On the Turning Away

They were arguing, a common occurrence amongst the young woman of twenty six and her fifty four year old mother. They argued over everything; over where the young woman lived, over whom she dated and even the style in which she wore her hair was not free from her mother’s scrutiny, but on that night, the argument was one of a more serious nature, one that revolved around a topic which the pair had never argued about in the past. The topic in question was one that affected their native England, a country that the youth had forsaken nearly a decade earlier.

Their argument centered on the return of Lord Voldemort, the fiend whom had terrorized the British magical community during the 1970s. Many a life had been lost during that trying decade, but he had been defeated. The world thought him dead; a victim to the killing spell that he had cast at innocent child, but that was not so. His body had been destroyed, but his soul lingered in the realm of the living, waiting to retake a physical form and after many years, he managed the unthinkable; he took human form.

And on a warm summer’s night in mid June 1996, he waltzed into the Ministry of Magic.

It was on that very night that the Wizarding realm learned of Lord Voldemort’s return and ever since then, the Ministry had been hard at work, attempting to regain the trust of the magical community. They worked tirelessly to reassure the public that the Ministry had not had its ranks infiltrated, that it was still an institution that could be trusted. The Ministry also worked to capture Lord Voldemort, hoping to avoid a war similar to the one of the 1970s. They believed that through the Ministry, Voldemort would be brought to justice.

Others knew better than to think the Ministry would be able to do such a thing. The Ministry had been infiltrated, by who, they couldn’t be sure of, but they knew that there were spies amongst them and so they sought to bring a true end to Lord Voldemort through other means. Those individuals worked in secret, in an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix, an organization of which the fifty four year old mother by the name of Amelia Bones was a proud member.

Amelia joined the Order after an attack on her family during 1970s left her without both her parents, her older brother by the name of Edgar, his wife, and his children. The loss devastated Amelia, emotionally crippling her to the point where she lacked the strength to get out of bed in the morning, but with the help of her husband and daughter, she found the strength to live and during the last months of the war, she joined the Order. She fought bravely at the side of her fellow members, never backing down from a fight.

After the war ended, she was promoted to the position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was a job that she was well equipped for, as well as passionate, and it was through her passion for justice that her daughter, Gwyneth, first became interested in becoming an Auror. With the passing years, Gwyneth grew more certain that a career as an Auror was what her future held for her. So she left England for America in order to be educated at the most prestigious Auror academy in the world.

The plan had been for Gwyneth to return to England upon graduating from the Academy.

That didn’t happen.

During her stay in America, the young witch grew to love the country more than she ever had England. In America she felt a sense of freedom that was so unadulterated that it was positively addicting. This love for America, coupled with the position she was offered at the American Department of Magic, led Gwyneth to decide to remain in America.

That decision upset her parents, Amelia more than Henry, but in time they accepted their daughter’s newfound life. Henry was more accepting than Amelia. He understood his daughter’s desire to form her own identity, because working under ones mother in the Ministry would not have been a pleasant experience. People would have talked, gossiped about how the only reason that Gwyneth was doing so well was because her mother was the Head of the Department but in America no one could utter such falsehoods.

There she was rewarded based on her own merit and in the five years she had been at the office, she established herself as one of the most reliable Aurors with the quickest reflexes, as well as the most personable out of her graduating class. There were, of course, individuals that didn’t care for her, some that outright detested her, but she paid them no mind. She wasn’t one for mindless drama and had a dear friend by the name of Adelaide, a young woman that worked in the Office of International Magical Cooperation, to have a laugh with during work.

All in all, life was going great for Gwyneth. She was a young professional with seemingly endless opportunities for professional advancement and owned a home in the countryside of Virginia, a home that had a small library as well as a lush garden and dandelions. She loved her home, she loved the life she’d made for herself in America and her mother knew that.

Amelia was well aware that her daughter no longer considered England her home, but still, she traveled to America. The situation that her beloved Britain currently found itself in had forced her to reach out to her daughter in hopes of somehow convincing her to return to their home in Surrey and take up arms with the Order. The task would not be an easy one, Amelia knew that, but she held onto the belief that Gwyneth would find it in her heart to return, to fight for the preservation of justice.

In preparation for her discussion with Gwyneth, Amelia had memorized famous quotes about bravery, quotes that helped shape nations and inspire millions in times of turmoil. They were quotes from great men and women, muggle and wizards alike. As inspiring as those quotes were, they failed to move Gwyneth to action.

“It’s not my war.” She had told her mother, in a manner so calm that it seemed as if she were turning down sugar in her coffee instead of an offer to fight in a war.

“Not your war?” Amelia repeated, unwilling to believe such treacherous words had come from her only child. “How is that not your war?”

“Don’t live in Britain, haven’t lived there in ages.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not your war.”

“That’s exactly what it means.” Gwyneth abandoned her placed on the couch, preferring to stand than sit beside her mother. “I don’t know where you get off coming here to demand that I go to England with you to fight some villain that your Ministry is supposed to be hunting down. That’s their business, their Aurors are supposed to be tracking him down so don’t think you can guilt trip me into abandoning my post to go do the work of some other Aurors.”

Amelia breathed in deeply, doing her best to remain composed. “We’re doing our best at the Ministry, but the bureaucracy limits what can be done. And you, better than anyone, should understand that time is of the upmost importance when dealing with criminals.”

“It is.” Gwyneth agreed. “But it’s not my fault that the Ministry is lagging it. Here in America, the Auror department is granted special privileges to reign in unruly wizards.”

“Not everyone’s as blood thirsty as the Americans,” Amelia snapped. “Some governments actually believe in overseeing operations in order to prevent the misuse of magic. Without it, Aurors would run positively wild and take the law into their hands.”

“That’s already what we do.”

“Gwyneth Louisa Reynolds.” Amelia spoke her daughter’s name in a warning manner. “Do not utter such nonsense.”

“It’s the truth, mum, you know it is.”

“Aurors execute the law. They never take it into their own hands, ever.”

“And what about when they’re cornered and the only way to get out of there alive, is to break a law or two? What then?” Gwyneth was the sort of Auror that bended the rules on a regular basis, molding them to fit her needs. “Are we supposed to follow the book and get killed or complete the mission and get out of there? What are we supposed to do mum?”

“You are supposed to do what’s right.” She proclaimed like a true politician.

Gwyneth shook her head in disbelief. “Can you cut that out? Can you just give me on minute where you’re not Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? Can I just have a moment in which you’re my mum and we can speak frankly?”

“I always speak frankly.”

“Not true.”

“Of course it is.” Amelia was growing quite offended. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“Maybe you haven’t lied to me, but you’ve never given me the entire truth.” She caught her mother’s eyes, shooting her a look of defiance. “Only versions of the truth, that’s all I’ve ever got from you.”

Amelia was taken aback by the outburst. “I . . .” she muttered, struggling to formulate a coherent sentence. “I may not have told you everything over the years, but what I’ve omitted has always been for your own protection.” Amelia left her seat, choosing to stand so as to be at eye level with Gwyneth. “I haven’t the luxury of pertaining to a profession in which absolute honesty regarding ones work is permitted, but even then, I endeavored to tell you as much I could. Of that, you can be certain so don’t you dare act as if the versions of the truth I gave you were anything less than accurate. Don’t you dare,” she repeated a bit softer that time.

Gwyneth remained silent.

“Believe me when I say that I understand your reasons for not wishing to return to Surrey.” Amelia’s voice remained soft, much like it would if she were speaking to some meddlesome politician that she needed to gain favor with. “This is where you’ve made your life. Your career is here, as well as a home and your friends, but we need you – I need you, most desperately.”

“Mum –”

Amelia raised her hand. “They’ve infiltrated the Ministry. There are few that are obviously working for Voldemort, others that I can not be so certain of, but they are there, lurking in the shadows, eavesdropping on conversations and running it back to him.” she swallowed hard, her breath caught in her throat. “The Ministry is not, how can I put it, it’s not fit, it’s not strong enough to destroy Voldemort, not with all his informants there. At best we can weaken him, be the cause of great displeasure, but the Ministry as it is, can not end him.”

“What happened to following the rules?” questioned Gwen quietly.

“The fact that this will not be a Ministry sanctioned operation does not mean that the Ministry rules shall not be followed. They shall, every last one of them and I will ensure that they are followed.”

“Rules shouldn’t be followed, not at a time like this, that madman’s running around, not giving a fuck –”

“Manners!” cried Amelia, cursing was vulgar language which she refused to tolerate.

“Not caring,” Gwyneth corrected, “About rules or the lives of others. And if you want to win against someone like that, you’re not gonna win by following your rules. It’s going to take acts of extreme violence against his followers to send a clear message that anyone that follows him will be annihilated.”

“That would make us as bad as him!”

“Perhaps for a moment it would. In the long term it’ll set the groundwork for a full on attack that’ll cripple him by taking every single last one of his Death Eaters. That’ll be the end of him, because no tyrant – no matter how cruel – can succeed without minions to do his bidding. That’s a fact.”

“There are other ways.”

