Archive of Our Own

Francesca Lam was the prettiest girl in McGill engineering.

There were some that said that Hailey Smithers in the year above them was prettier. Hailey was blonde, blue-eyed, and buxom—which didn't mean that she was any worse at engineering than anyone else, and indeed Hailey was a big part of the McGill robotics team and had beat out three-quarters of her year for a competitive research assistant position last summer. There were other girls who were said to be pretty too, from Isabelle Aucoin in fourth year, to Manon Bouvier in third year, to Yvette Courbiere, Alison Doucette, and Sophie Legrand, all in their own year. But it was Francesca that got the most attention.

Part of it was that Francesca was simply… different. First and foremost, she dressed differently from most of the others, and indeed from most students as a whole. In a sea of students wearing jeans, t-shirts and hoodies, she showed up at her first engineering lecture in a light blue dress with a bow dancing around her neck, dark tights, and elegant heeled boots.

"Er—" Isaac remembered the hapless TA blinking at her. "Are you lost?"

"Is this not Mechanics 1?" the girl asked, one eyebrow raised, even as half the class was staring at her. Engineering was always male-dominated, and while there were women in the class, they were always a minority.

"Yes…" The TA replied, still blinking at the vision in front of him. "It is."

The girl nodded judiciously. "Then I'm in the right place."

Then she slid into an empty seat beside Isaac, dropping her bag on the floor beside her. From his angle, Isaac could see that the purse was certainly too small to hold the number of notebooks and the laptop she had crammed in it. Not noticing his gaze, she pulled out a notebook and a mechanical pencil.

It so happened that her bag drew more attention to Isaac than it would have others, because he was a new graduate of the Cascadia School of Magecraft in the Pacific Northwest, and he could recognize an Undetectable Extension Charm when he saw one.

He coughed, getting her attention, and chose his words carefully. "Homeschooled?"

She turned and frowned at him. "I'm—sorry?"

He lowered his voice. "Your bag. I can see the…" He twiddled his pen, the only signal he could use for magic. His wand was securely tucked away in his dorm room, where he wouldn't be tempted to use it.

The girl looked down, flushed, and hurriedly zipped her purse closed to cover the fact that she had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. She seemed to think for a moment, then turned back to him with a shy smile. Isaac could hear a couple annoyed grumbles behind him, which he promptly ignored. While he couldn't say for certain yet (frankly, he shoved the knowledge away from himself to the extent that he could), Isaac was pretty sure he was gay.

That was not a reality accepted by his very Asian parents. Very Asian, and very No-Maj, which was why he found himself in No-Maj university studying something useful.

"I went to a private school, actually," she said off-handedly. "AIM, in the southern United States. It's a small boarding school. You?"

"That's one of the sister schools to my high school." Isaac smiled in reply. "Cascadia, in the Pacific Northwest."

Then the lecture started, and Francesca turned away to the blackboard.

The second thing that was odd about Francesca was that she had a boyfriend. Not that this was particularly odd, in and of itself—many people came to university already in a relationship, which almost inevitably seemed to collapse sometime midway through first semester under the pressures of distance, new friends, and new lives. What was odd was how she spoke about her boyfriend.

He didn't have a name. She referred to him often enough, mainly to turn people asking her out down, but if asked any further questions she generally just smiled and didn't answer. She always disappeared at some point each day to talk to him, but no one ever saw her on the phone with him.

"I'm pretty sure the boyfriend is invented," Kowsheek muttered, scowling at their problem set. He was stuck, and so was Isaac, but Francesca had apparently done up to multivariable calculus so they needed her back. "We never see him, we never hear him, he doesn't have a name, and she always just disappears to talk to him. Bet it's just a ruse to avoid dating anyone."

"If he's invented, then it doesn't explain why she disappears to talk to him, does it?" Isaac replied reasonably, flipping through the textbook to see if there were other examples to help them solve the problem set. "She just likes her privacy, leave her alone. She'll be back soon."

"Sure." Kowsheek sighed, leaning back over his notebook.

Isaac was pretty sure that Francesca's boyfriend was a mage, but that didn't fully explain things either. All mages were expected to blend in closely with the No-Maj population, so even if he was a mage, they should have just been texting and calling each other the way anyone else did. But overall, he didn't really worry about it, because Francesca's business was her own.

Things got a little weirder when it came time for the Engineering Winter Formal. Francesca brought a date, but the date was, well...

"Graeme Queenscove," the man introduced himself, and Isaac could tell that he was at least five years older than either he or Francesca. Possibly ten. Isaac shot Francesca a puzzled look—whatever else she had said about her boyfriend, Isaac couldn't put it together with this obviously Montréalais man in front of him.

"Oh, he's not…" Francesca said, embarrassed.

"We're siblings, in a sense," Graeme cut in easily. "My younger brother is married to her older sister. Francesca wanted a friend to come with her, and I'm the only one around who would be able to tease her boyfriend and remain standing."

Isaac's view of Francesca's boyfriend suddenly warped. He hadn't really pictured anything at all, but now Francesca's mysterious boyfriend was large and hulking and intimidating. Graeme himself was sturdily built, carrying himself athletic confidence, and somehow Isaac couldn't help but think that it was well-deserved.

"Why tease him at all?" Francesca was frowning. "Aldon's just—"

"Extremely fun to tease," Graeme cut in with a grin, even as Isaac noted the name. "Come on, let's go take some adorable formal night pictures, and we'll send them to Neal and Neal can show them to Aldon and watch his head explode!"

Isaac shook his head, watching as Graeme dragged Francesca over to the photo booth to do exactly that. The rest of the night showed that Graeme was exactly as he said he was—an older brother of sorts, who was there to have fun and to keep her company, but not a date. That fact became even more clear when Graeme came around more often after the formal, but only to ask out one of their other friends, Sophie Legrand, who had come to engineering school after another degree and was a little older than the rest of them.

Finally, the third thing that was odd about Francesca was simply the way she carried herself. It took him months to place a finger on it, but simply put, nothing frightened her.

It wasn't that she didn't get anxious, or that she didn't show a normal range of emotion—no, it was almost as if Francesca was hyperaware, as if she had catalogued every possible threat around her and dismissed them. She was also incredibly focused, and at times Isaac had the sense that she was much older than him. He'd asked, once, but she replied that she was eighteen, the same as him.

The moment that he figured it out had been a revelation. She had stayed late after a class to ask the professor certain oddly pointed questions about materials engineering, and Isaac had stayed to wait for her, glaring at their classmates who were throwing him mixed looks of admiration and jealousy. The professor, clearly impressed with her questions, invited her to apply for a research assistant position with his group for the summer and Francesca, shockingly, declined.

"Thank you for the invitation," she said with a polite smile. "But unfortunately I already have a position lined up for the summer. Sorry."

The professor sighed. "Next summer, then."

Isaac raised an eyebrow. Aside from the fact that they were first years, it was still early in the winter semester. No one was even looking for internships yet, and most people wouldn't be getting industry internships until at least third year. The luckiest of them would get research assistant jobs, while most would muddle along with the series of summer jobs that most students had: summer camps and retail. And that was when things got even weirder.

"Sorry," Francesca replied with another awkward smile. "My position is, uh, permanent with my company. But I'm sorry to miss working with your research group, since it does sound interesting. I'd love to talk with you further about new developments in materials engineering another time, though?"

"Of course," the professor replied, though he was frowning. And no question why—it was very strange for a first year to have a secured permanent job. The professor didn't ask any more questions, but Isaac, being a rather good friend by now, didn't hesitate.

"A permanent job?" he asked. "This early?"

Francesca chewed on her words for a minute, which wasn't unusual for her, then she looked up at him. "Do you want a job?"

Isaac stopped to stare at her. "What?"

"Do you want a job?" she repeated, looking both ways to see if there was anyone else around, then lowered her voice. "There aren't many mages with an engineering background, and the project we're working on is really exciting. We're digitizing magic to be used through electronic means, instead of a wand—I call it the Assistive Casting Device. My brother, John Kowalski, used a prototype in the 1995 Triwizard Tournament. I have a partnership with Blake & Associates for research and development, and it's very interesting work. The pay can be negotiated, I think, but you'd have to talk to Aldon since he does most of the business management side of things. The only thing is that it's in England, which I promise is really very stable now, but if you need help finding a place to stay—"

"Wait," Isaac interrupted, bringing one hand to his head. "Wait, I'm still catching up. Sorry, what?"

She had unloaded more information about herself in the last few minutes than Isaac thought he had heard since the Engineering Winter Formal. Not that they weren't friends, but their friendship had been largely founded on the present: classes, assignments, going out sometimes with others to enjoy the McGill nightlife, which largely meant eating and pubs in their circles. Being often around others, they rarely mentioned their shared magical background, only referring to their boarding school experiences where necessary.

This was different. Isaac remembered the Triwizard Tournament of 1995, because he'd been following it as much as anyone else, but mostly he remembered the North American League and a consortium of allied schools withdrawing in condemnation of then-Wizarding Britain. He had no memory of any specific games, but then Cascadia hadn't played many games and he hadn't paid attention to any of the other games, either.

The mentions of John Kowalski and Wizarding England, though… Well, it was generally known that the young Kowalski, son of the Secretary of State at MACUSA, had deferred a year of schooling to act as a liaison with MACUSA during the revolution in Wizarding Britain. The revolution has been broadly reported on in America, and Isaac had paid some attention to it being as he was himself a newblood. He wasn't British, but he had dug for coins in the fundraising campaigns too. It was known to have been hard-fought, hard-won, and rather bloody. It had ended only a little less than two years ago and word was that the new government was still bringing things under control and rebuilding.

And Francesca had a partnership with a Wizarding English firm and a close tie to John Kowalski. A brother, she had said, but from the name alone and the pictures of Mikael Kowalski that graced the Wizarding American papers from time to time, she had to have meant that in a metaphorical sense.

"Were you…" Isaac hesitated, not knowing how to phrase his question. "In Wizarding Britain? During the revolution?"

Francesca looked away, and when she spoke, her voice was curiously defensive. "The ACD saved lives. Graeme has one, if you want to see a prototype. He uses it as a primary line of defence when he's on duty."

Isaac nodded, remembering that Graeme had mentioned being an Auror. He bit his lip, considering. He hadn't given much further thought to Francesca's boyfriend Aldon, and the name meant nothing to him, but from the way and context she mentioned him now, he couldn't help wanting to ask.

"And your boyfriend, Aldon—if he manages the company…" Isaac ventured. "He's English?"

Francesca flashed him a grin. "Yes. He's—well, I guess you could call him a little intense, but I'm sure you'd do well in an interview. I can arrange it for you, if you want?"

