~~This thread is between Patricia Lamott and Siobhan Cornett.~~

"Hello?"

A woman was fumbling with a key, frantically trying to unlock her flimsy apartment door. She jabbed the key, jamming it into where she thought the lock was. Why wasn't it working this evening? She had sworn she had done it a million times before. Clutching a phone in her right hand, she elbowed the door open after twisting the now-sweaty piece of metal. Her deep green eyes watched the sky as it grew dark and gloomy, quite unfortunate for the recent events that had just occurred.

Her limp hand slammed the door behind her as she collapsed on the couch like a ragdoll. It was never like her to do this. "Oh dear God, Siobhan! Thank you for picking up so quickly!" Her voice had a certain hint of distress, yet a subtle lick of elegance. "I didn't know what I would do without you!"

This was Ms. Patricia Lamott, hair flustered instead of restrained into a bun, red-faced instead of calm and pale, and certainly unsettled. She had been a very dear caregiver to the youngest in the three-member Evans Family, Anatole. He had always been a charming little boy, sweet with the occasional hint of temper that never seemed to bother the almost forty-year-old.

Speaking of ages, today was the youngest Evans' birthday. A jovial spring day obstructed by the clouds and one thing on her mind: her sudden firing from the one occupation keeping her income steady.

"Yes, yes. I am aware I don't sound alright, even my register is off. There's just a reason for it, so quit wondering!" She cackled to herself, unsure of how to control this sudden surge of emotions. It was a tidal wave, overcoming the usually sane Lamott. "I got fired! Yes, they decided to fire me! On the boy's birthday! It scarred the young Anatole so much to see me go, so I just took my bags, my boxed sets of Great British Baking Show and Downton Abbey and just left! They showed no mercy, only showed me the door!" She tossed her heels off, adjusting her posture. "And here, Siobhan, here is the strangest part." Patricia tried not to blurt out laughing.

"He's a wizard!"

Patricia, giggling to herself like some sort of child, heard Siobhan's reply and refused to remain idle. Promptly, she stood up, tossing her DVDs out of her bag and retreating to the kitchen. "Oh, there's so much of it I cannot explain to you over the phone! It was all so complex, and--and so sudden! I mean, I thought I was on great terms with Amanda!" She tilted her head, holding the phone to her shoulder so she could use both of her hands. "Hold on one moment, I need to use speakerphone." With a press of a button, she placed the phone on the counter, Siobhan's voice resonating from the device.

Like some sort of frivolous Lady Macbeth, she turned on the water and began to wash her hands as she vented. "Tomorrow? Would you like to meet tomorrow? I'm certainly alright with driving up to London and telling you positively EVERYTHING!" The pitch of her voice fluctuated like a rollercoaster, sometimes with excitement, others with pure confusion. "The cafe we always visit? Yes?"

Shuffling her hands in a dish towel, Patricia blew a bit of hair out of her line of sight. "See you then!"

She hung up, returning to the couch with a sigh.






Ms. Lamott's drive seemed to pass by very quickly, since she had so much anticipation building in her system. She was a volcano, about to explode with excitement to see her old friend.

She and Ms. Cornett had met rather by fate, both finding out that they were well invested with different children of their own, Patricia's not being biological, but rather a means of living. They frequently met here in London, discussing a range of subjects, but mostly, Patricia seemed to go on and on about the newest episode of one of her documentaries. A few times, she had even brought the young Anatole on a meeting with her. Of course, he usually sat there at the table, buried in some new book of his and rarely interacting with the conversation, despite how Patricia had reared him.

Patricia swiveled her head back behind her, peering out the back window to parallel park on the flat road. That was one action she had repeated so much that it was natural. She had parked to walk Anatole into school each morning, parked to the grocery store, now that she thought about it, was there a place she didn't have to park?

With a satisfying click, she pushed down on her parking brake and exited her car, spotting a familiar shadow in the distance. Silvery-white haired, thin, and pale. Siobhan Cornell, her well-met acquaintance. Slamming the car door just like she had slammed her apartment door last night, she rushed toward her friend, or as Siobhan would prefer to call it, amie. Clearly, Patricia's expression was rather exaggerated, considering she had just gotten fired the previous night.

"Siobhan! How are you? It's been so long!"

The house seemed empty without her daughter. This morning, the blonde woman had bid adieu to Nia, travelling with her all the way to Beauxbatons then coming back, all within the same day. Sure, this would cause feelings of fatigue to the average woman, but Siobhan Cornett was not average. No, she was a descendant of a high-status pureblood family, and therefore sent her children only to the best of schools. Deciding that she would simply cook as if her daughter was here, Siobhan was soon startled by a loud ringing noise. Sighing when she realized it was simply the home telephone, Siobhan made her way over to the counter and picked it up.

Now, one might find it peculiar that a woman of her blood status would have a Muggle phone in her house. And it was. If any of the members of her non-immediate family found out, she would be shunned from the family. But, Siobhan didn’t care. It was one of the only ways she could communicate with her close friend, Patricia Lamott. Who was, in fact, a Muggle. Their friendship was indeed bizarre - the pureblood witch and the Muggle. But it was a close one; the two had formed a bond no one could break. If only her family would understand that…

Picking up the phone, Siobhan was bombarded with words upon words, phrases upon phrases, of Patricia’s worries. Siobhan was already a woman of few words, having Patricia be the talker of their friendship, but in this scenario the blonde woman felt it was her duty to comfort her friend.

“Patricia, ma cherie, what is the matter?” The answer she received simply appalled Siobhan. Patricia was fired? Who in their right minds would fire a woman as kind and wonderful as this one? Patricia loved the boy she babysat (Anatole Evans, if she remembered correctly) and treated him as her own kin. They had formed a bond, a bond that Siobhan craved to have with her daughter herself. “They don’t know what they’re missing, I promise you. You loved the boy with all your heart, and I truly think they’ve made a mistake by firing you.” The 30-ish year old woman was never one to comfort her friends, preferring to simply shower them in gifts in hopes of calming them down. But Patricia was a different case. Their friendship consisted more of words than just gifts.

“At least you saved your shows,” Siobhan attempted to crack a joke, in hopes of making the older woman feel better. She didn’t know how much she succeeded, for Patricia continued to ramble on about… Wait. Did she say Anatole was a wizard? Maybe this would be Siobhan’s chance to finally, finally tell her best friend her secret.

“A wizard? No bloody way,” Siobhan said, coating her voice in plenty of awe. Would Patricia be mad? Would she no longer want to speak to Siobhan? No… their friendship was much stronger than that. It was strong enough to withstand this secret. Besides - Patricia would answer that Siobhan had to keep her secret.

They kept talking on the phone. “Speakerphone?” Siobhan questioned, but Patricia kept on talking. The blonde shrugged, thinking it was some sort of Muggle terminology she did not need to know. “You should come up here tomorrow, tell me everything,” Siobhan suggested, a smile growing on her face. “Yes, I think the cafe would be a great place to meet at. Yes, see you tomorrow.” Siobhan hung up on her friend and smiled. This was her chance to finally tell her friend. All she needed was confidence, and the luck not to mess it up, somehow.



Making sure to maintain her absolutely spotless appearance, Siobhan spun on her heel and Apparated to the alley behind the cafe. Taking out her pocket mirror, she checked to make sure nothing had been messed up - yup, her cheeks were still rosy, her face just a little bit powdered, and not a singular hair out of place. Taking a deep breath in to compose herself - both emotionally and physically - Siobhan walked around the cafe to the main entrance and was met with an enthusiastic exclamation by a familiar voice. Turning around, Siobhan felt her face stretch into a wide smile.



