On the Turning Away

Planning for the funeral began early that Saturday morning and before the weekend ended, all the necessary arrangements for the funeral of Amelia Bones had been made. Her funeral was set to take place in the early morning hours of the upcoming Saturday. That way her friends and family wouldn’t have to miss work in order to attend the burial. In the meantime, her body was given all the possible enchantments to keep it from decomposing and remained in the bedroom she had shared with her husband for so many years.

The decision to house Amelia’s corpse in the bedroom, was one that was met with opposition by Gwen. She understood that her father wanted to remain close to her mother for as long as physically possible, which, was why proposed that the body be housed in the den or the guest bedroom, but Henry refused to move her from the bedroom. It was there that she would remain until the funeral and the more Gwen pleaded for him to remove her mother, the firmer his resolve for her to remain there, became.

It wasn’t until Sunday night that Gwen gave up trying to dissuade her father. There was no reasoning with Henry. He had relinquished all his sense and taken up the role of the grief stricken romantic, and Gwen didn’t have the patience to deal with him. While he mourned his wife; she responded to the letters that arrived hourly, she made tea for the guests that arrived to personally offer their condolences, she tidied up the house, she cooked; she did everything.

Even though her days were busy, she still felt bored. Gwen had never been the sort that was content to remain at home. Cooking and cleaning and receiving visitors weren’t how she wanted to spend her time. She wanted to be out in the country, tracking down Death Eaters and getting closer to avenging her mother’s death. That was how her time should have been employed, but instead she was keeping house so her father wouldn’t be troubled, which was incredibly tedious for an individual that was accustomed to the fast paced life of an Auror.

There were numerous instances in which she toyed with the thought of sneaking off to America at night so she could go on a few missions. No one would suspect that she was still working for the Department. Not when she was carrying out her duties in England during the day and working for the Department when everyone else was sleeping. That idea was a favorite of hers, but it vanished in the late hours of Monday, when Adelaide apparated to the house in Surrey.

“Took a few hours to get things sorted with the Magical Law Enforcement Office, but um, I managed to talk with Gifford and explained everything that happened. He said that he’d put you on leave, so that when you go back you don’t have to go through the orientation process again. Uh, I don’t know if you intend to go back to the Department but I told him that I’d tell you about his putting you on leave and if you’re not comfortable with that. I have the papers to formally resign your post in t-this folder.” Adelaide held up a navy blue folder. “If you want to go on leave, I have the documents for that in here,” she held up a white envelope. “He said either was fine.”

Gwen stared at her in disbelief. “How’d you get a meeting with Gifford on such short notice? It takes days for him to meet with anyone.”

“Gifford’s owed me a favor,” Adelaide replied, quietly. “I helped him out with an issue he had with the Venezuelan Ministry of Magic a few years back and he said that if I ever needed a favor to not hesitate to ask, so I asked.”

Gwen nodded her head in understanding.

“So, which one of these are you gonna want to put your signature on? The resignation or the leave?” Adelaide inquired.

“Are you certain there’s no time frame on the leave? I wouldn’t want to sign it and have them knocking on my door a year or so from now.”

“No time frame,” she assured. “Gifford said that however long you needed would be fine. They’re not going to pay you while you’re on leave, but you get to keep your medical benefits. As well as the government employee discounts. The one other thing he mentioned was that you wouldn’t have access to private records while you were on leave. So you can’t snoop around the database.”

“That was to be expected,” Gwen muttered to herself. “I suppose I’ll go on leave then.”

Adelaide pulled out the documents from inside the white envelope. “There’s a post it next to where you need to sign.”

“I’ll just give it a quick read then,” she took possession of the documents. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink or eat?”

“No thanks, I grabbed a bite before I headed over. That’s why there’s a chocolate stain on the envelope,” Adelaide smiled sheepishly. “But would you mind if I got in your kitchen? Want to leave some food in your fridge before I go.”

“Come off it Ada. You’re a guest, you can’t be cooking.”

“Of course I can, you’re a horrible fucking cook and I can’t leave here, knowing that you’re going to be forced to eat your own creations for the entire week. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Well, I’ve been eating just fine these last few days.” Gwen countered.

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced by Gwen. “So I'm just going to head on in.”

“You don’t even have ingredients!” she pointed out.

“Actually, I do,” Adelaide held up her purse. “Stopped by the market before I came over,” she declared, triumphantly. “So you read and I’ll get cooking.”

Gwen let out a defeated sigh. “Fine then, I’ll show you where the things are and read this in the kitchen.”

The cooking supplies were soon shown to Adelaide and Gwen sat down at the table to read over the paperwork. It was the standard seven page form to go on leave. In all honesty, two pages would’ve sufficed for the amount of information that needed to be given, but the Department had a flare for paperwork and as such, dragged on the pages so that it would seem a lot more difficult than it actually was. The documents were filled out accordingly, there were only a few blank spaces where her signature was needed as well as her social security number. Both were quickly written in and in fifteen minutes time, she’d finished.