"Uh—" Isaac hesitated. "Just how closely were the two of you involved in the Wizarding British revolution? The ACD saved lives, you said."

The smile on Francesca's face was gone, her expression shuttered. She looked away. "Close enough," Francesca said eventually. "I worked in the research and development area, but I can't—Aldon worked in other areas. It doesn't matter. The ACD can be used for more than war. Are you interested?"

Isaac swallowed, Francesca's evasiveness and bland expression telling him more than her words. Francesca had had a frontline view of the revolution, in all its messiness, and her boyfriend Aldon had probably fought in it. After that, it wasn't surprising that nothing frightened her anymore.

"Well, I do need a job," Isaac admitted, aiming to make his voice light. "Let me—let me think about it."

Francesca was odd, but she was a good friend.

Isaac didn't land any other jobs. His first semester and midterm marks were fine, but they weren't the superstar line of As that he would have needed to secure a research assistant position or anything else. There were opportunities at the kids engineering camp, and there was always retail, but truth be told, Isaac was curious.

He missed magic. After seven years living and breathing magic, it felt strange to hide his wand. He liked engineering too, but the lack of magic felt a bit like cutting off a hand. What would it be like to meld magic and engineering, in the project that Francesca had described? Would that even be possible, contrary to almost everything he had been taught?

Wizarding North America was sometimes said to be the shining example of integration between mages and No-Majs. Every mage had a No-Maj identity and participated as much in the No-Maj world as they did the magical one. But the worlds never actually crossed, not fully. One went shopping in a No-Maj area, or a magical one, depending on what one wanted. One had a magical job, or a No-Maj one. One chose a No-Maj entertainment, or a magical one, though that could vary by day. It was one or the other, magical or not, and mixing the two was odd and interesting.

"Hey, Francesca," he said casually, towards the end of March when they were starting to gear up to their finals. Half the year was tearing their hair out, while the other half seemed to have completely given up, and there Francesca sat, serene in the face of apparent looming disaster. "About that job…"

She looked up, a small smile coming onto her face. "You're interested?"

"I don't have anything else lined up," Isaac replied with a shrug. "I mean, England is… far, but you know, maybe I won't do so well on the interview anyway, so no harm in trying, right?"

"No, you'll get in," Francesca said confidently. "There's really only a dozen people in the world with our skillset right now, and the rest of them are busy and don't know about the ACD yet, though they will. If I say you're in, the interview is just a formality and to negotiate your salary. Let me arrange everything, and I'll let you know."

Feeling a little like he was joining a secret society or a gang, Isaac boarded a plane bound for Heathrow International Airport shortly after the end of finals. His parents were disappointed, saying that they wanted him close to home, but a job in his field after first year was a great opportunity and one that they recognized—even if it was in Britain. He hadn't said much about magic to his parents in the years since going to Cascadia (they disapproved of the whole thing and had only agreed to send him so that he could get his unnatural powers under control), so there was nothing to explain to them about the war or, indeed, the details of his internship. It was an engineering internship only, he had said.

Heathrow International Airport, stepping off the plane, felt unnaturally normal. Isaac couldn't help but look around—it looked deceptively normal, with crowds of people waiting in the lounge area for their own flights as he and Francesca and everyone around them hurried off towards the baggage claim. He saw no hint that this was a country recently at war, though he supposed that he wouldn't see it if he stayed in No-Maj Britain.

His entire time in the magical world had said that Wizarding Britain was a place that one simply did not go as a newblood. It was dangerous—not North Korea dangerous, maybe, but certainly dangerous like Libya, or the Congo, or half the Middle East. If one had to go to Britain, the recommendations of MACUSA had been for years to hide your wand and keep from the notice of the British Ministry of Magic. Even after the revolution, most American mages were cautious of heading to the former Wizarding Britain.

And here Isaac was, ready to hop into the English magical community. Of a sort, anyway.

"Aldon!" Francesca cried, and Isaac looked over to see his friend hurrying across the floor to throw her arms around someone who, well, wasn't as tall as Isaac had been expecting. Or as broad. Or as intimidating. In fact, he was no taller than Isaac himself, and he seemed to be built more lean than broad. He was dressed almost too well, in a collared shirt, proper trousers, and a waistcoat.

He caught her in his arms, returning her hug with, if not quite as much fierceness, at least as much affection. "Of course, I came to meet you," he said, or something like that—it was taking Isaac an embarrassingly long time to catch up to his accent. "I would never miss it. You brought your friend?"

"Yes," Francesca replied brightly, turning around. "Isaac, this is Aldon. Aldon, Isaac. He's going to be interning at Blake & Associates and working on ACD for the summer. And hopefully for longer."

"You've mentioned," Aldon replied with an indulgent sort of smile, though his light brown eyes when he looked Isaac over were less friendly and more considering. "And is that so?"

Isaac shrugged, slightly unnerved at his gaze. "Well, I don't have any other plans, and I'm pretty sure I owe Francesca the cost of a plane ticket now, so at least the summer."

Aldon nodded. "Francesca talks quite a bit about you. Why don't we return to my manor—we can do a formal interview and negotiate a salary for you. Have you anywhere to stay?"

"I thought he could just stay in the guest wing," Francesca interrupted, looking up at Aldon. "It's just four months, after all, and everyone else moved back to their own homes. It's empty now."

"Uh—" Isaac cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the very thought, and not only because Aldon had shot him another sharp look. "A few days would be fine, but I should really find a room to rent—I wouldn't like to impose."

"It would be no trouble," Aldon said, waving a hand. "A few days is fine. We can perhaps also arrange something in London too—if we want to continue attracting top talent, we ought to really consider purchasing somewhere in the city for our interns to stay anyway. It certainly would be more convenient for them than Kent. I'll keep it in mind. Shall we head back?"

Francesca frowned slightly, but let Aldon take her hand and lead the way. Isaac needed no hints to decipher the deft handling of where he would stay—Aldon clearly wanted his house left to himself and Francesca, a desire that Isaac couldn't help but share, and the man was willing to shell out quite a lot to make it happen.

The house that Isaac stepped out into was a shock. It was larger than any private residence he had seen before—more like the dorms at the Cascadia School of Magecraft or the McGill dorms than a house. The decorations were obviously rich and sumptuous, and Isaac half-expected servants to appear out of nowhere to take their bags. If Aldon's offhand mentions of purchasing a property in London hadn't suggested it, as well as any number of his other comments, Isaac had now confirmed that Aldon was wealthy.

Extremely, outrageously wealthy.

And Francesca seemed to take it all in stride, obviously well used to the comforts of this enormous mansion.

They showed him first to an old-fashioned, overly-formal suite in the guest wing, before leading him on a tour of the manor and grounds. The manor seemed to be completely empty but for Aldon and Francesca, though every part he was shown was well-kept and the grounds were immaculate. He was going to need a map to find his way around.

"So, uh," he couldn't resist asking, as they walked through the sculpture garden. "Does anyone else live here?"

"My foster mother stays with me when she's in England, but she's often in Toulouse, where her business operates," Aldon replied lightly. "Francesca, of course. Otherwise, no—but my birth mother does visit quite often, as do our other friends."

"And the house-elves," Francesca added. "They live here too."

With the exception of the mention of two mothers, Isaac wasn't surprised. It was clear that Aldon couldn't keep his manor to the standards it had been kept without some sort of cleaning staff, even with magic. It was just too big for any other options.

After the tour, Isaac was shown into Aldon's study, while Francesca made her way to what she called "family quarters" (a place that Isaac had not been shown and that it was clear enough from Aldon, if not Francesca, that he was not welcome). Aldon gestured for him to take a seat across from him over a massive desk made of black granite veined in gold.

"So," he said, and his expression was a great deal less friendly than it had been during their tour. Height notwithstanding, Isaac had the sense that he was sitting across from a very dangerous sort of man. "You're interested in the ACD, are you?"

Just a formality my ass, Isaac couldn't help thinking. "I'm mostly interested in working somewhere where I can use both magic and my engineering skills," he replied feebly. "I don't really know much about the ACD, but I needed a summer job and Francesca offered."

"She would," Aldon replied, resting his elbows on his desk and his chin on one hand. His light brown stare was unnerving. "The ACD is her passion, and help is sorely needed, especially in her area. Most of the remainder of the firm can work in magic, but the Muggle science and engineering aspects are beyond us. You would be an excellent candidate."

Isaac swallowed. "Would be?"

"Francesca talks a lot about you." Aldon leaned back in his chair, studying him, and Isaac had a feeling like he was a bug pinned on a card. "She says that you are friends."

"I'd say so." Isaac frowned, somewhat puzzled.

"Just friends."

Isaac's eyes widened. That was what Aldon was getting at? That?

As if he didn't have to deal with enough of that at McGill.

"Yes!" He snapped, losing his head for a moment. "Just friends! That's probably why we are friends, because I'm not interested in her, and I'll—well, I'm just not. Not that she isn't popular and all that, but I'm—I'm not. I'm not interested in her."

Aldon stared at him for a second, and then his lips tilted in an odd half-smile. "If I weren't a Truth-Speaker, that would have been uniformly unconvincing. You're protesting a little too much, which leads me to suspect you're hiding something else."

Isaac shook his head. "It's nothing."

"That's a lie." Aldon's smile widened a little. "Truth-Speaker, I said."

"Well, it's not relevant," Isaac replied, crossing his arms over his chest. A year later, and he was still pretty sure he was gay, not that that knowledge ever went anywhere except a locked box in his mind where he could ignore it better. "I'm not interested in Francesca, much as my parents probably want me to be, and that's the truth."

"I see." Aldon paused, as if he was considering saying something else, but he desisted. "Well, then—we're happy to have you with us for the summer. Let's talk about a salary."

Isaac walked out of Aldon's office with a formal offer letter (including a salary number that was higher than he could have imagined for a basic internship), a large stack of charmed non-disclosure agreement forms to be signed, and a firm desire to find a room for rent in London as soon as humanly possible.

Isaac moved out of Rosier Place in a matter of days. He wasn't sure whether Aldon had stuck his oar into his search to get him out faster, but he couldn't say that he cared. Rosier Place was weird.

It was too big, for one, and too empty. There were dozens of rooms, all of them immaculate, but it was always empty. Along the corridors, paintings of Aldon's ancestors watched him as he padded down the long hallways to the formal dining room, which could have seated thirty people, and where even he, Aldon and Francesca were dwarfed by the looming space. The meals were always good, but almost too elegant—no simple instant noodles or burgers, but three and four course dinners. It felt like he was there as the guest of the Lord and Lady Rosier, truth be told, and that was a feeling that he found incredibly discomforting.

