waiting in vain with nothing for you to gain [Nat]

Across the hall from the parlor at Dalemain where Farren had received Nathalie was an over sized powder room. Outside the door of this powder room was a small house elf waiting impatiently. The creature fidgeted, shifting her weight as she struggled with the cloak of Miss Nathalie whom was in the powder room changing into her new suit. Melly leaned against the closed door, "Miss.....Miss....just leave your clothes on the floor Melly will put it with your things later." The elf rest her forehead against the door wondering why the girl wouldn't let her just dress her. "Miss.....we need to hurry it's almost been 40 minutes are you sure Melly can't dress you?"

Upstairs on the opposite end of the estate another elf was busy dressing their mistress. Prissy was running across the large closet adjacent to Farren's room a pair of heirloom diamond earrings clutched to her chest. Farren's Lady's Maid had already gotten her lady in her dress and was smoothing the skirt out as they both stood before a gilded full length mirror in the expansive bedroom the heiress inhabited. Taking the diamonds from the elf the maid attached them to Farren screwing the posts into place securing the priceless diamonds, once a gift from the Malfoy family, to their owner's ears.

"Miss Nathalie.....Miss....Miss....." Melly was still at the door. "Do you need help? Do you want me to fix the outfit?" As the door of the powder room opened Melly stepped back, falling silent, her great large ears lowering as she looked down at the floor. "We must take Miss Nathalie to the foyer to meet Mistress Farren now," the elf said meekly, much less persistent now that Nathalie was face to face. The elf pointed down the hall to the stairs the girl had ascended earlier from the foyer. "Melly will carry your cloak so Miss doesn't get too warm," she said and sheepishly trailed behind the girl to the foyer but snapped ahead to the blonde, "Don't touch anythings. Melly will get in troubles if strangers is touching out things."

In the foyer Farren was waiting for Nathalie, her maid in a formal uniform of a black  dress, delicate white apron, and cap was standing by her side. Farren's white luxe merino cloak draped over her arm, a leather folder in her arms as well. Unlike this morning Farren was dressed as sharply as when Nathalie had first met her. Makeup had been applied to accentuate the angles of her face, she looked older with it on. Her long hair was pulled back into a neat french twist. She was dressed in a stunning white gown, a neat cape hanging down her back. Her legs were covered in sheer nude stockings, simple light grey heels on her feet matched the embellishment on her shoulders.

"Ah, you look much better in that suit," Farren said eyeing the girl a hint of approval evident on her stern face. "Doesn't she look like a lady of respectability Amelia?" Farren asked the maid at her side. The woman nodded praising the blonde on how polished she looked in her new suit. "At least you no longer look like you went shopping in the charity bin," Farren said reaching over to tug a little on the hem of Nathalie's jacket.

"Now that you look appropriate you must understand how to act appropriately. Given that you've proven yourself......unpolished," Farren paused her lips pursing as it was clear unpolished meant something much worse, "You must understand that we're going into a very real scenario, this isn't a game and this isn't school. You must follow these rules or I'll have someone take you back to Hogwarts on the spot. Listen carefully," she said preparing Nathalie for something very grand and detailed indeed. "Number one: You must not wander. Number two: You must not speak unless spoken to. Number three: Before you speak, pause. Ask yourself, would Farren like this answer? If the answer to that question is anything other than YES - don't say it. Do you understand?"

Melly and the maid moved forward helping the ladies into their cloaks. Farren's maid raised the hood on her cloak setting it gently on her perfectly coifed head before handing her the folder. Once the ladies were suited up Farren reached out and firmly took the girl's arm. "Right then, off we go," she said and immediately apparated them both out of the estate.

Twisting through space they flew over the length of the country in blips and flashes of color and light until the light grew dim and the women's feet landed them firmly in the entry way of the old familiar, Leaky Cauldron. Farren glanced over at Nathalie even though she knew she'd be fine but didn't bother looking around the dim pub room. "Come, the visitor entrance to the Ministry isn't far from here," and immediately stepped out the door of the building and into the muggle street. She paused outside the door her eyes darting back and forth across the dreary street. "Quickly Nathalie, we shouldn't risk exposure," she said moving into the footpath heading away from their safe haven. Clearly the exposure she mentioned was exposure to anything muggle.

It was drizzling, the air nippy. Farren moved at a quick clip down the street and around the corner. There were few people out but when they did pass groups of muggles Farren kept close to the buildings, veering away from the street, her hand instinctively tensing around the handle of her wand in her pocket. They passed several dreary looking shops: a small place with flashing lights in the windows advocating pipe smoking, dozens of odd glass pipes in the window, a pub with a mangy looking dog tied out front, and a few sad looking shops seeming to peddle instant snacks, beer, and gambling tickets. Partially fascinated Farren couldn't help but stare into these places as they walked past over the several blocks they traversed.

Pausing at a corner she glanced at the street sign on the side of a building, "Yes, this is the street," she said glancing down the side street to their left. Her lip curled, it was a dank old street with some boarded up shops and a few more scruffy looking places. At the end an old red phone booth stood.

As the women approached the phone booth Farren looked back glancing over her shoulder, "Keep your wits about for people," she instructed and reached into her pocket fishing a lace trimmed handkerchief. She positioned the kerchief over the handle of the booth ensuring her hand wouldn't touch the dirty surface. For a moment she struggled, the door unyielding. Brow furrowed she jostled the door roughly until it slid back with a jerk, she stepped aside ushering Nathalie in yanking the door closed behind them with a dissatisfied grumble as she squished into the booth with the girl pulling her cloak tighter hoping it wouldn't touch the walls of the filthy muggle box.

Inside the booth was a silver box she'd learned in school to be the telephone. A black handpiece hung from a cradle on the side of the box from the books she'd seen at school this was the microphone and speaker. The wall the unit was mounted on was covered in old adverts and messy writing. Most seemed to be adverts for models of some sort and massages. What they had to do with each other she didn't know. She stared at the little stickers and cards wondering what they meant, "Full Service Asian Massage - £30" seemed to be a common message. Several had black ink scrawled on them reading "ladyboyz" which she knew even less about. On some of the adverts were crudely drawn pictures of genitalia. "Nathalie, don't look at these things I'm quite sure the degenerate muggles have repeatedly vandilized this box. You'd think the Ministry would clean this up, I mean....blending in with the surroundings is one thing...." shaking her head she muttered something about muggle perverts and pulled a change purse from her pocket, dumping it out the ledge under the phone, muggle coins spilling out.