Leading the way into the cafe, Siobhan motioned to the hostess to seat them. As Siobhan was well-known in this area, and the two women came to this cafe a lot, the hostess knew exactly where to seat them. A booth near the far right, close enough to the kitchens so they could smell the coffee but not close enough to bother or be bothered by any of the waitresses. Gesturing for Patricia to sit down, Siobhan folded her hands in front of her and tilted her head. She knew some of the waitresses personally, so she had no doubt they would bring both the usual drinks they ordered. Instead, the platinum-blonde haired woman smiled at the woman across from her and debated how to start the conversation.

“Vent to me, ma cherie. How are you faring? Is there anything in specific you want me to do?” Siobhan questioned, grabbing a hold of Patricia’s hand and squeezing. She wanted the older woman to know that she would be there for her.

For now, Siobhan would keep her secret - a secret. When it seemed Patricia had calmed down enough, Siobhan would turn the conversation and bring it around to Anatole. Even though, technically, it was against the law to reveal she was a witch to Patricia, Siobhan trusted the other woman with her life. And besides, she wouldn’t outright say she was a witch. She would simply hint at it, and just hope the woman got the hint.

Smiling at the waitress who brought Siobhan her steaming cup of hot caramel coffee, Siobhan turned her attention to Patricia and waited for her answer.

Patricia concluded it would have seemed awkward to rush up to her friend on the street and hug her out of the blue, especially considering she had decided to wear a tan jacket, a blue blouse, and a pair of black heels that had been tripped upon more than a couple times over. If she had taken the bold move and launched at her poised and put-together best friend, she ran the risk of breaking one of those heels. They were her favorite.

"Oh, dear God, it's been all too long! When was it last, February? Yes, February!" She wiped the sweat off of her brow, her hair sticking to her drenched features. She hadn't bothered to take a shower before coming, and to say that this firing had even taken a toll on her physical health could not be a lie. Ms. Lamott did seem like she just got out of the heavenly paradise most muggles called bed.

After she had hung up with Siobhan last night, Patricia refused to do any activity that was even remotely labor-intensive. With a jubilant squeal of victory, she had slammed the phone down into its charger and collapsed, letting the couch consume the woman.

For the next approximate thirty minutes, she lied there, staring at the ceiling, laughing and contemplating what had become of her occupation, well, moreso her life. Thirty and still not married, nor any romantic interest. She had dedicated her life to this boy, and once he was gone, what was she to do? Not all that much.

Her next task had been to turn on the television and watch a few reruns of Masterpiece Classic. That marathon ensued deep into the late hours, and by the time she had switched off the television set, it was one in the morning. Hence, she woke up flustered and unprepared for this anticipated meeting.

As Siobhan led the triumphant way into the charming, adorable, little cafe, Patricia took off her shoes. For once in her life, those simple black heels had marked a deep stain into her heel. It was bugging her like the devil on her shoulder. Not to her surprise, the waitress did not mind. Just from the state of her appearance juxtaposing her friend's, the waitress knew it had been a long, terrible night. If one looked close enough, there could have been a trace of tear stains among the dark circles.

Hastily fixing her hair into a messy bun, Patricia called the waitress back over. "Miss! Do you mind changing my normal order to a lemonade? Less sugar, please." Evidently, Patricia was in a sour mood.

With an exasperating sigh, Patricia placed her forearms on the table and observed Siobhan, flawless as always. They were indeed an interesting couple, maybe even the most particular two in the restaurant, sitting together for a hopeful breakfast date.

“Vent to me, ma cherie. How are you faring? Is there anything in specific you want me to do?”

As the waitress returned with Patricia's lemonade and Siobhan's caramel coffee, Patricia decided to take the platinum woman's advice and vent about her current state of mind. "Oh, I'm sure from our call last night,--sorry about last night, I'm sure I was breathless and anxious, a state of heightened emotion!--you could tell I certainly have not been my best self. It all came as such a shock, we had even given poor Anatole cake and everything!" It seemed like the word "poor" was now synonymous with the name "Anatole". "He was in a stellar, happy mood when we ate, and as we ate, the note came. Yes, that note! That wretched wizard note! At first, I was not sure whether it was just another hoax or not, but his parents took it so seriously it seemed plausible. The boy and I had a few experiences together that could only be explained by such a note like such."