When she finished, she placed the document back in the envelope as neatly as possible and then leant back in her seat. It felt odd to officially be on leave and as she sat there, she couldn’t help but ponder just how long she might be off the force for. She personally didn’t want it to be very long, a year or two at the most, but with things the way they were. There was a good chance that it’d be longer. The last war had lasted eleven years and this one was barely in its first.

“How are things at the Department?” Gwen asked, breaking the silence.

“Better than here,” Adelaide stirred the sauce. “But things are getting more difficult with the diplomats.”

“Voldemort?” she asked.

Adelaide nodded. “Apparently things at the British Ministry have gotten so bad that the entire staff at the American embassy have put in the paperwork to be relocated.”

“Can they do that?”

“Yeah,” she stopped stirring. “It’s cowardly of them, but they can do it and since the staff there’s the most well connected, they’re gonna have their way.”

“Then who’s going to take their place? Are they going to pull people from other embassies?”

“No, they’re going to pull people from the office in Washington.”

“You mean . . . you might . . . no! No, you can’t come over here. If they try to relocate you here, you tell them to bugger off! Damn it. You shouldn’t have wasted your favor from Gifford on me. Should’ve saved it for this,” her grey eyes flickered in annoyance. “If they try to send you here, put in a request to be relocated. Can’t be here, you just can’t.”

“I don’t think I’d be in danger if I was transferred here. I mean, Voldemort’s not stupid. He knows that America has a penchant for war. And if he were to kill an American employee in Britain, America would go to war with him. So I think if I were to be sent over here, I’d be alright.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Gwen argued. “You’re not well versed in defensive spells nor are you skilled at hand to hand combat. If something were to happen, you would –”

“Why are you thinking so much into this? You’re not one for thinking about the consequences of stuff.”

“Just don’t think it’s a good idea, is all.”

“Well, I don’t even know if I'm going to be one of the five that are moved so there’s no reason to worry about this right now.”

“Suppose you’re right.” Gwen stood up. “What are you making?”

“Right now, I'm working on the lasagna, then I’ll get started on the casserole, and then on the ham. And when I'm done with those, I’ll get started on the pastries.”

“Bloody hell woman!” exclaimed Gwen. “What’s gotten into you?”

Adelaide shrugged. “I just figured that since you don’t like cooking, I’d cut that out of your to do list. That way you don’t have to fret over that on top of everything else. Plus, it’s weird not having you over for dinner. I'm used to cooking for two and cutting it down to one isn’t as easy as you’d think.”

“How’s it not easy? You just do half.”

“Can’t do half, because then it’s so little and it looks lonely while it’s cooking.”

Gwen let out a chuckle. “You need to be medicated.”

“We could all use with a little medicine, preferably the herbal sort, which reminds me.” Adelaide looked around nervously. “Derek hooked it up yesterday and I got you some fresh tobacco as well as some greens. Don’t know how you feel about smoking given the circumstances, but I figured that if you ever had a craving, it’d be good to have something lying around.”

“How much was it?”

“Don’t worry about that. It’s a gift. Want it now or later?”

“Later,” Gwen answered. “When you’re done in here, we can have a smoke.”

“Might an old man join in?” inquired Henry from the doorway, his bloodshot eyes struggling to remain open. “Only joking,” he muttered, “I gave up cigarettes ages ago.”

“Hello Mr. Reynolds,” Adelaide greeted him. “I'm really sorry about your wife. She was an amazing woman.”

“That she was,” a strained smile found its way to his lips. “What brings you to Surrey at these hours?” he inquired as politely as a man who hadn’t slept properly in three days, could.

“Came to drop off some paperwork for Gwen,” Adelaide explained. “And now I'm cooking. Since I know my friend’s better suited for the endeavors of an Auror and not those of a homemaker.”

Henry forced a smile. “There is truth in those words.”

“But what are you doing down here, dad?” Gwen inquired. “It’s a quarter past ten.”

“What difference does it make if it’s a quarter past tan or a seven in the morning? The hours have all begun to blur. There is no difference in time . . .” he let out a soft sigh. “But if you must know, I received a letter from Remus, stating that he and Albus would be stopping by at a half past ten.”

“Why didn’t you mention they were coming?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” he replied.

Gwen eyed him, wearily. “What are they coming for?”

“Gwyneth, I believe you should be more attentive to Adelaide than to me. This is no way to treat a guest.”

“Ada’s not a guest. She’s as good, as family and has known me long enough to know not to think much of my inattentiveness. Isn’t that right, Ada?” she inquired.

“Right,” Adelaide replied from her place by the stove.

“So why are they coming at this hour?” Gwen asked, again. “What are you planning, dad?”

“I expressed my desire to join the Order and they have come to further discuss it with me.” Henry declared.

“As a herbologist?” she inquired.

“As a fighter,” he replied.

“A fighter,” she softly repeated to herself. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” he stood up straight, puffing his chest out.

Gwen sighed. “Why are you joining the Order as a fighter?”

“Because I am a man who lost his wife and I want justice. That’s why.”

“What’s gotten into that head of yours, dad?” she asked, softly. “You’re a herbologist, not an Auror.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t fight.” Henry argued.

