#detentions

[saywhat-politics]

In recorded calls, reports of overcrowding and lack of food at ICE detention centers

ICE detentions have surged, but deportations have not. In the past month, NPR spoke to dozens of detainees, families and lawyers who spoke o

Florida has pledged to be a national model for state cooperation with President Trump's immigration crackdown. As detention centers here and across the country fill up, NPR has received an outpouring of messages about severe overcrowding and inhumane conditions in immigration facilities across the state.

More than a dozen detainees, family members and lawyers described similar issues as Maria, including detainees underfed and in ill health. Krome, which is run by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, has been dogged for years by allegations of inhumane conditions and investigated by the Department of Justice in 2000 on accusations of sexual abuse. This year alone, there have been two deaths at the facility: Ukrainian immigrant Maksym Chernayak and Genry Ruiz Guillen of Honduras.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Justice on Trial

Trump’s attack on the courts and the unraveling of American democracy

James B. Greenberg

Sep 26, 2025

Justice in America is breaking. Not in its statutes or codes, which still sit on the books, but in the trust that makes them real. Prosecutors are supposed to pursue evidence, not enemies; courts should weigh facts, not loyalties. I used to teach a comparative course in law and development, and the lesson was always the same: once that trust erodes, law becomes theater. That is where we are headed.

The indictment of James Comey, pursued at Donald Trump’s urging, is more than a dispute between two men. It is a battle over whether the American judiciary will remain a neutral arbiter or become an instrument of retribution. Trump wants to transform the Department of Justice from an independent institution into an extension of his will. Comey, who refused to pledge personal loyalty and later confirmed Trump’s pressure to halt the Russia investigation, has become both symbol and target. The revival of charges—earlier dismissed for lack of grounds—cannot be understood outside this political frame.

In anthropology, the health of a legal system is not measured by its statutes but by the cultural trust that sustains them. That trust is fragile. In the United States it rests on two thin pillars: prosecutorial independence and judicial restraint. Both have been chipped away. When a president demands prosecution of an opponent, classification no longer guarantees fairness. A charge like “false statement” is drained of its meaning and poured into another mold: disloyalty. At that point, the form of justice may still stand, but the substance has gone.

Trump’s strategy is blunt. He shouts his demands in capital letters—“JUSTICE MUST BE SERVED, NOW!!!”—as if volume were verdict. In that gesture, accusation and conviction collapse into each other. Common law depends on the wide space between them, the courtroom itself. That space vanishes when the indictment becomes the sentence and trial becomes the spectacle. Whatever the outcome, the charge itself is punishment—and that is the point.

Comey’s case is less about old disputes than about rewriting the script of Trump’s presidency. By going after a former FBI director, he signals that defiance itself is criminal. For anyone who studies authoritarian systems, this is a familiar maneuver: law is turned from a shield for citizens into a weapon against them. Trials become ritual performances, staged to demonstrate loyalty and vengeance. The target is not only the accused but everyone watching.

Political ecology offers another lens. Systems are interconnected; stress in one part spreads through the rest. Undermine prosecutorial independence, and the damage doesn’t stop there. It weakens protections for voting rights, environmental rules, labor standards—anything that depends on fair enforcement. Once courts become partisan stages, the whole edifice of governance tilts. Legal categories drift from neutral tools into political weapons. While the system may still use the same words, their meaning is altered.

Comparative perspective makes the drift clear. In civil law systems, codification can slow political abuse; in common law systems like ours, reliance on precedent and discretion can adapt, but also bend. Everything depends on norms: restraint, good faith, and independence. Precedent is more than procedure; it is the memory of the system. When Trump revives long-dismissed charges, he severs that chain of memory. Courts stop functioning as repositories of experience. Once that memory is broken, decay accelerates.

Trump’s assault on the judiciary has been steady, cumulative. He has called judges “so-called,” branded rulings as partisan, and accused prosecutors of corruption. Each step chips away at legitimacy. The Comey indictment is another blow: a message that courts and prosecutors are simply tools of politics. Delegitimize the referee, and only loyalty counts; truth dissolves into performance.