Staring at the phone and then the coins and then Nathalie she inhaled though her teeth disapprovingly. "How many do we put in the phone?" she wondered leaning in closer to the phone looking at the slot which diagramed coin insertion. Positioning her handkerchief over the receiver she lifted it off the cradle holding it a few inches from her head listening for someone to speak. Nothing. Lip curled she sat the phone on the narrow ledge her coins were spilled across, some of them clattering to the floor of the booth. Taking her hankie covered hand she followed the directives on the machine and began shoving the coins into the slot. After a few coins the dial tone played through the hand set which made her jump slightly. "Oh for Merlin's sake, they couldn't make it a more pleasant bell?" she said to herself looking at the number pad now. Wrapping the handkercheif around her pointer finger and slowly punched in the correct numbers.

A posh voice filled the small booth, "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic! Please state your name and purpose of your visit!"

"Farren Abercrombie and Nathalie Wilkinson - Purpose of visit is the British Confederation of Ministers hearing on proposal 983-ZYB," Farren said clearly to the disembodied voice.

"Hold please while we confirm the status of your visit," the voice instructed and after a moment there were two clinks in a well at the bottom of the phone. Two silver visitors badges had dropped into the coin return, Farren gestured for Nathalie to take hers as she pocketed her own, wrapped in the handkerchief of course. The box then lurched into the depths of the city and delivered them to the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

The atrium was as it was before the war. Original statues returned to their former locations and life was set on as usual in the halls of the MoM. As it was nearly mid day the crowds had died down, most people busy at work in their offices. Farren walked over to one of the benches nearest the large wizard statue. Motioning for Nat to join her she sat down, one long leg draped over the other crossing at the ankles. No one paid them any attention except a few people staring at the two pretty girls that had just walked in or perhaps to observe Farren's fashion as she pulled her hood off and opened the front of her cloak.

"So, we are here for a hearing for a newly proposed law," she began finally offering an explanation for their trip. She handed the folder she was carrying to Nathalie but did not tell her to open it. "You know The Ministry makes laws for us. Well one of those laws is property tax. That is a tax on any land or buildings a person or group own. So based on the size and value of your property you pay a percentage of tax," she hoped she was making these concepts as simple as possible for the thick little girl sitting beside her. "A new property tax law has been proposed. This law adds additional tax to homes that sit on more than two square miles of land or are worth more than 5 million galleons based on previously calculated property tax. It is a large tax, about an extra 15% on top of the existing tax which is already quite high. Now.... Remember what I said in the parlor? Whom do you think is effected by this new tax?" Farren arched her eyebrow waiting for Nat to work her way to the answer.

"Now.....knowing that no one can afford to pay such taxes year after year they have cleverly developed a reduction option. If you wish to reduce your tax burden and avoid this estate tax all together you may do so - if - your home qualifies as a landmark dwelling. Meaning if your home is old enough and in some shape or form relevant to magical history or society you can take part in this reduction option. In order to qualify for the reduction you must open your property to public visitors for no less than 4 months a year. As in, your home is now a tourist attraction. Apparently muggles do this already...something called a National Trust. Another caveat of this great option Is that in order to do this you must submit to bi-annual ministry inspections of your home and historical magical possessions." Farren paused, scowling, giving the child a moment to digest this information.

"Why do you think they're doing this?" She asked rhetorically, "They don't really want the money though that'd be nice. Bleeding our coffers dry into theirs is certainly one way to cut our hands off. But...no this is about resources and transparency of power. They want to know all the cards we may have up our sleeves so they know how to stack the deck against us. They're scared we have things they don't. Which, of course we do. The families affected by this law pre date the Ministry by centuries. While the Ministry wanes and collapses only to rebuild itself again our families, homes, and holdings are unfaltering. The Dark Lord stored pieces of his soul amongst the very people this law would target. In significant magical artifacts and those not so significant to the bare eye. If we can hold pieces of his soul on our book shelves what else might we have?" Farren arched her eyebrow questioningly.

"Remember what I said about who the enemy is and how we defeat them. Today I am going to testify and be questioned before the committees deliberating this law. At the request of a few representatives opposed to the bill," the heiress nodded her head to the side, gesturing at the expanse of lobby behind them, "What did I say? Sit at the table, play the game." She stood and looked down at Nathalie, "Now is your best time for appropriate questions before we go downstairs."

Nathalie stood in the powder room; the room was fitted with an over-upholstered Georgian-style high-backed chair, and a matching dressing table with an ornately-framed mirror above it. She viewed her reflection absentmindedly, with the open box upon the floor in front of her. Inside was a somewhat lavish cream woollen suit-dress; obviously highly expensive, and yet appeared to be something that a more mature lady would have worn. In the early nineteen-eighties.

Outside, a snivelling house elf whined against the door. Nathalie rolled her eyes in disgust. So now she had to play dress-up; act like Farren’s little personal assistant for some bizarre errand run to the capital. “Needs must,” she kept repeating to herself. Needs must.

Exhaling loudly, she removed the outfit from the thick box, and laid it upon the chair back. She undressed swiftly, folding her blouse and skirt and placing them upon the seat of the chair, before slipping into Farren’s outfit. She adjusted herself, pulling at the hem of the skirt to make it sit right. Whatever Farren’s flaws; the woman certainly had an almost superhuman ability for judging her size; the dress fitted her like a glove. The blonde buttoned the jacket, and pulled the clip from her hair, allowing it to fall down to her shoulder-blades. She ran her fingers through it to untangle the locks; the back of her head still burning from where it had collided from Farren’s wooden floor. The whimpering of the elf outside the locked door was not helping the dull ache.

Nathalie unlocked the door and pulled it open sharply, looking down upon the moaning elf.

“Shut up and keep your hands off me, or I will shove my wand so far up your bloody arse that it will straighten that humpback of yours.”

And with that, she started off down the corridor, the slightly terrified elf following in her wake.

In the foyer she met Farren, dressed suitably elegantly for their journey to the centre of Wizarding authority. Farren listed her instructions, or orders as they quickly appeared to be. Nathalie stood silent, nodding when required, and before she was quite mentally ready, Farren had apparated the both of them.

—————

With a sickening drop, the two woman appeared in The Leaky Cauldron. Their arrival appeared to have no effect upon the slightly inebriated patrons, who barely looked up from their early afternoon beverages. Following Farren’s command, Nathalie walked with her out onto the street, and into the din and bluster of muggle London.

The sign affixed to the wall opposite read Great Newport St. A left turn, and the women were standing on Charing Cross Road. The contrast to their world was most bracing. Hundreds of muggles, streaming along the pavements, in the unceasing drizzle. The screams of horns and sirens tore through the discordant muffle of conversations; the stench of muggle food and burned petrol and stale refuse. The street was strewn with the deleterious of muggle life; aluminium cans lay neatly aligned in the gutter; sodden newspapers plastered the pavement; little white spots of some sort of substance speckled upon the tarmac. Pigeons pecked at their feet; tamed from their daily interactions with human beings. As they approached the almost hellish Leicester Square, they passed a policeman in a fluorescent yellow high visibility jacket; METROPOLITAN POLICE in white text upon a blue square on his upper back, his strange black helmet shiny in the rain, directing the loud and filthy muggle vehicles; themselves crawling through the arteries that led away from the pedestrianised area, following his near random gesticulations in the rain.
Crossing the mazes of roadways (Nathalie did not know her way around London and was dependant on Farren’s sense of direction), and approaching the National Gallery, Farren and Nathalie passed by on the pavement a heavy man with a shaved head, leaning into the window of one of the parked muggle vehicles, conversing animatedly with what appeared to be the pilot.
"Fack's sake; Henry wer miiiilles offside! Fackin' Arsenal, score one and fackin' close up shop!" Nathalie had no idea what that sentence was supposed to mean; however the man in the vehicle nodded sagely along.
"Fackin' West Ham, jus' free points abov' relegation," he retorted in his own Estuary accent, eyes wide with passion. “Season ticket woz a fackin’ waste a’ money.”
A girl with purple hair and no shortage of piercings on her lips walked by the couple; two fine black cables hanging from her inner ears; a tinny trebly rhythm emitting in her wake. Nathalie's eyes widened in horror whilst her head swivelled to follow the teenager. Her oversized black teeshirt was emblazoned with the slogan “The Queen is Dead” in a serif italic font.
London was the most bizarre place on the planet.

The couple walked quickly across Trafalgar Square; a few tourists in yellow raincoats turning their heads to the two woman in their thick woollen robes. Nathalie knew that no matter how bizarre London could be, a couple of tall women waltzing through the touristy regions dressed like druids was bound to cause a little bit of a stir.

Again they crossed one more of these godforsaken Muggle roads with their filthy metal vehicles screaming along the tarmac, before reaching the slightly more civilised surrounds of Whitehall. This was, as Nathalie had been taught in school, the seat of Muggle and Magical government. As they walked along the wide street; Nathalie could see the upper hemisphere of a monstrous white metal skeleton that hung upon the edge of the Thames; unbeknownst to her the London Eye. Further down, at the end of the road, stood the noble roofs of Westminster; Big Ben framing the view.
Farren turned to the right, off the main road, and Nathalie trailed after her; Farren’s pace a few steps off a run. The two woman entered a dreary alley; small puddles undulating in the unceasing drizzle. The muggle shops were closed and boarded up here; shards of glass and empty alcohol bottles littered the path in front of them. At the end of this small street stood a traditional red phone booth. Nathalie had read about them in her Muggle Studies textbook; strange communication devices that allowed muggles to converse at a distance. Farren and the student squeezed in together. The couple were greeted by a fragrance of stale urine, causing Nathalie to scrunch up her nose momentarily, before a waft of Farren's majestic perfume helped to block the offending odour. Nathalie stifled a smile upon seeing the crudely scrawled phalli; one thing she could not say about the muggles was that they were in any way inhibited. For the briefest of seconds, the blonde considered suggesting to her elegant companion that perhaps she should a avail of the advertised Thai massage with it's associated Happy End; however she did not want to lose any teeth at this moment in time.
After what felt like a small age, Farren had entered the requisite amount of muggle currency into the communication device, and with a stomach-churning drop the couple sunk into the bowels of the Ministry.

—————

Nathalie sat carefully upon the cold stone bench, to where Farren had gestured. The vast atrium of the Ministry with it’s marbled floors and huge aggressively fascistic statues vanished into space above her head. She had been here once before, as a second year on a school trip. To be here again, after so many epoch-changing events having had occurred in these very halls was a somewhat bizarre experience. As it was near midday, the atrium was largely empty; the odd employee wandering by with arms filled with documents or strange boxes and cartons. Now and again a disembodied voice would call out a name over a tannoy system. “Calling Miss Johnstone, Miss Johnstone to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, please.”

Farren described the proposed new law, one which would have intended (or so she claimed) consequences for her personal fortune and her resulting power. Nathalie listened, her expression of one of detached interest. Her blue eyes scanned the marble columns behind the brunette; how they tore into the firmament of the building. She noticed how one on the far side of the gaping room had a fissure that ran dozens of metres along it’s body: a remnant of the war.

“Gosh, that must be terrible for you,” responded the Slytherin uninterestedly to Farren. “I would hate for them to make life difficult for you, I mean, us.” Her apparent slip of the tongue was not completely accidental. She couldn't help but feel that Farren was being slightly hysterical in relation to this proposed new law. The Ministry liked to interfere, of that there was no question; however it was usually too bloated and slow to cause anyone real problems; so she would have thought. But, Farren knew best. Who was Nathalie to query her on such a (quite franky, dull) topic?

Nathalie’s eyes followed the witch as she stood to her full height, and, waiting one further moment, she joined her upon her feet.

“No questions, Miss Abercrombie. Lead the way. I will be quiet as a mouse.” She smiled falsely at Farren. Nathalie was not quite sure what exactly she was to learn here, however she would follow Farren like a lapdog, if that was what she wanted.

Looking down at Nathalie The brunette sighed heavily. She wanted to throw a string of obscenities at the blockhead. Maybe she was too thick to be useful. "Merlin," she muttered shaking her head. "Stop being such an ignoramus, obviously this is bad for me but that's not the point of this," Farren leaned down whispering in the girls ear in a venomous tone. "If they can take MY possessions and invade MY home they can surely take yours. They may slap us with fines what about you who can't afford them? They'd have a cozy cell next to your father for you if they raided your home and found anything suspicious. Use your brain, I know it's difficult but you have to try. You want to fight for The Cause? This is the cause - keeping us all out of jail and out of bankruptcy and from being stripped of all power and dignity as a race. Where would you be safe to hold your Kevian Taite fan girl meetings if they're allowed to invade our homes!"

A snarl of an expression crossed Ren's face as she stood up and nodded towards the elevators. "We will be late, let's go," and without another word or hint of anger she moved towards the elevators at a steady clip. The women rode down to the fifth floor, a series of long halls of offices, board rooms and counsel rooms. Farren moved quickly down the halls, passing witches in wizards in robes designating they were elected regional representatives. Most paused to nod a greeting to her and she would reciprocate but never linger.

She stopped in front of a door with a brass plaque reading: Elizabeth Hogkoch-Hilliard, Northwest England Representative. Farren rapt firmly on the door which opened immediately into a large, Georgian looking office. Large windows looking out over a scenery scape much like Dalemain lined the back wall, heavy tapestries hung above them. There was a large meeting table where three people sat: an elderly woman with small eyes and a pointed nose wearing the robes of the regional officials, clearly Elizabeth. Then two men; a middle aged man with sandy, thinning hair and large spectacles also in regional official robes and an elderly man with stern features and silvery white hair and beard. He was wearing fine burgundy robes, clearly expertly made for him.

"Farren, darling," Elizabeth chortled rising from her seat moving to the girls. She clasped Farren's hand warmly before looking her over from head to toe. "I see you brought a friend," she said glancing at Nathalie.

Farren smiled mechanically, "Hardly, this is Nathalie Wilkinson, a participant from The Society to Support Children of the War," Farren said matter of factly.

The elderly woman studied Nathlie for a moment before offering her hand to the girl, "I'm Mrs. Hogkoch Hilliard, representative number one from Northwest England to the Body of Regional Representation." The elderly woman put a frail hand on the girls shoulder and pointed to her sandy haired companion, "This is Mr. Lewisham...the representative of Western London." The sandy haired man nodded to Nathalie in greeting. "This gentleman," she continued looking to the older silver haired man, "Is but of course Mr. Spencer Abercrombie, Farren's Grandfather," she said with a smile.

The older Abercrombie eyed Nathalie in silence for a moment before standing up and walking over to give Farren a firm embrace of the shoulder. Apparently this was a warm welcome to his grandchild. He turned, offering his hand to Nat. "Miss Wilkinson, what a surprise," he said in a way that made it impossible to tell if he was pleased or not.

Farren seemed uninterested in the formalities going on and threw her cloak on an empty chair at the table, snatching the folder from under Nathalie's arm and handing it to Mr. Lewisham. The elder woman returned to the table offering Nathalie one more grin as she did. Farren and the elderly woman took a seat at the table, Ren gesturing to an empty chair at the foot of the table for Nathalie.

Spencer Abercrombie though spoke up before the girl could move, "So...Miss Wilkinson," he spoke in a deep measured tone, his Cumbrian accent so thick it may have been what made him speak the way he did.  "You're interested in the preservation of pureblood rights and privacy?" A full white eyebrow arched in imploring curiosity.

Mrs. Hogskoch-Hilliard chortled good naturedly, "Spencer, she's a child, that's an awful serious question!" She smiled nervously clearly uncomfortable with such a direct question being asked. Lewisham rifled through the folder Farren had given him only half looking at the blonde.

Spencer glanced at the elderly woman and then to Farren, "Wilkinson, look at her, if she is whom I think she is she'll have an opinion. Even if she doesn't it's something everyone should spend more time thinking about.....the consequences of government on private citizens..." He was firm but didn't exhibit the air of frantic mania Farren tended to. He was a rock compared to Farren's fire.

"Farren had said that teenagers these days didn't care about maintaining the pillars of our society. Are you the exception to the rule?"

The group were looking at Nathalie with rapt attention. Mrs. Hogkoch-Hilliard seemed genuinely interested and friendly. Mr. Lewisham seemed only mildly concerned with her, some of the documents from Farren's folder  clutched loosely in his hand. Mr. Abercrombie seemed to possess the family ability to look completely indifferent yet mildly terrifying at once. And Farren, staring at Nathalie intensely, was pursing her lips her eyes imploring Nat to give an intelligent response lest a vein in her temple explode.

Nathalie accepted Farren’s rebuke and stared into mid distance, her eyes only turning towards the brunette upon the mention of “Kevian Taite fan girl meetings”. The student watched Farren march off towards the elevators; her heels clacking upon the sleek marbled floors, with Nathalie’s cold eyes locked upon the back of her proud head. A sneer broke across her narrow lips.

Temper, control it, she thought to herself.

The blonde followed along, resetting her visage to something close to neutrality on the journey.

As they traversed the labyrinthine and meandering corridors of the fifth floor, Farren gestured a curt greeting to those who crossed her path. As much as Nathalie hated to admit to herself, Farren was quite the impressive specimen as she glided through the corridors of power; known to all, and not having the time of day for any of them. The merest hint of envy flashed in the Slytherin’s eyes as she followed along, one shoulder behind Farren. There was no doubt that the elegant witch turned heads, and with her name alone she had a measure of influence and sovereignty that was unknown to the vast majority of wizardingkind. Nathalie wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was about her that triggered the feeling of yellow-eyed jealousy within the pit of her gut. Did she want all that power and, as a consequence, respect, for herself? She had been reasonably content before her run-in with the brunette. However, despite the slightly unfortunate beginning to the day, at least now she would getting to watch the master at work, she considered inwardly.

Nathalie followed Farren into the ornate and stuffy office. Farren made her greetings and introduction to the three representatives, and then proceeded to robotically introduce her charge.

The blonde took the hand of Mrs. Hogkoch Hilliard and nodded very politely. Already she could feel Farren’s eyes boring into the back of her skull, awaiting and preparing to jump upon any faux pas before it could even occur.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hogkoch Hilliard.” The woman’s handshake was extremely delicate, as if she was unsure of what exactly it was she was having to touch. Then, with the same fragile phantom contact, the older lady turned Nathalie to face the heavy dark oak table and the two men placed upon either side of it. Nathalie nodded in greeting to Mr. Lewisham, who seemed rather bored by the whole procedure and had his head resting upon his clasped fists.

The mention of another Abercrombie instinctively made the hairs stand on the back of Nathalie’s neck. The other man stood to his feet, looking straight through her, in the way she had noticed that men of a particular age and experience had a tendency to do. People who had seen everything had low levels of excitability and high levels of incredulousness. Nathalie’s blue eyes widened somewhat instinctively, attempting to take Farren’s Grandfather in completely. He was tall, slim, and very elegantly dressed, as one would expect a fully fledged member of the Abercrombie clan to be. He resembled his granddaughter, particularly around the eyes, and had the same distinct Abercrombie cheekbones. Although a man of a somewhat mature age, there was no denying that he was rather handsome and stately. Nathalie turned her head to watch him embrace his granddaughter. She wanted to scan Farren’s face; that cold countenance that to Nathalie appeared to have two default settings - distance aloofness and unmitigated fury. She wanted to see some flicker of life; something perhaps warm there.

She was taken my surprise when he extended his hand; for a moment she did not move as those Abercrombie eyes met her own once again. Collecting herself, she shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Abercrombie,” she replied.

They seated so that Nathalie took the chair at the foot of the table, next to Farren. Nathalie sat forward in her chair, feet carefully planted beneath her, spine locked straight and shoulders back fully, as instructed by Farren’s texts.

And then Mr. Abercrombie decided to ask her a question.

A strange and tense staring mexican standoff ensued; Mrs. Hogskoch-Hilliard to Mr. Abercrombie; Mr. Abercrombie to Nathalie and Farren; Farren to Mr. Abercrombie and Nathalie; Nathalie to Mr. Abercrombie, then Farren, and then once more to Mr. Abercrombie. The Slytherin cleared her throat slightly, blue eyes falling to the highly-polished surface of the desk. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. Wasn’t she here to simply observe? Nathalie had not quite prepared herself for this first hurdle. Mr. Abercrombie was intense; yet he sat there calmly, peering towards the youngest girl.

The only solution was to keep it brief and somewhat diplomatic, she thought. She swallowed hard, placing both her hands on the table in front of her, her eyes falling to her outstretched fingertips before rejoining Mr. Abercrombie’s.

“Well, Mr. Abercrombie, I would agree with you and Miss Abercrombie -”, she snapped her gaze to the brunette beside her, and then back to the stately gentleman. “There are many young people who do not have any interest in . . . the historical underpinnings of our society, which I think is a shame. But I am not in that group.”

She paused. It was apparent that Mr. Abercrombie was awaiting an answer to his first question. “And yes, I find that I am very much interested in . . . wizarding rights and privacy. The overview that Miss Abercrombie has provided me of this new property tax is certainly very intriguing . . .”

The group of adults stared at Nathalie as if they were all suddenly reticent then glanced at Spenser who was also staring at Nathalie. Farren broke the silence after an awkward moment, the feet of her chair scraping against the floor. Attention shifted to her as she rose from her chair,"We should go, they'll expect us in the comittee room."

Lewisham and Hogskoch-Hilliard also rose and prepared to leave for the hearing, giving polite good byes as they moved to the door. Farren turned to Nathalie looking less agitated now that she had responded reasonably, "You will go with Grandfather to observe the proceedings. He has been generous in agreeing to this, please, make good use of the time," she side eyed her Grandfather as if she expected him to protest and followed the other two to the door. "I'll meet you outside the gallery afterwards," Ren said curtly before sliding out the door behind her burgundy cloaked friends.

Alone in the office Spenser turned to Nathalie and offered a small smile, "I'm glad you're not like those other children at Hogwarts," he was brief, his words chosen carefully whenever he spoke. "And don't think this is some breed of favor; if you weren't my companion at the hearing I might have to sit next to someone undesirable. Better to be next to an ally in the lion's den don't you think?"

He alluded to undesirable in the sense the word was used during the Death Eater's regime, not in an untoward way and then slowly rose from his chair in the way old men of prestige do, unconcerned with moving quickly as the world's schedule worked around his preference. "We should be off as well I suppose. Once we get inside the gallery, provided no one is in ear shot, you may speak as freely as you like, the gallery is enchanted to be sound proof," he nodded towards the hall and then moved out falling in pace beside his young companion for the next half hour.

Through the dark, black tile halls glowing in yellow lamp light they marched in the quiet to an unassuming door labeled, 'Committee Room C Gallery'. They moved up a narrow wooden stair case, Spenser pulled a heavy brocade curtain aside for Nathalie so she could step into the gallery. A mezzanine full of low wooden benches encompassed the majority of the space above a large circular committee room. The room below them was stark, one side was a small box of seating, already a couple of reporters had gathered there. The center of the room housed a long table that was set for one, a small placard read: MISS FARREN ABERCROMBIE. The front half of the room was occupied by two rows of elevated seating which were occupied by other maroon robed people chattering amongst themselves.
Their friends from the office were sat center front next to two other men at a long table opposite Farren's.

"Shall we?" Spenser said motioning to an empty bench on the side of the gallery, front row with views of everyone's faces and no one in the surrounding space. It seemed the others in the gallery had chosen to sit scattered about, the space only a third full. He took his seat next to Nathalie and nodded towards the far wall where Farren was entering the room, "Here we go," he said almost smirking.

It was almost immediately apparent why Farren was down on the floor and not the patriarch of her family. Amongst the burgundy robes, severe lighting, and worn wood of the room she was like a beacon of glamour and sophistication. Her gait was effortlessly fluid, everything about her commanded your attention, in her white dress she seemed almost radiant amongst the drab, harsh reality of the committee room.

She took her seat and quietly arranged her documents as the room was called to order. The Chairman, Mr. Tonks, denied her an opening statement claiming they already had a long list of questions for her and that she was quite known as it were. The heiress just nodded politely and asked to submit her statement in written form at the conclusion of the hearing. This request was obliged and the three dozen or so people she sat before turned their eyes to the heiress. The Chairman's first question was to list her properties that would be affected by the law.

Farren obliged him and in an elegant, measured voice, even more formal than she'd ever taken with Nathalie began her response her voice magically amplified to fill the room. She detailed her three homes: Dalemain in Cumbria, Marlowe House in London, and a third home, an original Hogsmeade structure on its most historic neighborhood block. No one flinched, it was an unremarkable question after all.

To follow a ho-hum opener she was asked the current taxes levied against these properties and the amount that equated to annually. Farren responded, with a number amounting to millions of muggle pounds, breaking down the exact fees paid.

Behind the chairman a slight murmor rose from the group. Spenser glanced at Nathalie, "They've probably never met someone who pays more than their life's fortune in taxes every year..." He commented his eyes on the wItches and wizards hissing amongst themselves. The questioning continued, the group silenced by a smack of the gavel. For a couple questions it remained mundane: How much would the new law increase the taxes? A lot. How much of the family income went to taxes? A significant amount. Farren answered dutifully, somehow making taxes sound beautiful and refined.

Then, the line of questioning shifted, "Miss Abercrombie how did you come to obtain your house in Hogsmeade as it is not parcel of the Abercrombie estate?" Mr. Tonks asked his voice rising almost as if to mock the heiress.

"And so it begins," Spenser hissed gently to Nathalie, "We are all guilty in their eyes," he concluded his attention clamped on Farren.

Seemingly unphased Farren responded, "I inherited it from my mother who died on October the tenth, nineteen ninety eight."

"And how pray tell did your mother leave you this home when your own family claimed she was debilitated with mental illness?" The chairman asked the room falling so silent a pin drop would echo off the wood beams.

"She wrote her will in 1981, leaving the home to whomever her eldest child was to be at the time of her death," Farren responded coolly.

"So....before your mother, a death eater, was convicted of 21 murders and sentenced to a life sentence in Azkaban she bestowed that house to you?" Murmor rose from the body at the question, the tone of the murmoring seemed to dissent with the harsh question.

"Yes, that is correct," Farren said calmly, not even appearing flustered by the accusatory line of questioning.

"And when she paid her way out of prison she residesd there?" The chairman asked as the group's quiet chattering rose to a dull roar. Lewisham had reached for the gavel and was banging it on the table. Calling objection to the question. As the body fell to a hushed whisper all eyes turned to Farren, somehow the embodiment of cool fierceness even still.

"When my mother was released from Azkaban on the grounds of abuse of a mentally ill person and neglection of medical attention to a chronically ill patient - no - she did not live in that home. The home was an investment, intended for her to stay in on weekends when I was at Hogwarts, so that she might see me in the village with my classmates," Farren said though her voice had softened as if to preface the very personal testiment.

"And did your mother stay in that house? Did she visit you?" The Chairman asked, "Did this home facilitate your relationship with your Death Eater mother? Was this home an accessory to a Death Eater?" The group was silent though a ripple of nervous energy had engulfed the committee room.

"No, I never saw my mother in that home," Farren said a look of stony contempt on her face, "it was not an accessory to Death Eater activity." Farren was sharp but the edge in her voice was apparent now. "If you have any more questions about my mother you may refer to my testimony at Death Eater trials in June 1998, January 1999, and March 1999. I also signed a statement attesting my limited knowledge of her political activities." Farren commanded, swiftly taking control of the discussion, "I fail to see how my mother has any bearing on my property taxes unless this tax is on officially being acknowledged as punishment for Death Eater association and blood relation."

The chairmen were silent, their gaze trained on Farren, their defiant witness. Again the body was in an uproar, some applauding Farren. Spenser turned to Nathalie with a vague smile, "I say she's doing quite well with the bullies today," he said anicdotealy. "You know it's interesting how you came to know Farren. I'm shocked actually that you're here or met her at all. I think you could explain to me how it is Farren became your mentor when Farren is not at all associated with The Children of War Veterans or whatever it's called...."

Like a reprieve for a prisoner on death row, Farren (of all people) came to Nathalie’s rescue, and interjected in an attempt to move the grouping off to their meeting. Inwardly thanking whichever Gods were responsible for this prevention of what was quickly descending into an uncomfortable interrogation, Nathalie followed Farren to the doorway, where she was instructed to join Spenser Abercrombie in the viewing gallery. A small wave of relief washed over Nathalie; she would much rather view Farren at work from afar, as opposed to joining her in the centre of attention here. And Mr Abercrombie; whilst sharing the Abercrombie intensity, did appear to be somewhat less . . . fiery than his granddaughter.

Together Spenser and Nathalie climbed the old wooden staircase to the gallery; it rattled and juddered under their footsteps. Upon emerging, Nathalie noted how it opened onto an expanse of wooden bench seating. The couple shuffled along and seated themselves near the front edge. The spot was reasonably private, and allowed for a full and unblocked view of the vast floor below. As much as Nathalie hated to admit it; Farren did look wonderful in the centre of the floor. The lighting down on the entrance level was rather stark; unlike the enveloping gloom of the galleries. However not a hair appeared out of place on Farren Abercrombie. She sat like a glamorous actress, and every move she made appeared to be controlled and pre-planned. Nathalie listed rapturously.

…..

All the time, Spenser spoke quietly and clearly in Nathalie’s ear, providing a witty commentary to the events as they unfolded. As the main chairman attempted to call for order and banged his gavel loudly whilst some security personnel pushed the more enthusiastic fans of Farren back away from the edge of their viewing areas, Spenser spoke again, only this time he gave a clever question to the Slytherin student. Nathalie froze somewhat, her flaxen eyebrows unconsciously rising barely millimetres upon her forehead. The question he asked was a fair one; and yet it betrayed his suspicions.

She could feign ignorance. "No, Mr Abercrombie; Farren really is associated. And et cetera". But it was obvious Spenser would see right through such a tale. Should she be totally honest? "Actually, Mr Abercrombie; I wanted to get to know the great writer Kevan Taite, so I wrote him a gushing letter; Farren intercepted it and then gave me a right bollocking, and because she has nothing better to do (plus seems to enjoy a spot of light torture on the weekends) has decided to have me shadow her for a few days." Admission for the stupid letter probably was not the best thing for her to do, to avoid further sullying of her reputation. Farren had made that abundantly clear over their previous interactions. Perhaps something vaguely in-between; a mixture of vague truth and light fiction was possibly best.

Nathalie turned to look at Spenser. She felt terribly girlish in his presence, hiding here in their darkened courner, and this disturbed her. If she had wanted someway to completely destroy her confidence, this day was doing its best to achieve that. She took a breath, constructing her sentence carefully. “I came into contact with Miss Abercrombie via the publishing company, Mr. Abercrombie. I am a great admirer and devotee of quite a few of the books that Abercrombie produce. And, as I am sure you are well aware, Abercrombie publishing is also a good and loyal supporter of Hogwarts. I enquired about the organisation. I knew Miss Abercrombie from her days in Slytherin too, and so she naturally remembered me. As my father was involved in the . . . conflict, I believe she is taking a few days to show me how Abercrombie publishing works, and how she herself goes about her daily tasks.”

Nathalie stopped, and looked down towards the immaculate brunette in the centre of the floor.

“However, she of course does not want to attract accusations of favouritism or other silly nonsense. I know how lucky I am to spend even a small amount of time with her. Many would give their right arm to experience what I am experiencing today.” Yeah, getting knocked unconscious by a house elf. The extravagance. “So if anyone asks, I think she says it’s for the Society to Support Children of the War. Of course, Miss Abercrombie is such a generous person, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did help that organisation also.” She looked back at Spenser and smiled softly. She hoped to Merlin that her excuse was watertight.

As the child prattled on her tale of how she came to know Miss F. V. Abercrombie so much so that she was now attending a government hearing with her Spenser sat quietly. His expression was fixed somewhere between the bored indifference of an old man who'd heard every lie in the world and the sympathetic and false interest an elderly person lends to a child whom is telling them farcical tales in earnest.

He nodded at her conclusion gushing over what a generous person his granddaughter was. Without speaking he turned his attention back the the hearing proceedings.

Order restored the room below was still as Farren answered questions about the things her family did annually to document and preserve the magical history and artifacts of their home. It was dry, a filler question clearly raised by Farren's friends to calm the mood.

"How very interesting," the old man commented, clearly not referring to the discussion below. "I don't think anyone has ever accused Farren of being unbiased...." He arched an eyebrow glancing at Nathalie, "Or generous for that matter...." He trailed off giving Nathalie a knowing glance and turning his attention to the galley seats around them.

Below them discussion turned to the infringement of privacy forcing public access to  private homes in exchange for tax breaks posed and the moral issue of a skewed tax code that publicized the private lives of the wealthy for spectacle.

"So interesting that she would bring you to this of all things. Surely you'd be more interested in the opening of the Brickhine Gallery in Diagon Alley tonight? First gallery there since before the war, apparently it's quite an affair," he commented in a fashion that was speculative as if he were rationalizing this bizarre relationship aloud. He was looking at a couple across the galley now. A normal looking pair listening quietly to the testimony. His hand rubbed his chin as he ruminated turning his gaze back to Farren.

