidebar in the nineteenth century as far as I’m concerned, but if I need his vote, we can make a deal, because he knows I’ll keep my word and vote for his proposal as well. You often get more certainty working with your so-called opponents than your friends.”
Fraser paused to drink some of his ale. “You know anything about muggle credit? In politics, it’s called a ‘track record’, but it’s basically the same. You establish a ‘credit history’ and people are more willing to loan you money. It’s like that.
“And you know you didn’t get ignored on the journals, and I was glad to see you there. And your friend Justin. Did you notice his approach? He asked questions. It was a good way to get people to engage. It’s tough, because I know you’re like me and it’s easy to be frustrated when you know the answer and someone else isn’t there, but learning where someone else is helps you figure out how to work with them.”
Ernie bit his bottom lip and knew what the right answer to this lecture was. He was a smart kid; this was Fraser’s wheelhouse and he should nod and just say okay. The conversation would likely end there. But there was something that pricked at him that it took him a moment to understand - it felt like only the edges of a conversation, that Fraser was tiptoeing around what he wanted to say.
“Do you think you could talk to me like your cousin and not someone you’re trying to build a working relationship with?” Ernie said uneasily, trying to divine out both words for how he felt and what Fraser’s motivation might be. He took an uncomfortable stab, voice soft and unsure. “If you’re worried that I’m burning bridges for the Macmillan family, just say so.”
“Okay, but remember, I grew up with Mel as my just-older-and-better-than-me cousin, so unless you want to go rock-climbing or hit bludgers at each other, this is different cousining. Here goes: The hell with the family, coz, I’m worried that you’re burning bridges for you. You can’t stop being a Macmillan, my Da tried that one. So you get all the Macmillan free advice you can stomach.
He laughed, but it was not an amused laugh. “I had a talk with Lex, not that long ago. We talked about how you and your generation were different. How you had been free to fight the war in ways people with families and kids didn’t feel they were, and how you’d accomplished something we didn’t, collectively.
“There’s two kinds of war heros, cuz. Those who use it as a stepping stone to peacetime achievements and those who can’t. During the war, you were making a difference, you were accomplishing things towards your goal, you were part of a greater purpose.” He doesn’t add “and now you’re sitting in a shed all day,” Ernie can figure that part out for himself.
“What do you want to build on that to do? How can I help you? Because mostly what I’m worried about is that you seem to need a push to get out of a rut and I want to push in a helpful direction.”
Though he appreciated the honesty, that appreciation didn’t make it any harder a statement to take. He pushed his glasses up over his brow and rubbed at his eyes before dropping them back down. Taking a deep breath, he folded his hands in front of him.
“I don’t know,” he replied, his hands coming apart as he tried to explain what he had explained only a few times before. “I… it was very different, the last year of school. Remarkable, in a way. All of your focus is narrowed and you feel so full of purpose and drive… and it was just us. You couldn’t… you couldn’t rely on anyone but your friends. And there is nothing I can really compare it to now.” His brow furrowed deeply as his hands came back together and his plied the fingers of one hand back, stretching the tendons of his wand hand.
“Research? Of course it’s… necessary, worthy of pursuit… but it’s… abstract. It’s for someone else to put a vector on. And I know that the obvious answer is to take up with my fellow cohorts and go into law enforcement, but physically… and mentally, I suppose,” Ernie dropped his head, looking quite ashamed at the admission, “I can’t take it, continuously, like that. So I don’t know, Fraser. I know it doesn’t make you happy, or my parents happy,” he mentioned, rubbing his forehead, “but I don’t have a good sense of what I want to do long term.”
Taking another deep breath, he picked his head up and looked back at Fraser. “But, if you’d like to see what I’m doing short term, I’d be happy to show you.”
Fraser listened, glad he’d gotten Ernie talking. He felt like he’d made a breakthrough, and he wasn’t going to push it. “I don’t think most people know what they want to do long term. Cousin Minerva may the only one. But yeah, I’m dying to know what you’re working on.”
Ernie turned around, gesturing him over. “What do you know of television?”