The danger is not limited to Comey or to Trump’s direct critics. Once justice shifts from evidence to allegiance, no one is safe. Friends today can be enemies tomorrow. Categories like “traitor” or “enemy” float free from legal definition, ready to be pinned on whoever falls from favor. Anthropologists call this symbolic inversion: rituals meant to guarantee order are turned upside down and used to enforce domination.

For ordinary citizens the erosion can be hard to see. Life goes on. Judges still wear robes, hearings still convene. Yet symbols matter. Once the courtroom becomes a theater of power, the public’s ability to tell the difference between real adjudication and political stagecraft fades. Trust—already worn thin—begins to collapse. And fear does the rest. When prosecutors hesitate, when judges weigh not only law but personal risk, when citizens decide silence is safer, the system disciplines itself. Fear spreads like contamination through an ecosystem.

We have seen this before: the McCarthy hearings, Nixon’s enemies list, the detentions after 9/11. Each twisted law to partisan ends. What makes the present moment different is the breadth and the brazenness. Trump is not content to exploit the judiciary; he wants to redefine it in his image. That is why the Comey indictment matters. It is not a minor skirmish. It is a marker of systemic change.

Anthropology reminds us that law is never only technical. It is always cultural: a mirror of trust and expectation. When those expectations tilt toward vengeance, the entire system tilts with them. Political ecology adds the warning: stressed systems reach tipping points. Just as an ecosystem pushed too far may fail suddenly, a judiciary stripped of trust may not recover. Rules can be rewritten, but trust—once gone—takes generations.

The indictment of Comey is not just about one man or one office. It marks how far the judiciary has been dragged into the theater of loyalty. Trump’s attack on the courts is an attack on the very trust that sustains democracy. Whether that trust endures may decide if democracy itself does.

Suggested Readings

Arendt, Hannah. Crises of the Republic. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1972.

Cover, Robert M. “Nomos and Narrative.” Harvard Law Review 97, no. 4 (1983): 4–68.

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Translated by Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books, 1995.

Garland, David. The Culture of Control: Crime and Social Order in Contemporary Society.Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001.

Greenberg, James B. 2013. Microfinance, Law, and Development: A Case Study in Mali.Arizona Journal of International and Comparative Law 30 (1): 135–162.

Greenberg, James B., and Thomas K. Park. Hidden Interests in Credit and Finance: Power, Ethics, and Social Capital across the Last Millennium. Lexington Books, 2017.

Mbembe, Achille. Necropolitics. Translated by Steven Corcoran. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019.

Neumann, Franz. The Rule of Law: Political Theory and the Legal System in Modern Society.Edited by Matthias Ruete. Leamington Spa: Berg Publishers, 1986.

Scheppele, Kim Lane. “Law in a Time of Emergency.” University of Pennsylvania Journal of Constitutional Law 6, no. 5 (2004): 1001–1081.

Shklar, Judith N. Legalism: Law, Morals, and Political Trials. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1964.

[tearsofrefugees]

Detentions and disappearances: how ICE has driven fear into Michigan’s Arab communities

Arab Americans in Dearborn and beyond are being swept up by ICE at places of worship and work, with devastating consequences

[gryffsposts]

The best Harry Potter cosplay I have ever seen

The Mischief Managers | HIATUS (@themischiefmanagers) • Instagram photos and videos

24K Followers, 29 Following, 329 Posts - See Instagram photos and videos from The Mischief Managers | HIATUS (@themischiefmanagers)

I don't know about other social media's, I only have these

[asktheheirofslytherin]

Allora blinked, it was as if someone had confunded her.

Did Professor Riddle just wink at her and show a few students mercy!? But other than that, she was pleased that she was getting an O for her essay, she had worked hard on it. Her second thought was that if the weird potion she invented to make people act weird had accidentally victimed her Professor. Of course she hadn’t made it purposely for him, it was a payback for the Gryffindors who bullied her brother, had the elves gotten it to the wrong table? Hearing Professor Riddle calling her she snapped out of her thoughts. “Your dismissed” the Professor said, and she ran for her life, scared the Professor would find out.

The next day, she saw the angry look on her professors face during breakfast and skipped, “I’d rather skip breakfast then get detention again.” She thought. She pulled out her schedule in the hallway and saw her first class was dada, oh sh¡t.

