#justkeepbobbin

The first semi-official meeting of the Society of the Support of Muggleborns and their Families took place in the Frazer's living room, 4 of the 8 in attendance were Frazers, and a fifth engaged to become one. Still, Finn was happy. He hadn't actually asked anyone else currently not there to join him yet other than Dirk and Mina, neither of whom wanted to, and he was waiting to have something a little more solid before he approached others. The gaining a bit more of an idea what this could all be was what this meeting was about, and Finn was proud to say that even if he didn't have many people there, he at least had representatives of all blood statuses. Pure in Wren and his mother; half and brought up more in the wizarding world: himself; half and brought up more in the muggle world: Libby; his father and Millie were both muggleborn and his cousin, Moe, a muggle. Finally, the seventh attendant at their meeting today was a Squib, founder of the SSM's first alliance, the SSS, Idris Oakby.

The words took a long time to sink in. He hadn’t really known what Wren meant by a memorial service, thinking it was probably some weird historical thing he had failed to notice Dirk talking about. Nothing to do with people who were dead. His throat closed up, the words darting around the page too much for him to properly focus but last weekend echoed in his mind, disembodied but with Wren’s voice. While he had been here spending time with Libby and his family, having fun, getting engaged, seeing sights, his friends had needed him. Someone he had been close to was dead, and he’d had no idea, trapped in a bubble in muggle Connemara.

He crashed through to the next room, his whole body shaking as he dropped the letter on the table in front of his father.

“I’m going home.”

Only after he said the words did he check around the room that nobody who didn’t know about magic had decided to drop in and visit. Last he’d checked it was just them and his grandparents in the house, but various cousins had been around at different times, and with his dad potentially in Ireland for his last ever time, it was almost becoming expected that someone would show their face every day. Luckily, everyone staring at him now were well aware that he could apparate.

“Thank-you,” he said to his maimeó, kissing her on the cheek.

“Of course, mo chroí. We’ll be over for the wedding.”

His daideó only nodded his agreement and held out his hand to shake. Finn turned back to his father and Libby, now they had both read Wren’s letter.

“Of course,” Eamon said, his voice cracking.

“You’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, boyo. You two go, be with your friends.”

What do you mean? Memorial service for what?

Whenever dad booked the portkey for, I suppose. Mum’s already back, for work, but I took a couple of weeks off. Why? Missing me?

- F.F.

PS. Happy New Year and all that.

On 5th October 1979, Finn updated his St Mungo’s Emergency Contact list. The following people now would receive notice if there was an emergency:

His parents

Wren Bobbin

Dirk Cresswell

Olivia Mansfield

That’s my line.

My dad’s in St Mungo’s again. I’m staying back with my mum at least until everything’s a bit easier. I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly.