Being a Millenial is living in a world full of hardships you didn't create; you're just thrown in and told to deal with it. On occasion, some Baby Boomer will place the blame on you.
Native American land makes up sovereign, independent nations, and we have no right to build on their territory or potentially ruin it with an epic, probably inevitable oil spill. We have ruined Native Americans' way of life enough, don't contribute to their cultural suffering. The public commenting on DAPL is now open, so write a letter protecting our First Nation people: http://www.yesmagazine.org/people-power/dont-let-trump-distract-you-public-comment-on-dapl-is-now-open-20170125
To My Native American Mutuals/Betareaders/Translators
Thank you for collaborating with me, and helping me to write this fic. Thank you for your time, your effort, and your patience with me. I love you.
@istamaza
@unwarie
@young-soul-rebel
@trails-of-tears
@baapi-makwa
@chiefladybirdart
@apachefangirl1
To My HP/FBAWTFT Universe Consultant
Thanks for weaning me off my addiction to the Oxford Comma, and for answering all the questions about the HP universe I didn’t know I had.
@asktina
pottermore.com
To My Fellow White People,
As some of you know, I’ve been working on a Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts fan fiction over the course of the past few weeks. This fic is the product of a collaboration between me, and several mutuals who are members of the Native American community on tumblr. I started writing it because after JK began expanding the HP universe into the US, I (like many others) noticed she’d used a lot of lore from Native American cultures, but had included almost no NA characters. While all this was still unfolding, one of my [white] friends irl said that: “this [JKs appropriation] is why writers should only write about white characters. It’s just less of a hassle.”
I didn’t respond for 30 seconds because...you guys probably know why.
So, anyway, I was partially motivated to write and post this fic as a giant “FUCK YOU” to my [former] friend. I was also motivated by the fact that, in the wake of 400 years of NA oppression (more specifically the revival of DAPL by Lord Dampnut), there shouldn’t be any questions about whether or not we “want” stories about NA characters. We NEED stories about NA characters; and to create them, we shouldn’t feel self-conscious about asking NA writers and artists for help. It’s not our culture. Most of us have never been within 10 miles of a reservation. We never learned about NA history or culture outside of the movie Pocahontas. We can still write good NA characters. We just have to do our homework. I hope this fic helps teach some of my fellow creators/writers how to do that.
Without further ado, here is the Prologue to my fic.
And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder... and I looked, and behold, a pale horse; And the name of him who rode it was death; And hell followed with him.
-The Book of Revelation
They traveled together under cover of nightfall; about a dozen of them. All experienced aurors, wands drawn, walking through the wild South Dakota winter.
Their leader was a young man by the name of Jensen. He’d been an auror for more than a decade. He was about 30 years old, tall, with blonde hair and stony grey eyes that now scanned the snowy horizon around them.
As the aurors walked into the No-Maj camp, a lone figure hobbled over. An old man with a winter coat and long greying hair, looked at them with dark eyes.
“Hello, can I help you?” he asked.
The Aurors looked at Jensen, who seemed unfazed. He looked somewhat contemptuously at the No-Maj standing before them.
“We are looking for Azubah Wakina, also known as Ten-Wands.”
The old man’s face shifted into a suspicious expression. “What do you want with the Akicita1? Are you from the government? This is a place of prayer. You people aren’t welcome.”
Several aurors raised their wands, but Jensen stopped them and addressed the elder.
“What can we offer you?” he asked.
The elder grimaced in disgust. “Are you trying to bribe me? I’m sorry young man, you’ll have to take your search elsewhere.” He turned and began to walk away from the aurors.
Jensen raised his wand. “Imperio.”
The elder froze. His face went blank.
“Show us where Ten Wands is,” said Jensen, coldly.
The Elder turned around, and shuffled forward out of the camp. The aurors followed.
Up on a hill, overlooking the rest of the camp, was a tipi.
Jensen motioned to the other Aurors. “Chaput, Boot, you come with me. Everyone else, surround the tent, draw your wands, be ready for my signal.”
Chaput took the Elder gently by the arm and pointed his wand at the old man’s neck. The three aurors entered the tent, Jensen at the front, then Boot, and Chaput with the Elder bringing up the rear.
A white-haired woman sat in front of the fire. Several eagle tail feathers hung from a braid down her back. Eleven wands were showcased in a stand that hung from the Tipi walls, along with a shield, a spear, and a broomstick that looked as though it had never been used 2.