Professor Riddle smirked at Allora's shock, but said nothing as he instead went over to the desk of the sleeping third year, now delivering that solid kick to the table leg. The girl awoke with a start, face beet red as she apologized.

"That's another hour for you," Tom said, shrugging, before turning back to Allora. "You're dismissed." She appeared not to have heard him. "You're dismissed," he repeated, louder this time, rolling his eyes. If she didn't hear him the third time, he may as well just let her sit her for another - ah, she got up and bolted.

Interestingly enough, Tom had not been angry at Allora that morning at breakfast. He had been angry at some Weasleys, who had tried to slip him fever fudge. What had struck his attention, however, was the way Allora had seen his face and then immediately turned around and left. A girl with something to hide? A guilty conscience?

And of course, when a slight commotion occurred at the Gryffindor table not twenty minutes later...well, it was easy enough to put the pieces together.

If Allora had been expecting anything when she came into class, she was surely disappointed. Tom ignored her as she came in, though he made a point of looking up from his attendance list and looking right at her as he checked off her name.

No, Professor Riddle had better things to do at current than make an enterprising potion maker feel uncomfortable. He had a few other students more worthy of such attention - a boy who had been neglecting his homework was given detention and was then repeatedly called on throughout class. A girl who had been passing notes was made to stand and read the note aloud to the rest of the class.

But it was not as though his classes were insufferable. As stern as he was, Professor Riddle was known to crack an occasional joke or two, to dole out praise when it was warranted, and to be patient with those who were clearly trying their hardest but could not yet master the work. It was the ones who didn't care, the ones causing disruption or else not paying attention that he directed his infamous wrathful demeanor towards.

Only after class did he wave to Allora, beckoning her to his desk. "Before you go," he said casually, "I thought I might ask you about this." He placed a very familiar looking potion vial on the desk. "I got this from a house elf not 30 minutes after you fled breakfast. Talk."

[didsomeonesaydaddydraco]

You suck, you should fix that | d.m (requested)

Request: yes (@ brycelahelalover)

“Hii, I'm a new follower of yours and I have a request. So the details are: my reader's name is Orchid Sterling. She has achy blonde kind of hair, green eyes. And she's a Gryffindor for the sake of the story. Draco Malfoy. Where the reader is Dumbledore's granddaughter and part of the golden trio. And she and draco go from enemies to lovers kind of thing. She never really bothered with his insults and always ignored them by rolling her eyes or something? Anyways, thank you”

World count: 2805 

Do you know the feeling when you just want to stay in bed all day long and do absolutely nothing? Well, it was one of those days for me. Most of my weekend was spent with Harry, Ron and Hermione at the library, working on a big essay for our Potions class with Professor Snape. And if all the school work wouldn’t be enough, Harry wanted to wander around the Castle because he thought he heard weird noise coming from the walls even after the Chamber was officially closed, and wanted to found out what it really was or where it came from. Of course we all went with him, and almost get detention for not being in our dorm rooms past our curfew.  We hardly had any time left to relax and have fun by the Great Lake. So when Monday rolled in, I only wanted one thing: to be done with the day.

- Don’t you look just drop dead gorgeous this fine Monday morning, sweet Orchid? – I groaned at the voice which greeted me when I stepped into the Great Hall to have breakfast with my friends.  I rolled my eyes at him when I walked past Draco and his group of fans.

- I’m so tired – Harry put his head in his hands and I was positive he was seconds away from passing out. We only slept for a couple of hours before we had to wake up to go and attend our classes – We shouldn’t have stayed awake for that long last night.

- Oh, you don’t say? – I asked, my voice filled with sarcasm. We were lucky, that we weren’t caught last night, sneaking out of our dorms once again, but this time to go to the library to find something odd about the Castle that might be an explanation for the voice Harry had been hearing – Maybe we should just sleep at night, instead of going on little adventures. Snape will literally hex us if he finds one of us outside of the Gryffindor’s Dormitory past out curfew again.