His room at the Leaky Cauldron wasn't much—it was musty, and the sheets and comforters could have used a good clean, and the mirror above his dresser always told him to tuck in his shirt, but it was miles and away more comfortable than the stiff formal elegance of Rosier Place. The cost of the room, too, was outrageously cheap for the location—only fifteen Galleons a week, or about seventy-five pounds, and that included breakfast. For lunch, he usually grabbed something on his way into the City for work, and dinner was the same. Isaac was somewhat surprised to find that he did enjoy working on the ACD, and he pulled as many long hours as Francesca herself did—at least until Aldon inevitably showed up to usher her home before she slept at the office.

The Leaky Cauldron hovered on the boundary of No-Maj and Wizarding England. Isaac couldn't help but exercise his curiosity and wander into the Wizarding district a time or two.

Diagon Alley was a long, winding, cobblestone street with a handsome bank building at one end and the courthouse and Wizengamot, the law-making body, on the other. Walking in, Isaac was immediately uncomfortable, even if his wand was close to hand. Few people dressed like him, most wearing robes and other clothing that seemed older and very different in style—there were very few t-shirts or jeans on display, though Isaac did note that he wasn't alone in No-Maj dress. Some people looked askance at him, though they said nothing, while others tried a little too hard to welcome him, chatting him up when he really only wanted an ice cream. More often, magic or not, Isaac kept to No-Maj London, which had more sights and entertainments than he had use for anyway.

Still, at the end of the summer, he signed on to return next year. There weren't many places where he could be both a mage and an engineer, and he found that he liked the combination.

For second year, Isaac had found himself in a rented apartment in an area the students called the "McGill Ghetto", which was full of old, narrow brick-and-stone houses, sharing with Francesca and Sophie. The decision was an easy one; they didn't need to hide their magic if it was only the three of them, since Sophie had dated Graeme for long enough now that she knew about magic. It was a little tight for the three of them, especially because Graeme was always over, but at least he could use magic to clean now and again.

Though, living with Francesca was in some ways still odd. She was obviously a mage, because he saw her using her communication orb with Aldon quite often now, and he saw evidence of her using magic from time to time, but he never saw her cast a spell.

"You could help with the dishes," he had said once, glaring at Francesca as she was about to leave the dishes dirty in the sink for the umpteenth time. It was only one Scourgify Charm, true, but it was more the principle of the matter. Sophie washed her own dishes, while Francesca, it seemed, was too used to having a house-elf who did them for her.

Francesca sighed and picked up the sponge, wiping her dish and rinsing it off in a desultory fashion.

"I mean, you could do it with magic…" Isaac muttered, frowning a little over his breakfast.

"It would take longer for me to write the paper charm to wash the dishes than it would for me to just wash it by hand," Francesca replied, somewhat annoyed herself. "I'm a Wandless, in case you haven't noticed."

Isaac hadn't. He brought his own wand out rarely enough now that they lived in No-Maj Montreal, only carrying it around their small apartment, but it now occurred to him that he hadn't ever seen Francesca pull out a wand of her own. Occasionally she drew a rune in the air with a finger, but none of the array of spells that he tended to use regularly.

"I hadn't noticed," Isaac said, feeling a bit like a heel. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Francesca snapped, setting her plate a little harder than necessary in their dishrack. "It's not—it's just a fact. It doesn't matter."

Realizing that he had hit a sore spot, Isaac simply nodded. But he stopped asking her to perform simple tasks that he could handle with a wave of his wand, too.

With Sophie taking Graeme to the Engineering formal, Francesca had tapped another old friend of hers to come as her guest rather than going alone. She liked to dance, so she liked to go to the formals, but she didn't want anyone asking her to dance and the way she explained it, there was a short list of people that she could take that Aldon wouldn't lose his mind over—or, at least, who would be able to withstand whatever Aldon threw at them. Isaac had asked why Aldon didn't simply fly over for it, since his impression was that Aldon would have only been too happy to, but Francesca said something about an emergency in the Rosier Investment Trust that needed his management.

So instead, John Kowalski, more a sibling than a friend, came with her to the second-year engineering formal.

When John arrived at their house, Isaac struggled not to gawk. It wasn't anything in particular about John Kowalski—or maybe, it was. The Kowalskis were near legendary in Wizarding America, and John's work in the Wizarding British revolution was well known. Now, the word in the wizarding newspapers was that he was making his own play into politics, and that he had formally joined the American delegation at the International Confederation of Wizards. It was like meeting a Kennedy.

It was also a very strange feeling. Isaac didn't know John Kowalski personally, and he wouldn't ever have considered himself particularly political, but meeting the man was still a wholeheartedly strange experience. He was nothing like what Isaac had expected—only the same age as himself and Francesca, he wore an easy smile and didn't seem like someone who was projected to be a major player in MACUSA for years to come.

That lasted all of two minutes before John said, very awkwardly, "Uh, I'm not sure if you've had any Occlumency training? But uh, I'm a Natural Legilimens, and I could definitely hear all of your thoughts for the last bit, so, uh…"

Isaac flushed and promptly walked out of the room, letting Francesca catch up with her oldest and best friend without him there.

The next morning, after the Engineering formal, was even worse. At first, Isaac had tried to keep a wide berth around John all night, but the problem was that he and Francesca were friends, and they were friends with Sophie, and Francesca and John were both friends with Graeme Queenscove, and so ultimately most of Isaac's friends had been in a circle around John for the entire night. It would have been too weird and unnatural for him to stay away, so in the end he hadn't. But between the close proximity, the long night, and the fact that John had stayed the night, he couldn't have been too surprised that John had picked up a few other things from his thoughts.

"So…" John started slowly, pouring cereal into a bowl for himself as Isaac tried to avoid his eyes in the kitchen. He had read somewhere that Natural Legilimens needed eye contact to read minds. "Are you gay?"

"What?" Isaac snapped, looking up almost despite himself. "No, of course not, I—why would you ask that?"

John raised an eyebrow. "Natural Legilimens, remember? And Chess picked up on it too—not that anyone else necessarily would have, but she notices that sort of thing."

"I mean—" Isaac turned back to the stove, looking down at his pan. He had been thinking of making bacon and eggs, but the bacon would probably be too greasy for the state of his stomach. A face flashed though his memory: Connor, his best friend at Cascadia. "No. I don't know. I—I'm not attracted to a lot of people, so I don't see how Francesca could have noticed anything. I haven't dated anyone, I haven't tried to date anyone—"

"Sometimes that's telling in and of itself," John interrupted, and his voice wasn't unkind. "Chess also has the advantage of knowing me, and I bet that Aldon would have noticed too. He has a good eye for that sort of thing."

"How can anyone notice anything?!" Isaac flushed, in a mix of pressure and embarrassment and shame. "I haven't—it's not like I—maybe I just haven't met the right girl yet. I don't know."

"Maybe." John shrugged. "That's possible. But you know, I'm gay. I joined MACUSA's delegation in Geneva partly because my boyfriend is there as part of the Wizarding German delegation. Being queer is… it's either more common, or more accepted in magical society. Aldon is bi too, but you wouldn't have noticed because the fact that he's with Chess makes him look straight even if he's not. If you're gay, or bi, or trans, or anything, I just want you to know that it's okay. It's all okay in magical society, and even Aldon, who's an uptight prick at the best of times, would say so."

Isaac was silent for a moment, cracking eggs into a well-buttered pan. "Culturally," he started slowly, "it's not okay. Not in No-Maj society, and not in Asian society. I'm enough of a disappointment for my family, with the magic, and the rest of it…"

Isaac wasn't looking at him, instead down into his pan, but he felt like he could hear John sorting through what to say on the other side of the kitchen table. Eventually, there was a sigh.

"I can't really relate," John admitted quietly. "I come from a magical family, and when I came out as gay, do you know what my sister did? She took Chess and I to see the movie Philadelphia, then told both of us that she didn't care if we were gay, or straight, or anything else, but if we ever did anything as stupid as having unprotected sex, we'd hear it from her. But at some point, I think you'll have to make a choice. You are a mage. You might be gay. Your family might not appreciate it, but you'll have to weigh your duty to them with your duty to yourself."

Isaac didn't reply, too occupied watching his eggs burn. His duty to himself? In Chinese culture, his family came first, and they always would come first.

"Anyway." The scrape of the spoon against the bottom of the bowl told Isaac that John was done. "I have to head to the airport. Flight to catch to New York City, then to Geneva. If you ever need anything, Chess can be good ear—or you can reach out to me, if you want. Chess always knows where to find me."

By the time that Isaac nodded, deciding that his eggs were a lost cause and would have to go straight into the garbage, John was already gone.

When he went back to Wizarding England for a second summer at Blake & Associates, there had been changes. A lot of them.

First and foremost, Aldon had made good on his promise and had bought a townhouse in London explicitly for the use of interns at Blake & Associates. As a result, Isaac's salary had been fixed and was a bit lower than it had been the summer previous, but since there was no rent payable for interns and they had their own kitchen, Isaac thought he still came out ahead.

Second, Isaac wasn't alone as an intern. Blake & Associates had hired two other students to work on various other projects for the summer, both from abroad. He found it odd that there were no local interns, but when he had mentioned it to Francesca, she had shrugged and said that, as far as she knew, there had been no Hogwarts applicants at all. Only three years after the war, Hogwarts was still remaking itself—most halfbloods and newbloods who had started their educations abroad had opted to finish their educations abroad, and there were effectively only three years of "mixed" blood. Pureblood supremacy was still an issue, if less of one, and Blake & Associates attracted suspicion simply because nearly everyone who worked there was newblood or halfblood. Finally, Magical Theory, a key foundation for all work at Blake & Associates, wasn't strongly emphasized at Hogwarts, making for few qualified candidates at all. Both other interns stayed in the townhouse with Isaac, making him into something of the returning den mother.

Rounding out the townhouse residents was Benoit Aubin, a newblood and a graduate from the United Academy in Switzerland who had taken a detour after magical schooling for a No-Maj business degree from HEC Paris. He had been hired to work as a senior business development manager with the Rosier Investment Trust but had opted to rent a room in the townhouse for no reason other than that there was space available and he wasn't interested in finding anywhere else to live.

Isaac thought he was brilliant. Benoit had been assigned a large, complicated, and ridiculous project of giving the Rosier Investment Trust a No-Maj business presence. The easy part of that was, according to Benoit, all the procedural steps: retaining a No-Maj solicitor to draw up articles of incorporation, transferring a sum of money large enough to make Isaac's eyes bug out into No-Maj currency for investment, and vast array of investment portfolio decisions to make in the No-Maj world.

