Post by Deleted on Feb 13, 2018 8:23:30 GMT -7
Any debates over self-governance had no power here. Being on an entirely different continent, Clarence Corntassel was just another foreigner. Even the notion that he was in any way “foreign” was foreign to him. The times that he had been on territory that was not traditionally his own people’s—or given to them in place of what was theirs, as was the case with Oklahoma—notwithstanding, he had never found himself in an environment where he was well and truly foreign in every sense. He had no connection to this land, not that there was any greenery to be found inside of the Ministry of Magic.
Walking in the direction of the elevator to go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation for what remaining paperwork he still needed to fill out in order to teach at Hogwarts for the year, Clarence was reminded of MACUSA. It was a different building on entirely different land, yet he supposed that bureaucracy never changed, no matter where in the world it was. At least the Ministry of Magic didn’t appear to use wand permits, he thought.
“Graves.”
The name was one that Clarence knew well, one that had been known to him for generations. He recognized the man who had been addressed by name, in particular. The man was an Auror with MACUSA—Quentin Graves, if Clarence recalled correctly—and he paused. Early as was usual of him, he could spare a few minutes to ask what he, as a MACUSA Auror, was doing in London.
@quentin
Walking in the direction of the elevator to go to the Department of International Magical Cooperation for what remaining paperwork he still needed to fill out in order to teach at Hogwarts for the year, Clarence was reminded of MACUSA. It was a different building on entirely different land, yet he supposed that bureaucracy never changed, no matter where in the world it was. At least the Ministry of Magic didn’t appear to use wand permits, he thought.
“Graves.”
The name was one that Clarence knew well, one that had been known to him for generations. He recognized the man who had been addressed by name, in particular. The man was an Auror with MACUSA—Quentin Graves, if Clarence recalled correctly—and he paused. Early as was usual of him, he could spare a few minutes to ask what he, as a MACUSA Auror, was doing in London.
@quentin