Ron and Hermione tried to stay out of the conversations, both of them being quite busy with eating or reading something. Harry thankfully dropped the subject, and instead of talking, he took a few minutes nap on the dining table. I was enjoying my morning pumpkin juice, when all of a sudden, a paper cane came flying in front of me. I slowly opened it:

“What? No witty comebacks for my lovely morning greeting? – D”

I sighed and torn apart the message. Draco and I had been enemies ever since we arrived to Hogwarts at the age of 11. It started with me talking back to him, and Malfoy not liking the fact that someone wasn’t afraid of him. There wasn’t a day without us fighting about or over something. He irritated me with his arrogant and selfish attitude, but at the same time I found something very amusing in the way he always got so angry and frustrated at something I said or did. The fact, that Dumbledore was my grandfather, didn’t really helped to develop our relationship with each other. Draco finding every possibility to come at me with this fact. In exchange, I never failed to remind him to go and tell his father about someone who talked him back. I swear to Merlin, telling his father everything and anything was his hobby.

- You know – Hermione giggled, when she figured out the reason behind my sudden annoyance and anger - Malfoy and you are the living proof that you can hate and love someone at the same time. It’s very amusing to watch how you both cannot go a day without bothering the other.

- I have no idea what you’re talking about – I drank the last of my juice and started to pick up my stuff to leave for my DADA class, when the huge doors of the Great Hall flew wide open and a rather angry Professor Dumbledore barged in. All eyes were on him.

- Orchid Sterling-Dumbledore – his voice echoed through the huge Hall. He stopped right in front of us, and his usually kind eyes now were filled with anger and worry.

- Hi, Grandpa – I smiled at him innocently, but I knew it was already a lost case when he put his hands of his waist. I looked at Hermione, who was already looking at me with a “what have you done now?” look.

- Don’t Grandpa me now – he said – You, Mr. Potter, Mr. Wesleay and Ms. Granger go to my office in this second – he ordered. Love of Merlin. We all knew why he was so pissed at us. Harry, Ron and Hermione quickly picked up their bags and followed Professor Dumbledore.

- You too, Mr. Malfoy – Dumbledore said to the smirking blond and dragged him with us by his robe. The four of us were changing confused glances between each other, not knowing why he had to come with us as well. Mentally, I was prepared for my Grandfather’s speech about the dangerous of sneaking out of the dorm rooms at night, knowing very well that Voldemort was back and tried everything to reach Harry and kill him. Along with everyone who would try to save him. All five of us were sitting silently there, watching Professor Dumbledore walking around his room, listening as he went on and off about how many times we had already broke the rules of Hogwarts, putting ourselves exposed to anyone who would try to hurt us, and disobeying our Professors and Prefects’ orders. I knew for sure I wasn’t going to hear the end of this during Christmas break.

- And not to mention – he looked at Malfoy and me – Duelling at the courtyard? You two aren’t supposed to use your wands for such activities, only if you are in danger.

- Malfoy started it – I shrugged – I was only trying to protect my nerves from him. He tends to like getting on them and…

- ENOUGH – Grandpa yelled – All five of you, detention. Harry, Ron and Hermione you are going to help Professor Snape cleaning his equipment for Potions class, and will do as he orders. Three days. And I don’t want to see any of you out of your dorms after dinner, am I clear?

- Yes, Professor – they said in union and were free to leave, leaving Malfoy and I behind.

- As for you Ms. Sterling and Mr. Malfoy – he sat down by his huge desk – You two are going to spend your detention together. In that case, you might learn how to act like civilized witches and wizards. You two are going to put away the books in the library, so you cannot scream at each other.

- Excuse me, Professor – Malfoy spoke for the first time since we had arrived – I might have zoned out a bit, but why am I getting detention?

- For the same things as Ms. Sterling over here – he gestured to me with his hand – You were in the duel as well, throwing back spells, and also left your Dorm after the curfew. I know you had the best intentions by telling Professor Snape that they sneaked out, but you followed them, and broke the rules too.

If eyes could kill, Malfoy would have been dead by the time Dumbledore dismissed us. I rushed to find my friends and tell them it was Malfoy who snitched on us to Snape, and he was the reason we got detention. In the middle of my rage, George and Fred joined us in the courtyard, and watched me with smirks on their faces.