The hard part was every interaction with the magical world. The goblins didn't want to part with millions of Galleons for No-Maj investments. The Board of Directors of the Rosier Investment Trust didn't understand the importance of expansion and fought him and Aldon every step of the way. Benoit found himself dragged down making presentations on basic principles of economics and arguing ad nauseum with anyone and everyone about the need for progress.

"If it wasn't for Aldon knocking heads together every other day, I would have quit," Benoit confided, one late night over beers. "As well as being Head of the Trust, he's also the majority shareholder, so what he says goes. And when he gets angry, he can be terrifying—you can't help but look at him and see the Falcon of the Revolution."

"The Falcon of the Revolution?" Isaac asked, reaching for his own bottle of beer. "What do you mean?"

Benoit raised an eyebrow, but then he tilted his head in thought. "Well, I suppose he doesn't speak about it, and I doubt his girlfriend would have said anything either. Aldon was called the Falcon for his role in the revolution—he was the lead resistance spymaster, with all that entails."

"All that entails?"

Benoit leaned forward, lowering his voice though Isaac doubted anyone could hear them. Both other interns had already gone to bed. "People talk—they say that he tortured for information, that he personally executed traitors, that he was absolutely ruthless. I don't think it's true, because if you've ever met him, you'd know that Aldon doesn't need to torture for information. I also can't see him killing in cold blood, and while I'd call him a lot of things, I wouldn't say he's ruthless. But a few things are documented. First, Rosier Place was a major resistance safehouse during the war, and it was attacked twice. Aldon as the Lord took lead in the defence, and between the two attacks the Voldemort casualties were something like eighty people. Second, he did kill Regulus Black, Voldemort's lead Ward Master, at the final battle. Sometimes, when he's angry… you can see a different look come in his eyes, like he's gone back."

"But you work closely with him," Isaac observed, somewhat unnerved. He remembered all too well the feeling like being a bug pinned on card under the man's pointed stare. "You never asked, and it doesn't bother you?"

"And you work closely with Francesca on the ACD," Benoit replied with a slight smile. "Here are three things that were documented about her. First, her ACD gave resistance forces an edge because they could rely on those shields and focus more on offensive tactics. Second, she was resident at Rosier Place the entirety of the war, and she participated in defending Rosier Place in both attacks. Third, she is one of the very few people who can influence and control Aldon. If you think about it, she's not any less terrifying than Aldon."

Isaac was silent for a second. "I guess it's not something they talk about."

"Would you?" Benoit took a swig from his beer. "I'm still glad to be working at the Rosier Investment Trust. It's an interesting project, and Aldon's a good boss. More open-minded than the rest of the Board."

"Why expand into No-Maj business at all?" Isaac asked, looking over. It was something he had been wondering for a while, since Aldon and Francesca seemed to be very comfortable already. More than comfortable, if truth be told.

"Officially, the rise of the internet and other Muggle technologies will bring with it a day that the Rosier Investment Trust will come into suspicion if it doesn't have a Muggle presence." Benoit smiled. "He's not wrong, but my honest opinion?"

Benoit's hazel-green eyes were wicked, and Isaac made a motion with his hand for him to go on.

"You can't tell Francesca this—she'll only tell Aldon."

"Fine." Isaac rolled his eyes, ignoring the flutter in his stomach. "Do you want me to pinky-promise, too?"

"No need." Benoit leaned back, taking a long drink from his beer. "He's trying to impress Francesca and her family by showing how well he can adapt to her world. And the projected money is good too, more money means more that he can spend on the ACD project and extravagant gifts. I hear that he's three proposals to nothing with her."

"Three?" Isaac almost spat out his beer. "Ben, she's twenty!"

"His first proposal is well documented, it was at the Ministry Unity Ball in '95, just after he famously fought a duel over her honour." Ben's eyes were dancing. "Very public. I don't know when the other two were, I just overheard him muttering once before he asked me what Muggle women wanted for their birthdays. I sent him to Sabon in the Marais in Paris for fancy soap."

"Francesca isn't a No-Maj, though." Isaac frowned slightly. "She's a mage."

"A Muggleborn mage with close ties to Muggle culture." Benoit shrugged. "It's considered almost the same thing, here. Like I said—Aldon's trying to impress her by showing how well he can adapt to her world."

Isaac laughed and let it go, changing the topic to their plans for the weekend. Ben didn't often get the weekend off (for that matter, neither did Isaac), but with Aldon and Francesca having plans for a romantic weekend away on the continent they were both free. A weekend in Scotland was called for, and on a walk through Hogsmeade, when Ben slung an arm over his shoulders, Isaac slipped his arm around Ben's waist.

He was a long way from home. No one needed to know, least of all his family.

Third year came with surprises.

He, Francesca, and Kowsheek were walking out of Signal Processing, a class that already had all the hallmarks of being a complete and total nightmare, when Francesca stopped in her tracks. Isaac nearly ran into her, distracted as he was by Kowsheek's complaining, but it was only a second or two before Isaac spotted him through the crowd of engineering students streaming through the halls.

Aldon was sitting on the windowsill across from them, a laptop balanced on his knees as he typed. He was almost as formal in the McGill engineering building as Isaac had ever seen him in at Blake & Associates in England, in a collared shirt and trousers, though at least he had left off the waistcoat.

"Aldon," Francesca said, and from the tone of her voice Isaac thought she had been struck dumb. Only two weeks ago, they had returned to North America—Isaac directly to Montreal with uncomfortable apologies to his parents, and Francesca for ten days with her family before returning to school. She was used to leaving Aldon behind in England, though Isaac knew she wasn't happy about it. With Ben staying in England, Isaac was in the same boat, but that wasn't something he could share with anyone.

Aldon finished whatever he was doing, hit a few keys, and shut his laptop. He stood up, and his smile was daring. "In person. Aren't you happy to see me?"

"I—of course I am, just—" Francesca swallowed, and with a sense of surprise, Isaac thought she was overwhelmed. "What are you doing here? I thought—you didn't say anything!"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I had said anything, would it?" Aldon said, tilting his head slightly. From beside him, he heard Kowsheek swearing under his breath—his other friend had never been totally convinced that Francesca's boyfriend existed, and had always held out some minor hope.

"But—" Francesca shook her head, definitely overwhelmed at this point, and threw herself at Aldon. He caught her easily, letting her bury her face in his shoulder, while Isaac cleared his throat.

"What about your work?" he asked politely, thinking of Ben. Without Aldon there helping him hold the fort, he was worried about what his more-than-friend would have to handle. He hadn't heard anything from Ben about it on their not-infrequent-and-rather-expensive international phone calls either, so it had to have been a surprise to him too.

"I am still working, of course," Aldon replied, his arms full of Francesca. "But my work over the last year, especially training Benoit, means that I can manage most of my responsibilities from abroad through calls and email. He is not overly happy about it, as you can imagine, but he is well up to the challenge."

"I… see," Isaac said awkwardly, expecting to hear more about it from a very different perspective later. He opened his mouth to ask where Aldon would be staying, but Francesca pulled away from her boyfriend and looked over at him.

"Let me borrow your notes from our other classes today, and get an extra syllabus for me," she said. "I'm going home—suddenly, I find I'm not feeling well."

Kowsheek snorted—a more transparent lie had never been told—but Isaac said nothing as Francesca dragged Aldon away.

Francesca moved out within the week. Or, rather, she did and she didn't—formally the bedroom was still hers and she still paid her share of the rent, but she was never there. Most of her belongings were gone, leaving behind only the bare bones of a life: a bed, a desk, a night table. Apparently, Aldon had been less than happy about her living arrangements, finding them dirty, crowded, and low-class, so he had found them a nice townhouse that in his view better suited them.

Isaac couldn't say he minded. The few incidents of rhythmic banging and stifled, breathy moans from the room beside his and the risk of running into his boss, no matter how many times removed, in his own home was unnerving. As much as he liked Francesca, he was perfectly happy just to see her at school.

Though he saw plenty of Aldon, too. Francesca said that he was studying for a Mastery in Magical Theory at a nearby school, but Isaac saw little evidence of it. Aldon often walked Francesca to school, or he came by to pick her up after her last class. On occasion, when they worked on assignments together, Aldon would sit with them working on his laptop. He often came out with them to the pub, though he never drank.

"Is the beer not good enough for you?" Kowsheek had asked once, his tone snide. Kowsheek had taken a dislike to Aldon from the minute the man had shown up in Montreal, and it wasn't as if Aldon made any particular effort to be liked.

Aldon blinked, but his response was cool and even. "I'm afraid drinking reminds me of other times in my life, where I perhaps indulged a little more than wise. I'll refrain, thank you."

Isaac hid his wince in his pint of IPA. Thankfully, Graeme Queenscove chose that moment to arrive, slapping Aldon once on the shoulder before sliding in beside his girlfriend, Sophie, providing a distraction to them all.

Graeme got along well with Aldon. They had fought the war in Britain together, a fact that Isaac pieced together with a few mentions of England and Aldon's obviously close relationship with Graeme's youngest brother Neal. Otherwise, however, Aldon was weird.

He dressed too well. Isaac had probably seen more of him than anyone else in Engineering, and Isaac couldn't think of a single time where Aldon had dressed like someone of his age. No sweatshirts, no jeans, no flannel pyjamas even when Isaac showed up at their townhouse at ten in the morning on a Sunday. He always looked like he was about to head into a business meeting, even if Isaac and everyone else could tell that he was no more than five years older than Francesca and the rest of them.

His dress went with his sharp formality and his mildly stand-offish manner, which often put people off. Knowing him somewhat better, Isaac got the sense that he was more awkward than anything else. Aldon wasn't as familiar with the No-Maj world or No-Majs as mages who had grown up in America, and Isaac had the distinct sense, sometimes, that he was thinking over what he could say. He didn't watch the same movies or TV, nor did he seem to have any hobbies, and he couldn't talk about that all-important topic in Montreal, hockey. Many of the things he did say were a little strange, but nothing that Isaac or Francesca couldn't simply attribute to him simply being, well… British.

In his favour, though, Aldon always paid for appetizers for the table when they went out. As college students, that was enough for people to accept him into their circle as Francesca's odd, tagalong, appendage.

Isaac was a fool to think that acceptance meant that there wouldn't be questions. They were engineers, and there was nothing that engineers liked more than a puzzle. He didn't see it for the first few weeks; but right before the first semester finals, he heard the whispers from the corner of the engineering lounge.