The woman seemed to sense that someone had entered. She looked up from the fire, and without turning towards the aurors, spoke in Lakota.
“Is something wrong, brother?”
Jensen raised his wand. “Azubah Wakina, also known as Ten Wands?”
The woman turned to them and smiled slightly. “Hello, how sweet of you to visit an old woman like me.”
Boot raised his wand, his hand shaking. “Stay back.”
The old woman rose from her seat. She seemed slightly amused at Boot’s fearfulness.
“Before you take me away to face your congress, may I ask how you found me?”
Jensen motioned to Chaput, who pushed the elder forward. The elder’s eyes were glassy, and he looked confused and dazed.
Azubah’s face fell into a look of horror. Jensen smiled.
“Azubah Wakina, You’re under arrest for violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Any resistance on your part will be warrent a death sentance. Do you understand?”
Azubah ignored him, walking forward, and steadying the elder with one hand on his shoulder. She then looked past him at the aurors, her black eyes blazing.
“Do any of you have any shame for what you have done?”
The fire in the tipi suddenly dimmed. For the first time, Jensen’s face fell into a look of apprehension. Boot looked utterly terrified.
“S-stay back,” he stammered.
Azubah looked at him, and smiled. Suddenly, the fire in the tipi went out. There was a creaking and a great roar. The Tipi was ripped off it’s hinges, and immediately disappeared into the winter wind.
Multiple flashes of light exploded into the snowy air.
“STUPEFY”
“EXPELLIARMUS”
Several aurors screamed as a crack rang out.
In the thick falling snow and the mercilessly chilly wind, none of the aurors could see.
“WHERE IS SHE?” shouted Chaput, before he doubled over, hit by a stunning spell in the stomach.
Jensen lowered his wand. He knew that No-Maj from the camp would be arriving soon to investigate the noise. Azubah Wakina was gone, and the elder was nowhere in sight.
“FALL BACK!” he shouted, his words ripped away by the wind roaring over the plain.
Back at the camp, there was another crack. An elder suddenly appeared in front of the hospital tent, dazed, cold, and confused. Clutched in his hand was the eagle feather that had hung from the old woman’s braid.
Hundreds of miles away, in a log cabin in Arizona’s Mogollon Rim, retired Auror Misko Stone was sleeping in front of a typewriter. It was about 2:00 in the morning. In the cabin’s large stone fireplace, several large embers glowed.
All of a sudden, there was a crack. Misko started awake, his wand drawn. Standing in front of the fire was a white haired woman, covered in snow.
Misko lowered his wand in shock.
“...Akicita? What—”
Azubah smiled, “Hello, young one. how are you?”
Misko was utterly taken aback. “I’m well, I...wasn’t expecting…” his voice dropped off.
Azubah smiled a toothless smile, “Of course you weren’t. How is your story?” She looked past Misko at the typewriter on the desk. Misko looked at the blank piece of paper in the machine and sighed.
“It’s going...fine. I’m supposed to be compiling an outline for Kanuna. She’s more of a storyteller, and her memory is better than mine in my age.”
Azubah looked completely unimpressed. Misko sensed her disdain and changed the subject.
“So, what brings you this far southwest?”
Azubah gave him a piercing glance, “I’m almost a hundred and fifty years old, boy, I think I’ve earned the right to come and go where I please.”
Misko smiled. “True,” he said. He suddenly glanced down at the pile of newspapers sitting by the fire. “Have you been reading the No-Maj newspapers recently?”
Azubah shook her head. “Why would I? It’s all on their machines now. Can’t stand it.”
Misko looked troubled. “They’ve been writing about this...pipeline...in the Dakotas.”
“They want to build a black snake through which they can transport poison across our land; across our waterways. The No-Maj government has stepped in using ice water and hot lead. I’ve been...monitoring things.”
Misko chuckled. “MACUSA must love that. Why are you here now?”
Azubah paused. The chaos, horror, and cold of the skirmish at Standing Rock suddenly washed over her. She was exhausted.
Misko seemed to sense this. “Akicita?”
Azubah pressed a hand to her forehead. “Is there a place I can sit?” she asked.
Misko jumped out of his seat. “Of course,” he pulled a chair from beside the fireplace. Azubah collapsed into it. Misko grabbed his wand. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Cocoa? Giggle Water?”