"She's up to something, she never does something to do something. It's against her nature. You have a purpose...." He said softly nodding to himself as he fell silent watching the events below.

"Miss Abercrombie, can you tell me, in all honesty, your family could not afford these taxes on your homes?" Miss Hedgecock Hilliard asked her. A cross examination it seemed were underway.

"That's correct ma'am. This percentage of an increase on all three of our properties, which already require hundreds of thousands of galleons in preservation a year, would make it impossible to remain the owners of all three homes," Farren was perfectly spoken still, her voice neither too soft nor too harsh. It was pleasant, you wanted to hear more.

"And how long has each home been in possession of your family?" The line of questions continued gently.

"Dalemain has been in the family since the 600s. Structures of the property that still stand date back to 800. It is our ancestoral home the land put ancestors settled and claimed when moving south from Scotland. Our London home has been in the family since the 1500s though the original structures burned down in 1627. The current home was not rebuilt on the ashes until 1713. And my Hogsmeade cottage has been in my family since 1970 but the home was originally built and owned for many decades by my mother's paternal family line. She did not select that home at random."

"So....thirty years plus original blood ownership. Then 500 years and yet again 1500 years....for 1500 years your family has lived on the land of Dalemain?" She was asked gently, it seemed the room had taken an emotional turn as the politicos tried to grasp such a time span.

"Indeed 1500 years we have owned parts of Dalemain Estate. Growing it over the years but yes, an Abercrombie has lived on that plot of land," Farren looked down at her documents on her desk momentarily before looking back at the panel. The room was silent, the officials watching her carefully.

"And do you think, in any way, the public would benefit from having access to your house, as a tourist attraction or as it were called a living museum?" The elderly woman on the panel asked as she looked down her nose through her spectacles at the heiress.

"Certainly not. The majority of the historical artifacts are kept in preservation storage and would not be able to be put on display. Our library is in fact a legal part of Abercrombie Publishing therefore as a business holding would not be open to the public per business privacy and confidentiality laws. It would at most be an architectural tour with a few artifacts on display. The only rooms which are kept in their original state and fully furnished are private family rooms such as my apartment in the north wing, our dining room, our receiving parlor, our kitchens....such like that," Farren concluded firmly.

"And do you think Miss Abercrombie that with their vast resources in magical history, artifacts, buildings, wards, enchantments, and large scale facility management that the Ministry seizing control of your estate in any regard would actually benefit the historical integrity and help preserve this property they deemed as historically critical to magical society?"

Farren smiled, chuckling almost, "With all do respect, my family have owned that land for far longer than the Ministry has had such resources or power. How would they improve our situation when they are so much less experienced and not in the slightest familiar with the property in question?"

A murmur  trickled through the officials below. Several members of the galley applauded though their claps echoed off the sound blocking enchantment back into the gallery. Spenser turned yet again to his young companion with a hint of a smile on his worn face, "Isn't it impressive how Representative Hedgekoch-Hilliard was able to lead the group to such a conclusion?"

He seemed pleasantly thoughtful for a moment, "I wonder Nathalie, do you have high score on all your examinations from Hogwarts? There is a program, a fellowship, for outstanding students to work as an aide for an elected official in the Ministry," he paused looking at the floor below them, "You would be compensated with a wage and you would work on all manner of projects and needs for someone. I don't know if you're interested in politics but....."he trailed off for a moment looking at Farren.

"We are in flux as a society. There are a great many fighting for the same spotlight. It's easy for some causes and groups to get swept up in the rush or forgotten. Even easier when they are a marginalized minority. The number of voices behind such issues hardly matter this day and age. It's all about having the right mouthpiece, the right connection, the ability to be heard. Even if the vehicle for your voice isn't as you'd hope it were, the important thing is having that vehicle, without it you're dead in the rush," he seemed to be almost ruminating as much as he was actually telling her something. His eyes on Farren still he smiled gently, his granddaughters mindset for bringing the girl here perfectly clear to him. He was impressed with her foresight and resourcefulness.

"If you're interested in the fellowship I'm sure we can rummage up a pamphlet for you before we depart for the day, I would think the application period was nearly over but....you never know. I'm sure someone knows where the pile of applications is sitting," he said casually, his tone easing. If he were suggesting that they could get her application in post deadline he certainly seemed to take it casually. It seemed manipulating the Ministry was a skill set that was taught in the Abercrombie family.

The student glanced at Spenser as he turned his noble head away from her; his almost throwaway comment regarding her "purpose" raising more questions than answers. Nathalie opened her mouth as if to say something; to interject angrily as she usually would have; to express disgust at his possible insinuation, but instead she said nothing, controlling her tongue and looking back out upon the spotlit brunette sitting immaculately in the centre of the Committee room floor. 

As Nathalie had been proceeding through her tasks and assignments with Farren, she had not stopped long enough to consider exactly why Farren had participated in this babysitting exercise. In the hidden cavernous recesses of her mind, where she hid her deepest and most honest thoughts, the blonde had secretly desired that Farren had, underneath her stony and glacial exterior and her lancinating acts of disdain, in some way approved of her; perhaps through the filter of pureblood camaraderie and allegiance. But now Nathalie chastised herself inwardly for such stupidity. People like Farren, as Spenser had just clearly stated, did not do things without planning. It was not difficult to go one step further, and presume that such people would not carry out random acts of charity from the goodness of their generous hearts. No, Farren was an architect with surgical precision. And Nathalie was simply her tool, and a blunt one at that. As much as the blonde student was ashamed to admit to herself, she felt so very disappointed.

And now, how to proceed? She had been removed from her safety net of Hogwarts, where everything that irritated her could be manipulated to her own liking, or simply destroyed if necessary. Farren had taken her, blinking and shivering like a new born foal, out into the cold light of day. And Nathalie had been demoralised at what she had heard. The fight for the protection of their blood was taking place not on a battlefield, but via the mechanisations of politics. The very same politics that proclaimed, in it's usual obfuscating way, that it would one day destroy them. And yet the Abercrombies were stating that this was the only line of resistance open for them now.

Spenser spoke again, breaking Nathalie's trail of thought. She turned to him once again as he made his offer. Nathalie considered what would it mean to be an aide at the ministry. A typist? Receptionist? Professional tea maker? Probably all of the above, and then some. But that was the usual way for a career at the Ministry to start. At the bottom of the ladder, scraping a living as an obedient dogsbody. Unless one had connections, obviously. Connections meant that one could skip the years of servitude and get a cushy little desk number where all one had to do was sign parchment all day. Or so the rumours went.