"No, no—that doesn't make any sense!" A hiss came from one corner, and he looked up to see Rob, a friend, glaring at a list of traits that had been written on a whiteboard. Clothes, the first bullet point read, then it was a laundry list of what didn't take much work to realize were Aldon's quirks. Formality, Accent, Paranoia, $$$$$. Yvette, another classmate, was standing with a dry erase marker and a suspicious frown on her face, while Tyler and Alison watched.

"Abuse fits in with the paranoia," Yvette pointed out, but she didn't look particularly convinced herself. "I mean—Francesca always checks in with him when she goes anywhere, she's always texting him if she's going to be late or if she's going somewhere unexpected or something."

"But even when he was in Britain, she talked to him every day," Tyler interrupted. "And then, she wouldn't change her schedules at all—she would just say, oh, it's six in the evening, I have to call my boyfriend before he goes to bed, and disappear. I honestly think that the checking in is just a facet of their relationship."

"Anyway, do you remember after our Complex Variables and Transforms class? When she lost that earring?" Alison shook her head, her expression dubious. Isaac winced, thinking back to that particular incident—Francesca had burst into tears, supposedly because she'd lost one of her favourite earrings, and Isaac had ended up calling Aldon because she couldn't be calmed down even if it was just a matter of coming back when the building was emptier and casting a Summoning Charm.

"Aldon left whatever he was doing to come and talk to her—I was eavesdropping outside the classroom, and he mentioned that he'd left a quarter-million-pound deal in the hands of his assistant to come," Alison continued, her blue eyes wide. "And when he came, he worked out pretty quickly that she was really upset that she got a sixty-five on the midterm exam, and then while she was sobbing about being a failure, he said that she could always leave and marry him, and he'd take care of everything."

"She got a sixty-five on that midterm?" Tyler pulled a disgusted grimace. "Wasn't the average forty-five? I don't know, I didn't pick that elective."

"Yeah, I got fifty-three and I was just glad I passed." Alison let out a long breath. "Which was probably why Francesca freaked out about losing an earring, she's not completely insensitive? Anyway, my point was that Aldon literally dropped an important business deal to come over basically nothing and then that weird comment. I don't put that together with abuse."

"And it doesn't fit the rest, it's not an elegant solution. It really only covers the paranoia, and nothing else." Rob paused for a moment. "What about the quarter-million-pound deal? He can't be more than twenty-five—"

"I heard from Sophie that he's three years older than Francesca, so that makes him twenty-three," Alison interrupted, leaning forward.

"Twenty-three, then. What twenty-three-year-old is doing business deals at a quarter-million-pounds?" Rob spread his hands. "Just like they say in police procedural shows—we have to follow the money."

Isaac could see that money was already on the list, but Yvette drew an arrow to the dollar signs anyway.

"Following the money is a good idea," Tyler said slowly, but his eyebrows were pushed together in concentration. "But there's something else bothering me. It's all the little things, all the awkward things he says. Would you expect someone with that much money, who does major business deals, to be so awkward? D'you think he's… from a religious cult, maybe?"

Rob threw him an incredulous look, but Alison and Yvette were more considering.

"It's… not a bad fit," Yvette admitted, though she sounded surprised to hear herself say it. "It works with the marriage comment, since a lot of cults have weird marriage ideas, and it fits with his formality and his offbeat comments about everyday things."

"We should make a list of all the weird things that he says—if we know more about what he says and what he seems to know, it might help," Alison said decisively. "Give me that marker, I'll add the marriage comment. Who gets married at twenty-three?"

"This is Quebec," Yvette replied, raising an eyebrow. "Who gets married at all, nowadays?"

Isaac shook his head, listening to the burst of laughter coming from that corner, and began packing his bag. Francesca would want to hear this.

To his ever-lasting amusement, the speculation only increased in the winter semester. Isaac suspected that Francesca and Aldon were quietly enjoying it—certainly, they hadn't bothered to do anything to allay suspicions at the Engineering Formal, where they had both demonstrated a wide array of dance skill that had everyone else throwing bewildered looks at each other.

"Someone explain how two people in their early twenties know how to waltz," he heard someone mutter. "Especially—who knows how to waltz but moves like that when Blink 182 comes on?"

"Someone who grew up in a cult," Isaac heard Yvette reply quietly. "Or… a vampire. He also speaks as if he comes from an older time, doesn't he?"

"I've definitely seen him in sunlight." Rob's voice was exasperated. "Vampires don't exist, and cult escapees aren't rich. We should look for serious answers."

The whole investigation was interesting enough that Isaac had taken to reading or studying in the engineering students lounge, where the group met in a corner. They had collected Kowsheek since the holidays, and Jean-Paul, who wasn't in their circle, but who loved a conspiracy.

"His French is very good," Jean-Paul pointed out once, a day after he had purposely stopped Francesca to ask something when Aldon was present, then promptly pretended to forget half of his rather extensive English vocabulary to engage in a French conversation with Aldon. "But a bit odd. Maybe he's a CSIS plant, here to root out Quebec separatism!"

"I could have told you that he spoke French." Yvette rolled her eyes. "I've heard it often enough. But his French is pure continental—no joual at all. CSIS would be smarter than that if they were looking to root out separatists. And has he ever asked about separatism?"

"Actually, he did once." Rob said, a mild look of surprise coming on his face. "We were at the pub and somehow the Referendum came up. He seemed surprised and wanted to know more about it, but I didn't think more of it at the time because he's British. I assumed he hadn't known. But he wasn't looking to see if we had any separatist sentiment or anything, just the facts about what happened."

"And I mean—there was that time we were talking about James Bond movies, and he snorted and said a spy's life was not that glamourous." Alison shrugged. "It was an odd comment."

"CSIS plant!" Jean-Paul said with a nod. "He's a spy!"

"If he was a spy, he'd be likelier to be MI6 than CSIS," Kowsheek pointed out. "And how does that explain why he's with Francesca? She's got a hint of an accent, but she's American. Spy does explain the paranoia, but spies need to blend in and that guy couldn't blend into a crowd if it killed him. I'm with Rob—we have to follow the money."

Francesca rarely came into the lounge—whenever she did, they would flip the whiteboard over so she couldn't see it, but someone would come over to pry her for information. Her answers were no more elucidating than what they already knew, and Isaac was half-convinced that she was there mainly to cause trouble.

"Yes, he's British," she said, tilting her head to one side. "I met him through a friend—my boarding school had some British students, and I went to England to visit and met him."

"His accent's a little odd, though," Alison tried, sounding innocent. "I mean, it's British, but it's not like what I hear on the BBC, you know? Has he lived somewhere else?"

Francesca shrugged. "He lived in Scotland for awhile, but accents in Britain—they vary a bit just from village to village. He's never lived outside of Britain before coming here, though, if that's what you mean. And his work is still there, so we go back and forth a lot."

"Huh," Alison said, and Isaac half-suspected that she was going to try to find someone in the Linguistics Department for a consult. "What does he do?"

"He works for a private investment company." Francesca smiled. "But it's a privately held company, so I don't think you'd know it."

"You're probably right," Alison conceded, before changing the subject to an assignment for Fluid Dynamics.

"Private investment company, my ass." Kowsheek said, three weeks later. "What private investment company hires a twenty-three-year-old and trusts him with major deals? What twenty-three-year-old has his own assistant? My bet, he's a gangster. Have you noticed that he also knows a weird amount about guns? Especially rifles?"

"No, that doesn't feel right," Yvette argued. "He's too… together. Too well-dressed, he doesn't feel like the kind of guy who would rub shoulders with the mafia or anything. Real-life gangsters aren't like on television, they're not wealthy or glamourous at all. And I imagine they mostly use handguns, not high-end rifles. What about ex-military?"

"He's twenty-three!" Tyler threw his hands in the air. "I mean… what wars did British forces go to in the last five years?"

"Nepal, Afghanistan, East Timor…" Kowheek, who paid attention to the news, counted them off. "Ex-military is actually a good fit, especially if he was in some sort of black ops outfit, working assassinations and closely with spies and stuff. The only problem is that I don't think he's fit enough to be ex-military. Someone invite him to go on a run or something."

Rob, the most fit of their circle, actually did invite him to join his running group at their next pub night, a week later. Aldon's expression, a brief grimace of distaste concealed with bewildered surprise, was memorable.

"Thank you, but no, thank you," he said politely. "I hate running."

Speculation only intensified closer to final exams, when they were all looking for reasons to be distracted. Still, no conclusions were made, and the whiteboard—now also including a list of the strange knowledge that Aldon seemed to possess and possible answers—was turned over and slid to the back of the lounge for the summer.

When Isaac returned to England for the summer (and when had coming to England become a matter of returning, and not going?), Ben was haggard meeting him at the airport. His dark brown hair was mussed, messier than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

"Thank God you're back," he said, wrapping his arms around Isaac.

"It's good to see you too," Isaac replied, somewhat bemused as he returned the hug with some shyness. It was just a hug, but they hadn't expressed much public affection in the No-Maj world before.

"That wasn't directed at you, mon cher," Ben said, planting a kiss on his cheek anyway and nodding at Aldon, who had come off the plane several rows behind him with Francesca in tow. Both of them were looking at the two of them with some amusement. "Though of course I'm happy to see you too. Aldon, the conservatives are threatening to pull out when we go public. The Board is insisting that they speak to you in person."

When their No-Maj investments went public, Isaac interpreted mentally. That would allow No-Majs to invest in the Rosier Investment Trust as well as mages, and from his understanding the wizarding and No-Maj companies would essentially act as subsidiary companies within a main holding company. The issue was that many mages apparently did not want their money mixing with No-Maj money.

Aldon snorted. "The Board thinks they can talk me out of the new notions I have in my head, and they're wrong. Organize the meeting, Benoit, and if they want to walk, they can take their money and walk. You've done well and our investments are doing even better than I had expected they would—we can afford the loss and once the IPO goes out, we'll have new investors. It'll be fine."

Benoit hesitated, then he shook his head. "I will, but you should know that the withdrawal will affect our numbers, which will affect the IPO. We may need new investments in the interim."

Aldon sighed, shutting his eyes. "Fine. I'll arrange some meetings."

"Is now a good time to ask for a week off?" Benoit asked, a little plaintive. "Not now, obviously, but before the end of the summer—"

"Take two." Aldon half-smiled, casting an amused glance at Isaac. "Take your beau to France, or wherever. His own schedule depending, of course."

Isaac felt his cheeks redden, and he pointedly looked at anything other than Aldon, Francesca, or Benoit.