“None that’ll work as quickly or effectively,” Gwyneth argued.

“There’s absolutely no way that we can do such things, it’s positively barbaric, not to mention morally reprehensible.”

Gwyneth held back her desire to scoff. “This is war,” she said. “War is hell and you know it, you lived through that first war, you almost lost your entire family so you know what the cost is, so don’t act like its supposed to be this honorable venture, because nothings changed since he was ousted the first time, this is still going to claim the lives of people, both good and bad. And if you want to try to limit the casualties then I suggest taking out Death Eaters, and I don’t mean throwing them in Azkaban, I mean killing them, because they don’t show any mercy, so why should you.”

“This is what the Americans have made of you?” Amelia whispered, eyes brimming with tears. “A fiend that talks of killing as if it were an ordinary thing, as if it were nothing serious to take a life,” her voice was laced with disappointment. “Their academy . . . it was supposed to train you to be a proper Auror, one that would fight for what is just.”

“It has.”

“No, it has only made you a monster.”

“Always so overdramatic,” Gwyneth muttered to herself.

“I am not.”

“You are. You act like I'm some bloodthirsty criminal that gets off on killing people. I don’t. I hate having to take a life, but I understand that for the sake of society, for the preservation of justice, that some deaths are necessary, some blood has to be spilt and I won’t mourn the death of a rapist or a murderer or a child molester. That’s not to say that I’ll rejoice in their death. That is one thing that I’ll never do, but I’ll understand that it was necessary and when I see child running around without a care in the world, I know that what I did is right so don’t stand there and preach to me about morals, because I have mine and I'm a bloody good person!”

“Gwyneth, I –” Amelia began to speak. “I'm sorry. It’s just . . . I don’t subscribe to the same beliefs as you. I believe that some deaths are unavoidable, that is true, but to kill people when they ought to be imprisoned goes against the beliefs that I have clung to my entire life.”

“If it goes against your beliefs, why are you here? Why are you asking me to join the Order when you know very well how I work and how I was trained?”

“Because I need you by my side, as my second . . .”

“What about dad?” Gwyneth asked.

“Your father is a herbologist, not a fighter. That was made perfectly obvious during the last war when he ended up in the hospital for a week after an exchange with a Death Eater in Diagon Alley. He wouldn’t survive a proper battle, he’s a sweet man, vey strong, but completely useless when it comes to dueling.” Amelia cleared her throat. “You, on the other hand, are well versed in the art of war . . .”

“I'm not fighting.”

“Be reasonable!”

“I am,” Gwyneth bellowed. “You’re the one that doesn’t understand that I don’t want to fight in that war. I'm sorry that your Ministry isn’t safe, but you have the Order to fight with, you have Dumbledore so don’t act like it’s some lost cause that I can save, because, well, let’s face it, you lot are probably better off without me.”

“That’s not true!”

“It is!” Gwyneth was becoming quite exasperated. “I don’t fight like a proper British Auror. I fight like an American. I go for the attack and I stay at it until I succeed, that’s how I was trained. And I know for a fact that I’ll be treated like an idiot if I were to fight. They would cast aside my thoughts with little thought and act as if the only reason I'm there is because you’re my mom. They’ll act like I don’t deserve to be there on my own merit!”

Amelia had not expected that. “T-that’s not true, you know that’s not true.”

“Whenever I'm in England, I'm the daughter of Amelia Bones, my name doesn’t matter, all that anyone has to know is that you’re my mum and that might not seem very important to you but I'm my own person. I'm not just your daughter; I'm Gwyneth Louisa Reynolds, a damn good Auror that happens to be your daughter.”

It was then that Amelia acknowledged defeat. “Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

Gwyneth shook her head in response.

“Very well then, I suppose I should return to Surrey, there’s meeting later on, at The Burrow, have to leave supper ready for when your father gets home.” Amelia closed the gap between her and her daughter, extending her arms forwards so as to pull the youth closer to her. “I need you to promise me something.” She whispered as their embrace intensified.

“What is it?”

“Promise me that you’ll visit . . .with things the way they are, there’s no telling what will happen, no security anymore and I would, as would your father, appreciate seeing your face as often as possible. It’d make things so much more bearable, truly would.”

“I’ll stop round whenever I get the chance.” Gwyneth promised.

“Thank you, my darling.” Amelia cupped Gwyneth’s face in her hands and lowered it so as to touch her lips to her daughter’s temple and when she did, her lips lingered, as if refusing to part with the delicate skin.

And then without saying another word, Amelia returned to Surrey.

That would be the last time Gwyneth saw her mother alive.