- Young love – Fred sang and danced around alone, while George tried to stop him from bumping into something. I scoffed at them and sat down next to Ron, who was eating chocolate frogs and looked like he didn’t care at all for getting detention and him being forced to spend even more time with Snape. Of course he didn’t mind, he had Harry and Hermione with him. He didn’t have to be with his sworn enemy for a whole week.

- It’s funny how much you love each other – George added and ruffled up my hair.

- Were you even listening? – I asked them angrily – I was literally going on and on for hours who much I hate Malfoy for being an arrogant git and…

- All we heard was, you talking about him nonstop – they giggled – Like you have been doing for the last couple of months. You know Orchid, the more you hide your feelings from someone, the more you fall for them.

I glared at my friends, who found my situation rather funny. None of them tried to help me out, confirming my hatred towards the Slytherin boy. It was like, they were all on the same page.

- Alright – I sighed – Maybe I don’t hate him. Hate is quite a strong word, and he might have his reasons why he’s acting like a total jerk, but still. I’m just not necessarily excited about Draco’s existence.

- Talking about me, Princess? – an annoyed groan left my lips when I heard him from behind me. There was his usual smirk on his face, and he looked quite satisfied with himself. I checked my watch to see it was almost time for us to serve our detention at the library – Grandpa dearest wasn’t too happy about you sneaking out in the middle of the night, right?

- Don’t mess with me now, Malfoy – I hissed as I walked past him, bumping my shoulder into his. I heard his footsteps following me and soon enough he appeared in front of me, walking backwards so he could face me.

- Or what? You’ll hex me? – he laughed and bit his lower lip – You are one of a kind, aren’t you? Black sheep of the family? Always getting in trouble, talking back and so on. I wonder if you weren’t related to Dumbledore, you still would have been sorted into Gryffindor. Or you might have been a Slytherin – he stopped when we reached the entrance of the library – You know, I offered my friendship to you on the train and warned you about who you are befriending.

- Oh shut up, Malfoy – I pushed him inside. We went to find Madam Pince. She told us our first task and asked us to stay silent for the sake of the students who came to the library to actually do school work or just read. I tried everything to stay away from Malfoy, but he always find a way to join me and bother me with the most nonsense questions or just tried to make me feel uncomfortable. For some unknown reasons, I started to think about all those things the twins and Hermione had been telling me. Was it possible? Did I really had feelings for him? Even if I did, it must have been Stockholm Syndrome, cause there was no way a normal mind would fell for such an arrogant asshole. But at the same time, on days, when he was too tired or was busy with something else, I missed his attention. Him always having something to argue about, picking on me, bullying my friends or just being himself and getting on my last nerves. So on days like those, I always find something to tell him. Most of the time we ended up being pairs in classes, and even though be argued through the whole class, we always managed to be ready with a high mark on our assignments, gaining House point for Slytherin and Gryffindor.

- Thinking about be? – he suddenly appeared behind me as I was collecting a few books from the furthest table in the library. He put his hands on my sides, locking me between his body and the desk, not having any exit for me to escape. My senses were filled with the warmth of his body, and with his signature cologne and mint scent – I don’t mind at all. You haven’t left my mind for the last couple of months… – his minty breath tickled my neck, and goose bumps appeared on my arms.

- Bullshit – I rolled my eyes and tried to escape, but Draco pushed me against the desk, his body brushing against mine – What do you want now, Malfoy?

- Well, I have a few things in my mind – he whispered in my ear and his hands found their way to my hips, squeezing it lightly – But I want to know why you hate me so much.

I turned around in his embrace, and I couldn’t tell if my cheeks were red because of the boiling rage in my body or I was blushing because of his touch and sudden mood change. I looked up him, seeing that he honestly wanted to know.

- Where have you been all this time? – I raised an eyebrow at him – We have been like this ever since we first met each other. You’re an asshole, and I cannot tolerate your arrogant and selfish behaviour, and I haven’t even mention the fact that you somehow find amusement in bullying everyone who isn’t a pureblood or a Slytherin.

- Come on, Sterling – he laughed a bit – We both know this is something you had gotten over a long time ago.