“But it means you haven’t been taught how to fight. If you were to go up against Voldemort or any of his goons, you wouldn’t make it.”

His bloodshot eyes narrowed.

“Don’t mean to offend you, but you’re not meant to be a fighter. That’s why you went into Herbology and not into the Auror business. You work with plants and fungi. And that’s good! It’s brilliant actually, because you grow things that you then use to make potions and draughts that help heal others. And if you were to join as a Herbologist and not a fighter, you’d be of more use.”

“How so?” he asked, his look of displeasure slightly softening.

“People are going to get hurt during this war. That’s a given. But whether or not they’re going to receive proper medical attention isn’t guaranteed.”

“They can go to St. Mungo’s.” he told her.

“If the Ministry completely falls, that means that it will have complete control of St. Mungo’s and will know who walks and what injuries they have. It’ll be easy for them to know who’s in the Order. And they’ll kill them.” she waited a moment so the information would penetrate his mind. “But if the Order were to have the most celebrated herbologist in all of Britain, on their side, they would have a most valuable source of healing. If you were to join them as a herbologist, if you were to put your greenhouses and abilities as a potions master at their disposal, then they’ll be all the better for it . . . I’ll be all the better for it.”

“. . . Suppose you’re right.” Henry spoke after a prolonged silence. “I do have two well stocked greenhouses here and I could easily take from the greenhouse at St. Mungo’s whatever I lack, but I would still like to learn how to properly fight. Would you teach me?”

“Of course, dad,” Gwen shot him the kindest smile she could muster.

“Thank you,” Henry attempted to smile, but wasn’t successful. “I should put the kettle on for when they arrive.”

“Already did that.” Adelaide chimed in. “Felt like having some coffee so I put water on the stove. The kettle’s full so there’s enough for like seven or eight people. Alright, that’s a lie. There’s enough for like five people. I like to have a lot of coffee. It’s delicious, but I digress. Will that be enough for the guests?”

“Yeah, it will.” Gwen reassured. “You want something to eat, dad? Or are you going to wait in the living room for them?”

“Living room,” he told them. “I only came this way because I heard your voices.”

Henry left the kitchen in silence.

“Sorry about that,” Gwen apologized. “I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Understandable.”

“Sure about that?” she inquired.

Adelaide nodded. “If my dad was alive and he tried pulling that, I would’ve done the same thing. Except I would’ve probably threatened him with not going to visit,” she chuckled softly at the thought. “That would’ve made him change his mind.”

“It would have.” Gwen agreed. “I remember that one time you didn’t visit him in four days and he showed up at the Department looking for you. Everyone thought that something had gone horribly wrong and then he scolded you, in front of everyone, for not visiting. It was positively outrageous.”

“He was always such an overdramatic person. Acted like everything was the most important thing ever,” a small smile adorned Adelaide’s lips. “Think that’s why I'm so overdramatic.”

“It’s endearing though.”

Their conversation ended a short while later when Henry entered the kitchen. He was accompanied by two men; one an extravagantly dressed older man and the other, a man whose clothes looked like they’d been taken from a dumpster.

“It has been long since we last met, Gwyneth.” Albus, the extravagantly dressed man, spoke. “And I am deeply sorry that it was your mother’s death that brought us into one another’s company again. She was a brilliant witch, with a firm hand and just heart. But tell me, how are you? Your father informed me that you were planning on leaving the American Department of Magic.” His eyes widened when he saw Adelaide. “And who is this? I am quite certain I have never crossed paths with her.”

“This is Adelaide, a friend from America,” Gwen made the introductions. “Ada this is Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at my old school and this is Remus Lupin.”

“Lovely meeting you,” Adelaide spoke.

“A true pleasure, my dear,” Albus smiled kindly.

“Nice meeting you,” Remus added.

“Adelaide works at the Department of Magic, in the Office of International Magical Cooperation and she came to drop off some documents that needed my signature.” Gwen explained. “And as for your question, I'm as well as I can be given the circumstances. I have not formally left the Department, I am simply on leave.”

“When do you plan on returning?” Albus inquired.

“When I can rest assured that Voldemort has been killed.” Gwen declared.

Albus’ eyes flickered with curiosity. “Might we take this conversation somewhere more appropriate?”

“The study upstairs is more suitable.” Henry spoke.

“Remus?” called out Albus.

“Yes, Dumbledore?” asked Remus.

“Might you be persuaded to keep Miss Adelaide, company while we go discuss a few things?”

Remus nodded. “I fear my company might not be the liveliest, Miss Adelaide.”

“Keep calling Miss Adelaide and you’ll work your way up to being one of my favorite people.”

The two Reynolds led Albus to the upstairs study, where they each took a seat.

“You seem keen on seeing Voldemort dead.” Albus commented. “Is it then safe to assume that you are as keen on joining the Order?”

“Yes.” Gwen replied. “Nothing would make me happier than to be of use to the Order. I’ve already had the necessary arrangements made, so that I can stay here. And now that that’s been settled, I lay my wand at your disposal. The loyalty that I have shown the Department of Magic in America, I shall show to you. And I swear that any mission entrusted to me, will be fulfilled.”