Lemmata

[Integra Sigma]

This is the first of a series of vignettes about Integra. I intended for this first entry to be a bit of a palate cleanser for me to shake off the influences of whatever I’ve been reading currently, but that didn’t work so I’d have to use them up on a piece of writing. (If you can guess what I’ve been reading, kudos to you.) Feedback is very welcome and appreciated, so please feel free to contact me on Discord :)

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Skew Lines
9th October, 2004

Decisions, as Integra had learnt more than two-thirds of a lifetime ago, were rarely made within the hallowed halls of the Ministry of Magic.

Granted, that was the outward appearance. Proposals approved after their papers ran the gauntlet to earn the required multitude of signatures, consensuses arrived at within various conference rooms after lengthy discussions, policies refined and tempered under the heat of scrutiny from all involved parties. But all of that failed to account for the dealings that never officially happened: the parleys conducted out of sight, the subtle whispers into the right ears, the arm-twisting that neither the twister nor twisted would acknowledge. No, decisions were reconfirmed, having already been made elsewhere ahead of time, the same way allegiances were reaffirmed – everyone was on the same page, on paper at least, even if it was a catfight behind the scenes, a mad melee where nobody was on anybody’s side.

Politicking. Every senior official was once a junior pen-pusher who learnt how to push other things – inconvenient rules, budgetary constraints, basic conscience, and other people – out of the way without suffering the same. At the height of her career she had bulldozed countless people to get her way – the right way, she reminded herself – and since then the body count had dropped significantly, partially due to people wising up and stepping aside before the inevitable happened, but mostly because she had largely stepped away from it all. Caught in the impact zone of Nobby Leach’s downfall, it was a wonder she could walk away on her own two feet instead of being carried off like so many other casualties. Still, despite handing over the baton to the next generation for them to run the Ministry to the ground, she remained a member of the Wizengamot and an influential enough voice. And the message said voice had today was not unlike her usual during the school term, despite its intended recipient being no spring chicken: “shut up and sit down”.

Which was why she was here at Hogsmeade. If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain. Integra was most certainly not making a trip down to London to meet a conniving whelp half her age, and if he wanted to bend her ear, he’d jolly well lug his bloody arse to Scotland.

Following the path to the edge of the village, she was greeted by a splendid view of the snow-capped mountains, marred by a man-shaped disappointment. He had presumably arrived early, or perhaps hurried here after the appointed time, though Integra had neither any idea nor interest knowing, having decided way in advance to turn up fashionably late.

Hearing her approach, the man turned and smiled. She knew his ilk. One of the many Nigels who darkened the Ministry’s hallways, not the nominate subspecies but a viler newcomer that had displaced the original who had been one of her contemporaries. The Rattus norvegicus that eliminated the Rattus rattus. Or Nigellus Asshatticus, as the young ones called him. Not a big shot, too slow an ascent to be a rising star, but positioned well enough to be almost unavoidable. She had heard of him and seen his name in official correspondences but had, up till this day, the pleasure of not meeting him before.

He proffered his hand, which she took like a dirty dishcloth.

“Ah, the legendary Ms Sigma. Full glad am I to finally meet you in person.”

“Mr Day.”

“Please, call me Atticus. Or Attie.”

Or Attic, where you could be locked up in and wouldn’t be missed, she thought, but instead said, “You wish to talk about Finlay’s bill.”

She was guessing, but in light of recent happenings it seemed likely. The bill first came into being a long time ago, but had been stalled long enough for interest to wane and eventually dry out. And then something else would happen at a later date – another poor sod who fell through the cracks and was subject to much unnecessary indignity and suffering while the authorities wrung their hands apologetically and impotently, resulting in said poor sod becoming the revived bill’s new namesake – and then the cycle would repeat itself. Different cast, but the same script and the same ending where liberties and rights died without so much as a whimper in an empty theatre, the audience bored and long-gone.

“Ah, yes indeed. A fair number of us from the Ministry and various interest groups within the British wizarding community fear the bill would have serious and far-reaching repercussions. We cannot allow the bill to destabilise society—“

By which you mean, disrupt the status quo where the elite lord over the masses.

“—and erode our traditional values…”

Like corruption and cronyism.

Atticus continued his prattle, going on and on about various things she had heard a million times over. The content wasn’t identical, but the gist more or less was. She spaced out a little, and turned her attention to the scenery that unfurled before her like a carpet. To him, she might have seemed deep in thought as she gazed into the future he was describing.

“… what do you think?”

He was looking at her now, like a puppy expecting a treat for good behaviour or such. He was succeeding massively at looking like a wolf eyeing a delectable rabbit. It occurred to her that a reply seemed necessary.

A stiff breeze had picked up, and she subconsciously wrapped her coat tighter around herself. The perils of old age. At least she hadn’t nodded off while he was talking.

“I think, as a self-respecting witch and a member of the Wizengamot, it is my civic duty and professional obligation to do right by the people, champion their rights, and protect them from those who seek to profit at their expense.”

She watched as he processed her words in real time, and recognised by his slight pause the moment when he realised things had gone off script. His script, to be precise.

To his credit, he did not let himself be fazed. With his smarmy smile still intact, he pressed on, “I assure you, Ms Sigma, we—“

“Perhaps you would like to convey my message to the one who tugs at your leash.” The word ‘we’ had not escaped her notice, especially the way Atticus was hiding behind it like a shield. She knew who he was referring to: the social elites hailing from rich and influential wizarding families, who viewed the world as their playground and the rest of society as a climbing frame for them to clamber all over and stand atop. The wizarding equivalent of the Muggle old boy network, but with wands and more inflated egos. To be fair, not all of them were bad. But enough of them were self-serving, their wants distinct from society’s needs, their worldview so far detached from the rest of society that many deemed it irreconcilable. No common ground, and not even on the same page. Just like skew lines.

Atticus, whose face was turning a mildly worrying shade of red and probably not because of the cold, was still trying to salvage the situation. “Surely we can work out a mutually beneficial arrangement? What is it that you’d like?”

“I’d like you and yours to leave the Wizengamot to perform our duties in peace. I’m well aware of who you’ve accosted over the past few days, and I would remind you that interfering with our work carries heavy consequences. Doubly so if threats or bribes are involved.”

“But surely we as Ministry officials and representatives of various interest groups have the right to voice our concerns.”

“Your concerns have already been taken into consideration. As with the concerns of all parties involved. Now, if you would excuse me, Mr Day, I have another class to teach.” With that, she went back the way she had came. She did not wish him a good day, considering what she had just did to his, and neither did he, so lost in his own thoughts that, by the time he had gathered them and looked up, she was long gone.