- Fine – I sighed - I’m not saying I hate you. What I’m saying is that you are literally the Monday of my life. Always pissing me off, always having something to surprise me with and…

- And? – he pulled me closer to his body. Draco’s icy blue eyes were shifting from my green eyes to my lips, than back to my eyes again. His light pink tongue ran along his slightly plump bottom lip as he played with the ends of my blond hair. I could feel the tension growing second by second and I was glad we were far away from the few students who were left in the library.

- You suck, you should fix that - I pushed him away from me and picked up the long forgotten books from the desk to go and put them away. I walked to the correct section and started to put away the books, when he appeared again out of nowhere, scaring me a bit.

- You know – he leaned against the bookshelf – When I think of you, I have this weird feeling. It’s like I want to throw you off a cliff, then rush to the bottom to catch you.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows. I wanted to throw some witty comeback at him, but I was caught off guard and all I could do was rolling my eyes at him. When I turned my back at him, Draco suddenly pushed me against the bookshelf with such force, a few books fall out of their places. One of his hands were on my hip, keeping me still, so I couldn’t leave, and the other pulled my hair softly, so I was looking into his now darkened blue eyes.

- Fuck – he breathed into my face – You drive me crazy. The way you roll your eyes at me, or when you bite your lip after a good comeback – his lips were almost on mine. I could almost feel how soft they might be – Or when you get all frustrated at me. Damn, I want to drive you crazy too.

And he did. When his lips met mine we both knew we were screwed. We kissed each other like there was no tomorrow. Lips moving in sync, while our hands tried to explore each other’s bodies as much as we could. I failed to cover up one of my moans, when Draco started to leave small kisses along my neck, and sucking on one point to leave his mark. My fingers were pulling on his platinum blond hair, leaving it a hot mess.

- What happened with throwing me off a cliff? – I asked jokingly. Draco growled and bit my shoulder.

- The only place I want to throw you at is my bed, woman – he answered and pushed his toned body against mine even more – But for now – he whispered – Shut up, Sterling.

- Make… - he didn’t let me finish it and kissed me again. This time with even more passion. They were right. Young love. From that day, we were the same. We argued, picked on each other, always bothered the other with something but there was something new. We kissed and held hands. He got overprotective and jealous, for which he usually ended up in detention, but that was his way showing how serious he was about our unfolding relationship.

[lins-fandom-hub]

Fictober no. 5: family reminiscences

“I’m going to deviate a little from the order I’ve followed and do prompt 8 from @hphm-fictober‘s list. Today marks the day my grandfather passed away, four years ago--so this is in memory of him. In the HPHM verse, Clara’s grandfather passed away when she was fifteen, during her fifth year.

Prompt: Window to the Past

---

“Something on your mind, Clara?”

The kitchen was bustling with activity as usual, with house elves and students alike cooking meals in the huge fireplaces and cauldrons. Delicious scents wafted through the air, thick as smoke as they hit Clara’s nose--usually they made her hum and smile in content, but today she was really feeling out of it. Earlier today, she received a letter from her mother, via owl, that her grandfather passed away peacefully in a Muggle hospital in China. The news shocked her to the point where she couldn’t focus on the things at hand. She almost over-fertilized her Screechsnap, and she almost set the cauldron she was supposed to clean on fire with a distracted spell.

And now she was about to screw up the sandwiches the other students would be eating for dinner tonight. So what if they had sandwich and soup meal combos every day? How could she even think of anything going normally for her with the loss of someone so important to her?

“Just go back to work, Jae. I’m fine,” Clara said, brushing him off.

“No, you’re not. You look pensive,” he observed, going over to her and helping her stack the sandwiches properly. “And you never go this pensive unless it’s something to do with the Cursed Vaults. Any progress on freeing Beatrice--”

“It’s my grandfather.”

Jae’s hands stilled over the bread he just stacked. “Okay...?”

“He passed away this morning. Old age. Illnesses.”

Now she got his full attention, and he nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

She sniffled and turned away from the table, wiping her tears roughly on the sleeve of her black jumper. “You don’t get it, do you? He died in a country far away. He died in a hospital in China. And I couldn’t be there for him. No one can.”