A busy summer meant that it was months before he and Benoit actually did manage to go anywhere. Word from Ben was that Aldon was making the most of his months in Britain—about half the conservatives did walk, and from what he said, the Board meeting had been memorable in the extreme.

"I'd always heard rumours of his ruthlessness," Benoit muttered once, late at night in bed. To be technical, they did have separate rooms—but Isaac found himself spending more time in Ben's room than his own, nowadays. "But it wasn't until this Board meeting that I could see it."

"What happened?" Isaac rolled on his side, looking at Ben.

"Aldon heard them out, then he told them to take their money and to get out." Ben smiled dreamily. "He said that money was money, and that if they felt their money was too good to be mingled with Muggle money, then they could take it out, fuck it, and see if that made them more. Half of them started backtracking right away."

"And the other half?"

"The other half was first too shocked to say anything, but they mostly walked out." Ben yawned. "But Aldon expected that. He has meetings arranged with the Queenscoves, the Blacks, the Potters, the Longbottoms, the Prewett-Weasleys, the Zabinis, and a dozen other families over the next few weeks. We're also putting in temporary bonuses for investment, so he expects to make up a least half of the difference, if not more."

"Which will be enough for the IPO," Isaac reasoned. "It gets the numbers up."

"That's right." Ben looked over at him. "And how's your project coming along?"

"It's going well." Isaac grinned in return. "We've finally worked out what we think might be a functional user interface, so we're going to put together a prototype and see how it goes. It's still going slower than Francesca wants, but I think it's pretty normal for a major invention."

"Mmhmm." Ben yawned again. "I'm sorry, love, but I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to stay awake to hear the rest of the explanation, but you'll make sure I'm on the prototype list, won't you?"

Isaac laughed, pulling warm covers snug over them both before throwing one arm over Ben and falling asleep.

They were an open secret in England. Francesca and Aldon never said anything, and neither did anyone else in the townhouse or in their respective companies. Isaac preferred it that way—he didn't want anyone commenting. Fine, he was gay, and he was in a gay relationship, but he still didn't know how out or upfront or anything he wanted to be about it. It was easier when no one said anything, because he could pretend like it was normal and everything was normal and he was normal.

For once, the magical world in England was better than the No-Maj one. Just as John had said, it seemed that the magical world was far more open to queer relationships than the No-Maj one, and no one batted an eye in Diagon Alley when he and Ben walked down the cobblestone streets, hand-in-hand. Or rather, when they did, it was because both he and Ben dressed more No-Maj than wizarding, and not merely because they were together. In the No-Maj world, other than in a few areas that Isaac still wasn't sure whether he wanted to tread, they were liable to have less than friendly words yelled at them on the streets.

Ben understood. He, too, was a newblood, and Isaac was endlessly thankful that Ben was letting him take the reins on how open they were to others about their relationship. He still never used anything other than Ben's name to describe him, and by the end of summer he began to feel a gnawing guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Ben deserved better. A week in France, meeting Ben's family and touring both magical and non-magical France made him want to reciprocate, to bring Ben to the United States to meet his family and to see where he grew up. The ongoing silent acceptance of their other friends didn't help, because they made him believe that it was normal—that he was normal, or more accurately, that he should see himself as normal, and the only thing unnatural about him was his own struggle with his sexual orientation.

But his family was different. The expectation of his family was that he would marry a woman and have children—Chinese ones, if not specifically Taiwanese—and carry on the family name.

As if there weren't already enough Chius in the world.

"Look at this," Kowsheek said, slamming a highly recognizable folder on the desk at the other end of the engineering lounge. It was September, barely into their final year, but someone had already flipped over the whiteboard. "The Rosier Investment Trust went public over the summer. It's a legit company, it trades on the London Stock Exchange. Opened at beginning of July, already trading at twenty-two pounds per share. I ordered a copy of the prospectus."

"How did you hear this?" Alison asked, opening the folder and picking through it with an expression caught somewhere between awe and disgust. "And—I guess that explains the money?"

"He's still only twenty-three," Rob said. "And look at the name—it's his company. Who the fuck is twenty-three with his own company?"

"Twenty-four, now," Yvette corrected. "His birthday was in May. I heard it from Sophie, who got it from her boyfriend, Graeme. Graeme's brother, Neal, is a good friend of Aldon's and apparently got him a Fleshlight."

"A what?" Tyler frowned. "A flashlight?"

"No, a Fleshlight. It's a sex toy." Yvette shrugged. "As soon as he figured out what it was, apparently Aldon was very offended and went over to kick his ass. We should add sexual repression to the list."

"I can't see Aldon kicking anyone's ass." Rob shook his head. "But I don't really think that's important—at least, not as important as the money. Where'd he get the money to start the Rosier Investment Trust?"

"Proceeds of crime," Kowsheek suggested. "His obvious knowledge of guns would work with being a criminal. His company going public is a money laundering scheme."

"Why are you so convinced that he's a criminal?" Alison rolled her eyes. "You just have a thing about him because you had a crush on Francesca and never got over the fact that she's seeing someone. Going public is a stupid idea if you're money laundering, doesn't it just invite more scrutiny?"

"Do you have a better idea?" Kowsheek gestured at the list. "Being a criminal fits more of the quirks than anything other than ex-military, and he's too young and out of shape to be ex-military."

"I think we need new ideas." Tyler sighed. "And more information. Get more people into this, and someone become closer friends with the guy. Or with one of Francesca's friends—Isaac and Sophie were her roommates before, right?"

Isaac grabbed his books and slipped out of the lounge before they could notice him there.

They weren't particularly subtle about it. Isaac had never been so popular before; he and Kowsheek had always gotten along pretty well, the rest were people that he had tended to hang out with in class and sometimes at the pub, but not otherwise. Now, he often had any one of them, or their friends that he assumed had joined their mystery-solving group, sitting with him in classes or inviting him out for lunch or coffee or a study group. He rather enjoyed it, because for some reason the simple and honest truth, that Aldon had come from family money and had taken over the family business early, didn't seem to stick.

"Sure, I guess he's a little weird," he found himself saying with a shrug. "But the super rich, you know? They're a little weird."

"And Francesca met him—" Rob tried.

"Through a friend, I think. Pretty dull, really."

"And his past?" Rob looked away, trying and failing to sound innocent. "He's made some pretty weird comments. About spies, and guns."

"Rob, you're asking me about someone who is, in a very distant kind of way, sort of my boss," Isaac replied with a slight laugh. "The Rosier Investment Trust has an ownership interest in my engineering firm, Blake & Associates. I don't really ask questions."

Rob looked rather disgruntled, but Isaac changed the subject.

The francophone students took a completely different approach, going out of their way to come out to the pub with them and cornering Aldon at their end of the table for a conversation in high-speed French. Isaac couldn't follow along with it, plus he couldn't drop by the student lounge as often, so the most he heard about those was a few more notes that appeared on the board: Foster Mother spoke French, Grandmother was Algerian. Another hand below it: SPY.

He guessed that the bottom line was from Jean-Paul, who had never really left the theory that Aldon was a CSIS plant intended to root out Quebec separatism. However, it seemed like no one took him seriously, which was ironic because spy was the closest to the truth.

Late in November, Aldon excused himself from Yvette, Jean-Paul, and their new accomplice, Jerome, and slipped into the seat beside him at Les Trois Brasseurs.

"Isaac," he said, sliding a plate of deep-fried pickles towards him. "How are you?"

"Good," Isaac replied, a little puzzled. He and Francesca were close friends, and of course that meant that he spoke to Aldon often, but he didn't go out of his way to do so and Aldon tended not to approach most people with conversation. "And how are you doing?"

"Perfectly well, thank you." Aldon smiled slightly. "Busy, of course, though I'm very fortunate to have a deputy as capable as Benoit. He really does make it so that I can be here, for which I am endlessly thankful. I'm glad to have him."

"I'm… happy to hear that?" Isaac said, feeling a tendril of suspicion in his stomach. Aldon had an ulterior motive; he had to have, to openly shower so much praise on Ben.

"The tickets for the Engineering Formal went on sale today," Aldon said lightly. "Francesca, of course, already bought our tickets."

"Yes..." Isaac could see where he was going, and he could feel a hint of anxiety in his stomach. A mention of Ben, plus the Engineering Formal? Aldon wanted him to invite Ben over for the event. "I—well. We're not in England. It's not—this is not—"

"You're quite a far way from home, I understand," Aldon said, looking away. His voice, to his credit, was quiet, too quiet to be heard over the sound of the pub around them. "You have been together for how long, now? More than a year?"

"Fifteen months," Isaac muttered, reaching for his beer. "And I guess so. But—the people here—"

"Do you think the people here will think of you differently if you did invite him?"

"Of course, they will!" Isaac looked around, hoping that no one was listening, but it was too much to hope for. At least a few of the mystery-solving crew were around and throwing keen glances over at them. "How could they not? This isn't—things like this aren't really welcome, in the normal world."

"Another question, then: why do you care?" Aldon tilted his head slightly. "It's who you are. If they didn't accept it, would it not be better for you to know? Would it not be better for you to live the way that you want to live?"

Isaac didn't have an answer to that. Down the table, Francesca had noticed that Aldon had disappeared from his usual spot beside her and was looking around for him with some concern, and Aldon quickly grabbed his glass of water. "Benoit has done me an incomparable service over the last eighteen months; I would very much like for him to be happy. Do consider it, won't you?"

Isaac nodded mutely, taking a drink of his beer and ignoring the speculative glances that were being tossed at him. As mildly as Aldon had said it, Isaac could feel the guilt from the end of the summer pressing in on him. Ben had taken him home, introduced him as his partner to his family, and had never once tried to pretend that they were anything that they were not. He deserved the same in return.

And he had to admit—taking someone with him to the Engineering Formal instead of going stag as he always had was an attractive idea. It was always fun to dress up and see his friends in a different context, but with Francesca and Aldon spending most of the evening last year staring love-struck into each other's eyes and Graeme and Sophie very clearly there together even if they weren't being a national embarrassment, it would be nice to bring someone himself. And if he were to bring anyone, he wanted to bring Ben.

Montreal was far away from California. He hadn't been home for almost a year now, and he had chosen to stay in the city over the holidays—it was fourth year, his thesis year, and he was already behind on his literature review. Most of the people in the program would probably not care, he realized; those that he cared most about already knew about Ben, and as for the rest, well, if they stopped talking to him because of it, then he couldn't say he cared.

He picked up the phone, called Ben, and invited him.

No one blinked an eye at the Engineering Formal. Indeed, among anyone who knew Isaac at all, there was nothing but overwhelming acceptance when Ben came in on his arm. At first, Isaac had thought that simply no one had understood, but even a few introductions of, "this is Benoit, he's my boyfriend," left no impression whatsoever.