Catching her breath, she took a sip of her lemonade, puckering at the sudden citrus of the taste. "I attempted to make a break for the door first, but Martin made it and picked up the letter since I was foolishly coddling the boy as he devoured that slice of strawberry. Martin opened it, and Amanda beside him read it with wide eyes, and at the end, I swear poor Anatole almost choked on his cake when they handed him the letter." Ms. Lamott rubbed her temples, trying to relieve all the stress that had built up inside her. "After some instantaneous heated debates, I snatched my things and left. The drive home was a furious one, to say the absolute least. Now I have to go job hunting again, I suppose. Post a few advertisements."

The woman looked across the table, dabbing her lips with a napkin and trying to make due of her expression. Siobhan had hopefully understood her when Patricia took her direction to vent, and vent indeed she did. "But trust me, it will be hard to replace Anatole. He was such an adorable, charming little boy." She sighed, meeting the woman's eyes with her own. "I'm not sure what you can do, but I would love to take any advice you have. You know I trust you with my life."

Patricia's hand reached over toward the center of the table as she placed her hand on top of Siobhan's. It was true, Ms. Lamott was incredibly lucky to have a friend like Siobhan to assist her through this tough time.

As soon as the two had sat down, the extent of how flustered Patricia was became clear to Siobhan. The woman looked, and Siobhan cringed thinking this, but Patricia looked positively dead. It was as if she hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. Although, now that Siobhan thought about it some more, she doubted that she was wrong. Losing her... son - could Anatole be compared to Patricia's son? Probably - was something that no doubt would keep one tossing and turning all night long. Siobhan herself could never imagine losing her own daughter. Nia, her adopted daughter, meant the entire world to the silver-haired woman. She couldn't begin to fathom a world without her.

Her daughter meant the world to her. Without her, Siobhan would feel an emptiness that couldn't be fixed. Was that what Patricia was feeling right now? A feeling as if there was no more reason to live. Siobhan had lost her daughter, once, but never again. Those few weeks without Nia had torn apart Siobhan - Patricia herself was the one who put the Cornett back together and forced her to go find her daughter. Without Patricia's help, Nia would've been lost forever. Siobhan owed Patricia in the sense that she had to comfort her. Not only because Lamott had helped her in her time of need - but because Patricia was her best friend. And that was what best friends did for each other, right?

Their drinks brought to them, Siobhan sipped her coffee - damn, she should've gotten tea instead - as she listened to Patricia talk and talk and talk. Siobhan was never the talking type - she was a woman of few words. Words were never her forte - she preferred to show her emotions through actions. Never through facial expressions though. 

Unable to squeeze in a word ever since Patricia began to rant, Siobhan resorted to what she did best. Listening to her friend apologize, Siobhan waved it off. She never minded when Patricia called. Be it good news or bad news, Siobhan appreciated her calls. Patricia continued talking about her love for Anatole, which cause Siobhan to feel a sense of... pity. 

Damn it Siobhan, you promised you would never pity Patricia. She didn't pity you, now why are you pitying her?

Closing her eyes and giving her head a little shake, Siobhan took the older woman's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if to show that she stood with her. She would be there for her, just like she was there for Siobhan.

Not knowing what to do or say as Patricia continued with her monologue, Siobhan decided to simply listen. The silver haired woman was never the best at comforting people, but she was good at listening. Her husband had told her that sometimes one simply needed to talk about their problems rather than be comforted. Siobhan only hoped that was the case with Patricia. The woman across from her told Siobhan how finding the letter and all the events following that had unfolded, and Siobhan listened patiently. Once again her words would fail her, but by now, Siobhan had made do and simply gave Patricia's hand a squeeze to encourage her to keep talking. The more her friend talked, the more Siobhan could see how bad she'd been affected by her firing. It pained Siobhan to see it. 

Soon, it seemed that Patricia had calmed down a lot. Talking had indeed helped, and Siobhan was glad to know that her just being there had helped. However, when Patricia asked for any advice or help, the silver haired woman's mouth became dry. The only help that she could offer was giving Patricia another job. 

But the problem was, the only nanny jobs she could offer were of wizarding families. Pureblood wizarding families. Siobhan had no idea how Patricia would react to being a nanny to a wizard or witch, nor did she know if the families would even accept a Muggle nanny. Although, Siobhan decided that if the pureblood families wouldn't, the half blood ones would. (Yes, the pureblood heiress was not only friends with a Muggle but also had half-blood friend relations. Oh, if only her parents could see her now). 

Sighing and rubbing her temples, Siobhan prepared for the older woman's reaction. Of course, in order to offer the job of wizarding families, Siobhan would have to reveal her secret. It wasn't against the law, right? Siobhan trusted Patricia with her life. She knew that if she entrusted Patricia with a secret, the other would never give it up. Never. 

Ministry be damned, Siobhan finally decided. It's not like I haven't broken laws before. 

Deciding a small smile wouldn't be harmful and instead, would only help the delivery of the news, Siobhan thought of the best way to word her thoughts. "I may know a few families that would appreciate the help of a nanny, if you'd be open to the idea," Siobhan started, her french accent shining through. Whenever she got nervous, or flustered, her accent could be heard clearly. "Of course, I know the child - or children - will never replace Anatole, but at least the kids would be nice and the job would pay quite well." And now it was time to drop the bomb. "However, there is one small... what's the word..." 

Her mind blanked. What was happening? She had never, never in her entire life, been this nervous. But thoughts upon thoughts, all negative, of Patricia leaving her, screaming at her, calling her a freak rushed through Siobhan's head. Why was she so affected by this? She was not only a Cornett, but a Winchester. Winchesters were fearless. Breathing deep, Siobhan composed herself and continued. 

"These families are not normal. By that I don't mean they have disabilities or anything... I mean..." Oh, pour l'amour de la b***e¹, Siobhan. You can do this. Tu es un Winchester! "Patricia, these families are wizarding families. Now you may ask why in the world would Siobhan know wizarding families?"

"It's because I'm a witch, myself."

Siobhan was such a wonderful woman to listen to. Her voice held no hint of scratchiness and it sounded as if she had exercised it every day to its perfect amount. On the contrary, Patricia’s voice was sore and rather gruff for a female’s, having been overexerted all too often when Poor Anatole was younger. She had screamed at him to not do this and not do that, reining him in much more than she had expected when she had first taken the job. It was why she had sipped tea every morning as she slaved over the dishes from the night before, waiting for Anatole to wake up. This was moments after his parents had departed for work and right before the boy needed to rise up from his bedchamber for the misery Patricia used to call school. Her voice troubles had consistently alleviated since those days, and especially now that Anatole was gone from her life (not from Tenbury until September, however), her voice was bound to return to how it was before she endured the life of the boy for approximately seven years.

Her advice, oh dear gods, it was alright. It was always at that point where it was partially applicable but not fully pertinent to the situation. Despite her being a wonderful listener, her advice did not ameliorate the conflict instantly, but rather, it was like watching paint dry. It took time, but it worked.

One could say Siobhan’s listening skills were like magic.

Patricia loved to get things off her chest if at all possible. She was good at letting go: that is, of her thoughts, not people. She could not even capture something besides a departure for weeks on end after. ’Oh, what if Anatole is here? Don’t you remember that time he stuffed himself in your cupboard or tied towels around his legs? Where was his face when you needed it, Patricia? Where is he now?
She wouldn’t cry. Patricia refused to resort to tears over some splendid little boy. It wasn’t the fact that she was forced away from him, but rather the reasons why she was forced away. It was silly, really. All over not mentioning their son is a Wizard.