The homely scents. The heat that reminded her of home. It was too much. Memories of time spent with her grandfather while she was still a little girl flooded full force in the forefront of her memory--the crinkled smiles that reached his eyes that twinkled despite his old age, all the things he taught her while he was alive...

All gone.

It was bad enough to lose her brother--even if it was just a disappearance, it came with the force of the wind tearing them apart. Now, the renewed anguish came back, and before she could stand to think of what Pitts would tell her for leaving detention early, she raced out of the kitchens, crouching by a wall and bawling her eyes out.

They still came. Memories of her mother taking her and Jacob and little Em to see their grandparents in China every summer, at least before Jacob started to go loco on the Vaults...she always cherished those visits. She loved her grandparents to bits--always learning new ways to communicate in Chinese, always learning new things in Chinese culture, and feeling the love that came from the family she was proud to have.

Her grandfather was a gifted photographer and artist, and he always showed his eldest granddaughter the different ways she could capture photographs with a camera. He showed her many films of photographs he captured around the country, and she would stare in awe at the differing scenery, from a river with many rowboats in it to an open field flush with crops and flowers. He even drew her some of her favourite pictures that she had hung on the walls in her room.

Neither of her grandparents knew about Jacob’s disappearance, just to spare them from the heartbreak their daughter was going through.

She unfolded a photograph now that she kept in her pocket of her robes--one of their grandfather with Jacob, herself, and her little sister sitting together on the couch in their house. All of them were wearing t-shirts and shorts--given the hot summers in China, it was most appropriate. She gently touched the face of her grandfather in the photograph, her heart pounding at the thought that he would never be around to see them again, never see Jacob as a grown man out of the Cursed Vaults, never see their granddaughters ever again...

The tears stung in her swollen red eyes now, and she had to take her glasses off to properly wipe the tears away.

“Clara, I’m sorry, alright? I had no idea, honest!”

Jae. Why did he follow her outside? She glanced up through the haze of tears to see the yellow blob walk up to her and sit beside her. He glanced at the photo in her hand and frowned.

“That’s your grandfather?” he asked her.

Clara nodded mutely. “Yes. And that’s my brother, and myself, and...”

“Your little sister?”

Shoot.

“Yes.”

“Huh.” He took the still photo and frowned at it. “Never thought Muggles would think to have still pictures around the house. Never thought you’d have a Muggle photo in your pocket, either.”

“Jae, this is...serious, alright? Non-negotiable if you’re thinking of buying it,” Clara snapped somewhat, folding the photo again and putting it back in her pocket. “It’s just...the news came too suddenly. First my brother, now my grandpa...”

She buried her head in her arms, curling herself up into a ball by the wall. What she didn’t expect then was for Jae to put a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not very good at touchy-feely stuff, but...he sounds like an amazing person, Clara,” Jae told her fondly. “Come on, he wouldn’t want you crying. He had a great life.”

“A life that ended with illness. I could have been there for him!” she cried. “I just wanted to see him one more time...”

“But he’ll be watching you either way, right? Does he know about your brother?”

“No.”

“Well, he’ll want you to live your life to the fullest. And I understand we just met, but...” Jae scrunched his face up in thought. “I do, too.”

“You do what?”

“Want you to live your life to the fullest. Find your brother. Solve the mystery of the Cursed Vaults. Do your best in everything.”

Admittedly, Jae wasn’t her first choice in breaking these news to. She’d rather have it be Rowan to notice her strange behaviour today, or Barnaby, or...no, not Merula. Anyone she knew like the back of her hand would understand her best. But at least Jae was able to help her somewhat. She felt some of the emotional burden rise from her shoulders, and she let a small sad smile slip.

“There we go.” Jae smiled back at her and helped her clean her glasses with the hem of his yellow hoodie. “Now I think Pitts is still waiting on a few sandwiches before dinner tonight. Better get going before he makes us scrub the pots and pans.”

“I guess so.” She stood up and followed Jae back to the kitchens.

Somewhere behind her, she could feel a slight breeze behind her, and she thought she heard her grandfather’s whisper in the wind.

“起来，勇敢的林星慧。”

And she will be.