Instead, as soon as Benoit revealed that he worked with Aldon, the mystery-solving crew immediately sequestered him and began grilling him. Increasing bemused, Isaac turned to Francesca when she stopped by with a glass of water in hand.

"Isaac, I'm not sure you realize this," Francesca said, slightly out of breath from dancing. "But for anyone with a half-decent gaydar, you set it off like a five-alarm fire."

Isaac's jaw dropped. "But—what could possibly tip anyone off?"

"Your hair? Your mannerisms? Your disturbing domesticity?" Francesca shrugged. "It's not really any one thing, Isaac. But it's not a surprise to anyone who knows you well."

Aldon came looking for her a moment later, half-smiling in amusement as he spotted Benoit cornered by Jean-Paul and Yvette. "You had better go rescue him, Isaac. He has flown a rather long way to be here, and I'm sure he'd rather spend time with you than trying to answer, and avoid answering, questions about me."

Understanding the dismissal for what it was, Isaac hurried over and pulled his somewhat confused boyfriend out of the group of people who were, in fact, asking him about Aldon. "I'll explain later," Isaac muttered, before pulling him out onto the crowded dance floor.

For the winter holiday, Ben and Aldon traded places. Aldon and Francesca flew back to England the day after the Engineering Formal, while Ben stayed behind in Montreal. Exactly none of Isaac's thesis work got done, left aside for the many attractions of Montreal in the winter. It was icy cold and slippery outside, but poutine was warm and filling, and Isaac's apartment was pleasantly empty with Sophie gone home for the holidays. Isaac showed him the whiteboard in the engineering student lounge, much to Ben's amusement, only for Ben to cause trouble.

"Thirty dollars ought to start it off nicely, don't you think?" he said, grabbing one of the dry-erase markers and dumping out one of the jars close to the blackboard that held chalk. A quick charm had it polished and clean, and he stuffed a twenty and two fives into it and leaned it on the ledge of the whiteboard. A few quick strokes of the marker had a grid around the four main options that the mystery-solving crew had settled on: Former cultist, Criminal, SPY, Ex-Military. Jean-Paul had, for extra emphasis, underlined SPY twice.

"I'm thinking ten dollars on former cultist, ten on criminal, and five each on the other two." Ben grinned, writing in the numbers on the board.

"Aren't you going to need to leave your name or something?" Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Otherwise, what would be the point of betting?"

Ben shrugged and added another line: See Isaac Chiu to place a bet. "There. You can say that it's confidential."

"What are you getting me into?" Isaac grumbled, but he let it be when Ben shot him a wicked grin. "Trying to get me fired?"

"Aldon thinks it's funny, especially how that French guy keeps subtly implying he's there to root out Quebec separatism," Ben reminded him. "He's been throwing in occasional comments or questions about separatism just to keep him going. You can tell everyone that you'll give them an answer from Aldon at the end of the year. He'll do it."

The day that Ben flew back to England was bittersweet. On one hand, it had been good to see him, and with the visit Isaac remembered that it was only four months before he himself would return to England full-time—on the other, Ben was leaving, and it would be another four months before he could see him again.

"I'll be back for your graduation," Ben murmured in his ear. "And we'll go back to England together."

"Mmh," Isaac replied, returning the warm embrace. "Just a few more months."

In January, with the icy weather and gloomy skies, four months felt like they would creep forever. The betting pool exploded in interest, too many fourth-years dodging their thesis projects, and the debates in the engineering student lounge got louder and more vociferous. Isaac couldn't listen to most of it himself—he was too polite to extricate himself easily from their arguments, and unlike Francesca, he had no ability to smile mysteriously and disappear.

People also tracked him down to place bets, and with a shake of his head he found himself collecting money and recording names and bets at the back of a notebook. Once a week, he would walk into the engineering student lounge and update the numbers in the betting pool, much to the eager anticipation of some third of the engineering students.

To his surprise, criminal was the most popular option. Isaac thought he could see it—the criminal background theory would result in the paranoia, the knowledge of guns, and some people believed that if he was a high-class criminal, such as the head of an organized crime family, it would also explain his formal dress and knowledge of spycraft. Isaac thought it was a stretch, though at least it was not as much of one as the former cultist route, which really only explained the weirdness. However, since the weirdness and old-fashioned mannerisms tended to be front and centre of any interaction with Aldon, the theory held its own.

Oddly, neither the spy or ex-military background seemed to hold much favour, despite the fact that they were the closest to reality. As far as Isaac heard, the biggest problems with both were Aldon's age and the fact that there weren't that many wars in which he could have served, or at least not at a level that would have explained his skills. It also didn't fit with his obviously upper-class status, nor with the widely known fact that he did not like working out.

It probably didn't help that the biggest proponent of the spy theory was Jean-Paul, who was fixated on the specific theory that Aldon was a current CSIS plant, which made no sense whatsoever. Jean-Paul was also a known conspiracy nut, which automatically made anything he said suspect.

At the end of January, the betting pool was just under three hundred dollars. By the end of February, it was over five hundred. At the beginning of March, Isaac announced a deadline for bets a week before the end of term, and the money began pouring in. Everyone wanted to be part of it, even if it was only five or ten dollars, and soon Isaac found himself holding some thousand dollars in cash in his apartment. If he didn't have magic and the accompanying ability to cast a wide array of Locking, Monitoring and Alarm Charms, he didn't know what he would have done.

On the last day of term, he brought the entire box of neatly organized cash with him to the engineering student lounge. He did, at least, have his own ACD—three summers working at Blake & Associates had its advantages—and he didn't care how ridiculous he looked wearing a hoodie to hide the lump in his sleeve. Francesca had let him know that she and Aldon would pop by in the mid-afternoon, and the news had leaked through the entire faculty.

By the time Isaac walked in and secured a spot in a corner with his money box, the engineering student lounge was already crowded. Among the fourth-years, there was no shame—they were all there for an Answer, whether because they'd been interested to begin with or because they just wanted to be involved. Most of the younger years were simply curious, and a good number of them were pretending they had other reasons to be in the student lounge.

Isaac didn't have a precise time for when Francesca would be bringing Aldon, so he settled in to revise for his Mechanical Properties of Materials exam. He had very little incentive to study—the weather outside was nice, and he already had a job lined up. His job had never strictly relied on doing well anyway, but at the same time he knew that failing a class would not look good.

He didn't need to look up to know when Aldon walked into the room. A curious silence fell over the front room, starting from the chairs closest to the door, and Isaac knew people were staring. One look up showed him that Aldon was looking around the room with an amused half-smile, and that he was dressed as formally as he ever was in England—collared shirt, navy blue waist-coat, carefully tailored trousers and fine leather shoes. Francesca was behind him, her dark hair loose and swinging, and she shot a quick smile at the rest of the room.

Aldon made his way over to the whiteboard, examining the options and the amount that people had bet. A small frown creased his forehead.

"More than four hundred and fifty dollars on the criminal option?" he asked, looking over at the crowd. "Really. Do use your heads, though I will say that it was a better choice than former cult member. However…"

He picked up a dry-erase marker and perused the other two options for a moment, then reached over and circled spy. "I would say the other two theories were better, though if I had to pick only the closest, spy suits my background best."

There was an eruption of noise in the room, and Isaac lunged over the money box to protect it as people rushed for his corner to collect on their bets. Jean-Paul was howling as he shoved past others to get to Isaac—having put the most money in the spy option, he had the most to gain. There were disgruntled murmurs from many of the rest, but someone made their voice heard over the ruckus.

"But—wait—how?"

"Well, obviously I'm not a CSIS plant." Aldon snorted. "But what was that phrase from those ridiculous movies? Ah, yes. If I told you, I would have to kill you."

With that and another sly smile, Aldon held his arm out to Francesca and headed out the door, leaving Isaac to try to restore some sort of order while he divided up the winnings.

After that, they were trapped in three weeks of revising and exams. Isaac thought longingly of the bright sun outside, or even of rainy days in London, while he forced himself to revise and write his last set of exams. At least they would be his last set of exams ever, and he counted off the days to their end.

Benoit was flying over from England—indeed, he arrived a week early to help Isaac pack, since he wouldn't be returning. How did one collect so much stuff?

"We're mages," Ben reminded him calmly while Isaac sweated, trying to pack more clothes and books and miscellanea into boxes and pulling out a wand. "An Undetectable Extension Charm or two, a few Weightlessness Charms, and we'll shrink it and send it in the mail. Your address is wrong, by the way."

"It isn't," Isaac protested, reviewing the address that he'd written on the top of the box. It was the address for the interns' townhouse—formally, he wouldn't be an intern, but no one would object to him receiving packages there or renting a room until he made alternate arrangements. Ben had lived there for almost two years, after all.

"But it is." Ben grinned, and a faint blush painted his cheeks. "Or—well. I bought a flat and I thought you might want to move in. Since you haven't found a place of your own."

Isaac's jaw dropped. "You bought—"

"Aldon pays me what I'm worth at the Rosier Investment Trust," Ben pointed out. "And the rent for a room in the townhouse wasn't much, Aldon doesn't pay as much attention to the potential there as he should. And, well—you were there, so I never moved out, but neither of us really qualify to live there with four new interns coming for the summer—"

"And you're inviting me to—" Isaac's voice was scaling up in pitch in a very disturbing way, and he coughed and continued in a more dignified manner. "To live with you?"

Ben was certainly blushing now. "Yes."

"I—" Isaac shut his mouth, realizing that there was really nothing else that he had to ask. Ben was asking him to move in with him, into a flat that wasn't shared with anyone else, and Isaac really only had one answer. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll move in with you."

Ben grinned, still pink. "Good. So, let's change these addresses, then."

There was only one dampener to the graduation festivities: his parents would be flying in. He couldn't avoid it; this was his graduation with a degree in engineering, a milestone achievement, and he simply couldn't tell them to stay away even if sometimes he wanted to do it. And it wasn't even that he wanted them to stay away.

It was more that college, just like England, had become a protected bubble in his life. In Montreal, he was more or less openly gay, and everyone he lived with knew that he was a mage; in England, he lived with his boyfriend and worked in the wizarding world, combining his magical knowledge with his engineering skills. He didn't want this bubble to pop.

His parents knew he was a mage, they just had never appreciated it. His going away to Cascadia had been, for them, more in line with a long-term treatment program rather than an education. Isaac's magical accidents, few as they were, had been for them frightening and unnatural; and while they welcomed him home every break with smiles, there was an unspoken understanding that the only reason that he was at Cascadia was to get his powers under control so that he could rejoin what they saw as real life.