She stared carefully back at Spenser for a moment, admiring his aged patrician face. He was fast becoming as beguiling as his granddaughter. The Slytherin could not help but feel that she was being guided along rails that were not of her choosing, like a railway carriage being shunted through junctions by an unseen engine behind. First Farren, with her caustic lectures and books on etiquette and decorum, and now Spenser. Their perspective was united. The pureblooded wizarding world was to be protected, not by political violence and upheaval, but rather from within it's own institutions. A perfect example of this was being played out on the floor in front of the blonde; the effortlessly elegant Farren Abercrombie, the beautiful and eloquent spokesperson for this latest generation, deflecting the barbs from the meddling politicians that would enjoy nothing more than sticking their greasy tentacles into her dealings, her fortune, and her family history. At least, that would be how Farren would present it to Nathalie. The blonde could imagine nearly word for word the lecture that would await her afterwords. And yet, as much as it inwardly pained her to admit, Farren would be correct to make such a declaration. She was quite simply magnificent, her unscripted responses were making this whole hearing appear foolish and misjudged. When the viewing gallery broke out into scattered applause, even Nathalie had to smile. The blonde damned Farren, for she was awfully good.

The day's events had left the student feeling puerile and crass. Farren's world, as massively disconnected from the reality of the average witch and wizard as it was, was enveloped with layers of subtlety that allowed her to move amongst the upper echelons of polite society with her silky artistry. Nathalie’s previous interpretation of adult life, where she saw events simply and in a brutalist manner with brightly demarcated borders, where sides were easy to define, and where the only currency was a sheer force of will, now appeared lacking and without finesse. She had an awful lot to digest, for she did not completely enjoy this new game.

Nathalie let a silence fall between her and Spenser whilst she digested his offer. On the floor, several security guards silently moved on an observer who was clearly getting slightly overexcited at Farren's performance, and escorted him out of the chamber. She met his astute eyes before he turned away and gazed critically across the chamber to the observers on the other side. Nathalie did not want to give any certainty or exactitude in her response to Spenser. One of the rules for a young lady in Farren's texts had stated how someone of decent upbringing should make all her important decisions in private, with careful consideration and deliberation. Anything rushed in public was vulgar, apparently. 

"That is a very interesting and most kind offer," replied Nathalie softly, breaking the silence gently, and implying that she had been contemplating his words with care.  "I would indeed like to see such a pamphlet, if of course it would not be too much trouble to procure one for me." She smiled at Spenser, but she wasn't sure if he was still paying her any attention, as Farren was continuing to have those attendant at this hearing eat out of the very palm of her hand.

Below the gallery it was clear proceedings were drawing to a close. They had begun discussing the amounts of profit such a tax would garner the Ministry. While the amount they stood to gain from the Abercrombies annually was more than a dozen people's combined annual salaries it was not, considering the national expenses, so significant. Farren contended that there were no more than 50 properties, if even that, which would be affected and be leveraging sums under the new tariff. It was dry, factual information. Those supporting the bill had of course already tallied the sums and allotted the hypothetical funds to programs and needs.

The old man and his young companion sat in silence observing this dull, albeit substantial speaking point. At least until the  young girl remarked she was interested in applying at the Ministry. A pleased smirk creased the man's features, "I will make sure the application arrives to you at Hogwarts as soon as you return." His expression was kind but much like his granddaughter there was clearly something on his mind that he didn't reveal. It seemed the Abercrombies always kept their full hand a secret, giving a tell only when they wanted to tip off an observer to dig deeper. It seemed unlikely that anything they did or said in public was a natural reaction, though well rehearsed and bound by decades of polite manners and customs their every move and utterance seemed to be a conscious decision. 

The moderator was motioning to close the meeting. Clearly things had not gone quite as he'd hoped and the allotted half hour was being cut off several minutes prematurely. As he recited the hearing number, the proposition number, and date the heiress quietly tidied her small collection of papers and files preparing to depart the committee room.

Spenser rose slowly from his seat and expecting Nathalie to follow him moved back towards the exit. Making his way down the pokey stairs back to the hallway outside the hearing room they passed a small handful of reporters waiting for Farren and the politicians to emerge and snag a quick quote. Some junior Ministry official was standing with them, keeping them to the side, out of the path of passerby. The hall which had been rather empty was now busy with uniformed officials and smartly dressed folks blustering past to their own hearings and meetings.

Spenser moved towards the door taking a spot on the wall directly across from the door. Farren emerged, their government friends in discussion trailing behind her. Before anyone could interject Spenser clamped eyes on her across the hall. The heiress nodded slightly in recognition and as the room began to spill into the hall she made a bee line to her Grandfather.

A few of the photographers flashed their cameras catching a rare glimpse of the two Abercrombies in such close proximity. Without so much as acknowledging Nathalie, Farren leaned in and exchanged a quick whispered conversation with her grandfather. Expressionless the icy pair exchanged no more than four hushed sentences before the heiress turned away and moved towards the waiting press. As she stepped away from her Grandfather and the girl she turned glancing back over her shoulder at them, her eyes meeting Nathalie's for the briefest of moments. This was the acknowledgment the girl was to receive. A flash bulb went off and the heiress' attention was drawn back to the awaiting press.

Spenser tapped Nathalie's arm to draw her attention. "We should be going," he said simply and without another glance at the his granddaughter and the press members she faced, turned down the dark hallway towards the elevators. In silence he led the girl through the corridors, like his granddaughter he was recognized, people tipped their hats or exchanged knowing nods with the snowy haired gentleman. Once in the elevator he jabbed the button for the lobby and it wasn't until the gates had rattled shut before them did he speak. "Farren asked that I see you out. She apologizes for not being able to take you herself but she said she'd be in touch soon," he glanced at Nathalie as the elevator lurched to a halt in the main lobby.

It was not a long walk to the line of fire places dancing with green flames waiting to carry anyone to anywhere they desired. "Farren said your thing will be returned to your home this evening, I assume you left something at Dalemain?" It was rhetorical and he continued on, "I suppose I will not be seeing you anytime soon, it's not often I have the pleasure of playing Farren's right hand man," a sarcastic bent in his tone lent the impression that he both enjoyed the task and found it a bit annoying.  He was afterall the patriarch of one of the last remaining great bloodlines and here he was, nanny for the afternoon.

"But I will make sure you receive an application and I will make sure someone sees it," a warm grin crossed his stern features for a moment as he drew to a halt before one of the hearths. He nodded towards the green flames, "I trust you're able to go directly home?" He asked, perhaps some glint of a paternal side shining through. "It was nice to meet you Miss Wilkins, good luck with everything and I'll see if I can help Farren get ahold of the Taite family representative that has been ignoring her owls," with a hint of a nod he bid her adieu, a twinkle in his eye as he turned from her and strode back towards the crowded lobby, back towards the action.