Breathless after her vent, she let Siobhan clutch her palm with just the right amount of force. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t. He was only a boy, and a boy wizard at that. Nothing more.

But Downton Abbey wouldn’t be the same, and...and it would all be long and bland without some little boy reading on the couch beside her, where she could look over at him and watch him read his little novel. Some nights, he would play with a toy instead, and on other, harder nights, he would just go to bed without a single goodnight. His mother usually came home before he went to bed, but there were just those nights that Poor Anatole had given up. There were still those lucky nights when he would sit down beside her and share a bowl of popcorn. Those were her favorite.

Clearing her throat, she sipped some of her lemonade. It had given a zing she hadn’t tasted in a long time and was surprisingly freeing. It woke her up to the conditions around her and the wonderful, gloriously terrible thing known as real life.

Her squeeze refused to release, and once Patricia had been drained of her own words, she let room for Siobhan to produce her own. However, it was instantly recognizable that Siobhan was stressed herself for once. From the way she rubbed her temples to her defeated sigh, Patricia attempted to brace herself. Either she felt extremely sorry or didn’t know what entirely to do. Maybe the frazzled blonde had left her tea-craving friend stumped and she needed some time. She had expected that - but the stress didn’t seem natural. What was it? Whatever was troubling her friend, Patricia would easily help resolve any fear. Had she gone too far?

Oh, so the reason was not as terrible as originally thought. She was just trying to think of a new job! Nothing all too huge, and thankfully she considered her occupation would still be a nanny. Though it would be hard without Anatole, she knew that sticking to nannying would be best. It was what she had done much of adulthood, and to be frank, there wasn’t much she knew besides coddling children.

Her old, tired face lit up with surprise when he heard about the families. ”Oh my God, Siobhan, that would be just lovely of you! I am always more than open to any family who needs my service.” Well, she almost forgot one small detail. ”That is, considering their hours and payment are reasonable, as you mentioned. I can’t go back to working a second job! It’s been years...”

Clutching the straw, she sipped more of her beverage until she could no longer stand the sour taste. ”A small...reservation? Setback? Argh, there’s another word, but I can’t think of it now!” She leaned over, placing her elbows on the small cafe table. Staring into Siobhan’s eyes, there was clearly something that unsettled her...but what?

She only got through the first of said reservation before Ms. Cornett felt the need to jump in. ”Oh, wizarding families? I can easily do those, I mean, was not the Evans household a fine example? He is a wizard!” The way Patricia said the final word was with extreme sarcasm and doubt. Most days, it was still hard to believe she had babysat a wizard. Did those even exist?

”It all sounds wonderful, really I’ll take it a--” She cut herself off so that Siobhan could continue. It was better to let the woman speak. She probably held wiser words than blabbermouth Patricia. She sat there in her seat, her palms on the table. The build up was all too great.

”It’s because I’m a witch myself.”

That explained. So. Much. Ms. Lamott’s hands shook and she stared at her friend, gasping. What? A witch? Siobhan?

Her mouth hung open in shock as she tried to regain whatever was left in her Muggle reality. Siobhan...a witch? Her greatest ally could produce magic, and she never knew?

Well, maybe she was all too idiotic to pick up the clues. Nia had gone off to Beauxbatons, whatever that was.

But still, Ms. Lamott could not put words into her mouth. ”I...Siobhan!…” Finally, her hands calmed. She couldn’t risk it, anyways, this was a cafe, and there were people. Patricia had to do one of the hardest things: keep quiet.

Brushing her hair aside and lowering her voice, she leaned in toward the silver-haired woman. ”W...Why didn’t you tell me before? I...I would’ve kept it and all, but...that’s amazing. Spectacular, even. I-It took my breath away.” Her look of concern had morphed into an expression of surprise. ”Oh, please do tell me you would perform it for me sometime!”

Ah, that was a wonderful distraction to get her mind off of Poor Anatole. Bravo, Ms. Cornett.

❝listening is an art that requires attention over talent, spirit over ego, others over self. - dean jackson❞