They wouldn't accept the fact that he was gay, either. They had never said as much, but the understanding was that Isaac would marry a woman, preferably a Chinese woman if not a Taiwanese one, and carry on the family name. He didn't even think that sexual orientation had anything to do with it—it was more of a matter of family duty, not of love.

But that just wasn't the way that Isaac worked. For him, magic was just a part of his life—he liked magic, and he didn't consider it something wrong about himself. Similarly, having lived openly gay in Montreal and in Britain, he had come to believe that being gay was much the same.

And of course, there was Ben.

He had wondered, for all of three minutes, whether he'd be able to keep them separated. Three minutes was exactly as long as he needed to realize that not only would it be impossible, he also didn't want to try.

He was gay, and he was a wizard. Neither of those were things that he could change, and it wouldn't be fair for him to have to change. His family could either accept that, or not. And if they didn't, wouldn't it be better for him to know?

Miraculously, Ben had business the evening that Isaac's parents flew in. They had come in only the evening before the graduation date, and after a quick dinner at their hotel restaurant, they had claimed tiredness and said they would see Isaac tomorrow. Isaac hadn't gotten much of a word in edgewise, between his parents' comments about Montreal, and the weather, and their own jobs, nor had he really tried. He knew that the moment of truth was coming, but somehow, he couldn't help but let it drift a little further away.

"Did you tell them?" Ben asked, when he came home. He had a spreadsheet of numbers open on his laptop, and he was still frowning at them. "How did it go?"

"I didn't," Isaac muttered, looking down with a creeping sense of shame. "They were tired, so it was just dinner and they told me what they'd been doing for the last year or so, and I just—I didn't."

There was a pause, then there was the sound of someone shifting. "Come here," Ben said, and Isaac couldn't help but walk over into Ben's offered arms. "It's okay."

"It's really not," Isaac murmured, breathing in Ben's warm scent. Ben didn't wear cologne or anything, so it was nothing but clean male. "It really isn't."

"It's not an easy conversation to have," Ben replied, and his voice was soothing. "There's always tomorrow. Unless that plan has changed any."

"No." Isaac took a very deep breath. "I want you there, Ben. And while it would have been good for me to say something today, who knows if it would have made a difference? Tomorrow will happen, and after tomorrow—"

"After tomorrow, we'll finish packing up your things, and we'll move to Britain to live happily ever after." Ben smiled, and Isaac reached up and kissed him.

Graduation was chaos. It was chaotic enough that Isaac was pulled away from Ben early, made to stand in a large, well-decorated hall filled with yelling engineering grads who were lined up, looking for their rented graduation robes, then chattering with their friends in excitement.

Francesca and Sophie already had their robes and were chatting in a corner—to no one's surprise, Francesca was dressed to the nines for all photograph opportunities, and even Sophie was dressed to impress. Thankfully, Isaac had come late enough that the line-ups were short, and he got his own robes in short order.

"Yes, my parents got in a few days ago," Francesca was commenting as he joined them. "They met Aldon for the first time. They're very busy, you know, and so is Aldon, so it just hadn't worked out before."

"How was that?" Sophie asked, and Isaac couldn't help but lean forward in interest.

"Well, you know Aldon." Francesca shrugged. "He pulled out his most charming and impressive manners, ended up talking business with my mother most of the night, and if I didn't know better, I'd think he was buttering them up to ask for my hand in marriage or something."

"Er—" Isaac cleared his throat, recalling a distracted conversation he had had with Aldon a few weeks ago. He had been wrapped up in preparing for his last exams, and he hadn't paid much attention to the question other than to say no, I don't think it's that unusual to propose at the end of a degree, it happens a lot in the States actually. He opened his mouth to warn Francesca, but she was already looking elsewhere.

"I think they're making us line up in order now, so you better hurry," she said, gesturing to the front of the room. "Look!"

She was right, so Isaac didn't have a chance to warn her. He shot a glance at Sophie, who hid a smile, and Isaac got the firm sense from her that she knew what was going to happen but didn't want to say anything. He shook his head and disappeared.

Their actual graduation felt anticlimactic, after the last four years. The speeches were long and boring, the chairs hard and uncomfortable. Isaac couldn't help but scan the audience, picking out both Ben and his parents. They were sitting separately, which wasn't too surprising since they hadn't met, but he still flashed them quick smiles and waves when he lined up to receive his diploma. Cheering was held back until the end of the names, but afterwards the graduation hall exploded in applause. It was simultaneous embarrassing and gratifying, and Isaac couldn't help but search out Ben with a smile on his face.

He found Ben and tugged him outside into the sunshine, where his classmates were already spreading across the campus green towards Roddick Gates. There was far more space in that direction, and a massive, inviting tent that featured flowers, stuffed bears wearing robes and graduation caps (Isaac bet that Francesca already had one in hand), and McGill-branded frames for their new, linen-printed diplomas.

It was still several minutes before Isaac managed to find his parents, milling about lost in the crowd.

"Mom, Dad," he said with a broad smile. It was hard not to feel happy, not when he was surrounded by his jubilant classmates and their families. The feeling was infectious.

"Isaac," his mother replied, reaching up to give him a hug. "Congratulations. We're so proud of you, and of everything you've overcome."

Isaac's smile froze slightly, knowing what she meant, but she hadn't meant any harm by it. She genuinely saw his magic as being akin to a disease or a problem, as something to be overcome, and not an intrinsic part of him. He forced himself to relax and overlook it, though he knew from Ben's uncomfortable shifting beside him that his boyfriend had heard and understood the comment. He pulled back from his mother, fixing the same bright smile on his face.

"I'd like you to meet someone," he said, reaching out with one hand to Ben. Ben took his hand and took one step closer to him—the distance between mere friends, to more than friends. "This is Benoit Aubin. He's my boyfriend."

The words didn't sink in—Isaac knew it the moment that his mother turned to Ben with a smile. "A friend? So nice to meet you!"

"No, mom," Isaac said, his grip tightening in Ben's hand. "My boyfriend. I'm gay, and this is my boyfriend."

There was a pause. Isaac took one look at his father, who had always been more reserved, and he wasn't surprised by the thundercloud that had started crossing his father's face. His mother, on the other hand, was still confused.

"No, no," she said with a small laugh. "Very funny, Isaac, but not a very good joke. What about your girlfriend, the one that you always talked about? Francesca, the Hong Kong girl?"

"She was never my girlfriend," Isaac replied, almost disbelieving. He had never even implied that Francesca was anything except a friend, a close one, but he supposed that in Chinese culture having friends of the opposite gender was simply always going to be suspect. It didn't surprise him that his mother had thought Francesca was a romantic partner, rather than just a friend; indeed, it wouldn't have surprised him to learn that his mother had run around the San Gabriel Valley telling all her friends that Isaac was seeing a wonderful Cantonese girl named Francesca. "She's one of my closest friends, but she was never, never my girlfriend."

"In fact," Ben murmured, loud enough to be heard but not overheard, "I do believe that is Francesca's boyfriend over there, on one knee in front of her. I knew he would do it. He's too much of a romantic to resist."

Isaac whipped his head around, spotting Aldon on his knee in front of Francesca. She was hiding her face, which Isaac knew would hold a grimace, but she was trying not to embarrass him. As he watched, Aldon appeared to have finished with his declaration of love, and Francesca pulled her hands away from her bright red face, took a step towards him, and hid both of their figures in her billowing graduation robe. To onlookers, her answer was assumed to be an emotional yes, but Isaac could tell from Aldon's wry expression that it hadn't been.

"Oh," Isaac's mom said, a surprised and vaguely lost expression taking over her face. "I—I don't understand."

"Because it is not understandable," Isaac's father said, shooting a dark look at Isaac. "We have given you everything, and today, I can see that we should not have. You should have remained at home—we should have found a way to fix you without sending you to that school. You would not have gotten these wild ideas at home."

"This is who I am," Isaac replied, his words coming out slow and stiff. He needed to take his time, because if he didn't, he would break. "I am—what I am. I am gay. You can accept it or not, but this is who I am."

"We do not accept it," his father said firmly, and Isaac knew that there was no arguing. One look at his mother showed that while she was shocked and upset, she wouldn't argue. She wasn't one for arguing. "It isn't natural, and until you recognize otherwise, there is no need for you to come home."

With that, his father turned around and walked away. His mother looked over at Isaac, her expression mixed upset and worry and a few other things that Isaac couldn't read, before she turned around and hurried after his father.

Isaac stood there, feeling numb. He had always known that coming out would end his relationship with his parents, distant as it had been since he had gone off to Cascadia, but it was disappointing to discover that he had been right. He had been very much right, but at the same time…

Now he knew.

He took a deep breath in, and then another. And then a third, and a fourth, and Ben ushered him away to sit on a bench under a privacy-providing tree.

"Are you all right?" he asked, sounding more awkward than Isaac had ever heard him. "Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

"No." Isaac took another deep breath, looking up at the canopy of leaves over them. "And no. But I will be fine."

There was silence, a few breaths of it, as Isaac breathed and he felt Ben's skepticism beside him. "My parents and I…" he paused, looking for the right words. "We weren't close. Not for many years, not since I went to Cascadia, and I—I knew this might happen. Even if I'm not fine now, I will be. One day."

Ben nodded and sat down beside him. "One day."

He didn't say anything about it later to Francesca and the others, but they still knew. His lie that his parents had been called away on an emergency was paper-thin, even if Aldon wasn't a Truth-Speaker, and Francesca knew too much about him to come to any other conclusion. Instead, he found himself swept into a wide range of post-graduation activities with Aldon and Francesca, Graeme and Sophie, the dozens of friends and acquaintances he had met over the past four years. With everyone around him, it was easy for him to focus on other things.

He didn't forget, but it had been many years since he had relied on his parents. He had left home at eleven years old for Cascadia, and then he had come to McGill right afterwards, only seeing his family a few weeks a year. The weight he carried hurt, a cold and sharp knife to his heart, but it became easier to manage as the days passed. Without much thought, he knew that he had been right: he might not be entirely fine now, but he would be in time. One day.

All too soon, the apartment he had shared with Sophie (and nominally Francesca) for three years was packed up. His boxes and bags were finally packed, and he had his passport, a working visa, and a one-way ticket to England in hand. Sophie and Francesca already gone, he locked up the apartment and shut the door firmly behind him.

"Time to go back to England?" Ben asked, taking one of the large rolling luggage cases in hand.

"Yeah," Isaac replied with a small smile. "Yeah. Time to go home, and to a new beginning."