Azubah winced. “Anything but Giggle Water, it makes my head spin.”
Misko waved his wand. The iron stove in the corner lit itself, and a kettle full of water floated down from a shelf and situated itself over the flame. With another flick of Misko’s wand, a blanket from another seat by the fire unfolded itself, and wrapped itself around Azubah’s shoulders.
Misko turned back to Azubah. “We should get you out of your wet clothes. I know Joel has some extra things in the bedroom, I’m just worried they might be a little big.”
“That’s fine, Misko. Thank you.” Azubah murmured.
Misko ran into the small bedroom that sat adjacent to the living room and began to rifle through a chest of drawers. In the queen size bed in the corner of the room, another man, about Misko’s age, stirred. His hair was long and grey, his face was covered in scars, and his nose looked as though it had been broken at some point in the past.
“Misko? What’appening?” said the man, sleepily.
“It’s the Akicita, don’t worry.” muttered Misko, and then he paused. “Joel, where do you keep your flannel again?”
“Top drawer,” said Joel. “Did you say the Akicita was here?” he opened his eyes, “What happened?”
Misko nodded. “Yea, she arrived about 15 minutes ago. She’s in a pretty bad way, I don’t know what happened yet. She’s in the living room.”
Joel roused himself, and climbed out of bed. Misko followed him, a pair of flannel pajamas in his arms.
When Misko and Joel entered the living room, Azubah was still sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, with a weary look on her face. Joel raised his hand.
“Hau Akicita, mačhante čhetetanhan 3.” he said, greeting Azubah in Lakota.
Azubah smiled, “I knew I could count on a proper welcome from my southern brother.” She looked at the two men apologetically, “I’m sorry to bother you so late.”
Misko shook his head. “Don’t be silly, I got you some clothes from the bedroom.”
Azubah chuckled, “That’s very sweet of you, Misko. You really have mellowed in your old age, even if your memory has waned as much as you say.”
Misko opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. He bit his tongue. Azubah chuckled.
Joel pulled up a chair and sat across from the old woman. “We’ve been following what’s been happening at Standing Rock. MACUSA released a statement a few days ago saying that Wizards weren’t allowed to interfere.”
Azubah let out a low, bitter laugh. “That sounds about right.”
Joel gave a tight smile. “Kanuna sent us an owl last week. Apparently, they’re watching her house. She’s gone to Tulsa to lie low for a while.”
Misko turned towards the fire, placing the flannels on the mantle. “I don’t understand why they would do this. Why now?”
Azubah looked at him, her brow furrowed, “Misko Awasajiw4 Stone, what I want to know is why you would be surprised by any of this.”
Misko stared defeatedly into the fire. “I thought things had changed, after everything we did...”
“Then your wishful thinking has blinded you.” snapped Azubah.
Joel rose from his seat, took the flannels from the mantle, and handed them to Azubah. In his right hand, he clutched his wand.
“Should I cast a fidelius charm?” he asked.
Azubah nodded, “Thank you, Joel.”
Before Joel left, he took Misko by the arm.
“Hey.” he whispered, gently.
Misko looked up at Joel. “Yea?”
“You’re the secret keeper,” said Joel.
“Okay,” murmured Misko.
As soon as Joel had exited the cabin armed with his wand, Misko walked slowly back to his desk and slumped into his chair.
Azubah looked back at the fire, wringing out her wet hair.
“Akicita?” murmured Misko.
Azubah looked back at him. “Yes, child?”
“Does it ever end? Ever?”
Azubah looked back towards the fire. “No,” she said, “and it makes remembering the past all the more important.”
There was a pause. The fire crackled. Shadows flickered on the ceiling, and Azubah sighed.
“When Tunkasila 5 called men out of the Black Hills, do you know what he gave them as their first gift? He told them the story of the world that came before them. He assured them that all would be well if they lived in harmony with the earth and with each other. But people are stupid. If they hear something they don’t like, then they do not listen. Both No-Maj and Wizards do this, as do white men, black men, and Indians.” 6 She paused. “Tunkasila is not here to tell us what we need to hear. So it’s up to us now.” She looked past Misko at the typewriter on the desk. “It is up to you, Misko.”
Misko looked down from the ceiling at the typewriter sitting in front of him.
Azubah quietly got up, took the flannels from the fireplace mantle and went to the bedroom to change. Misko barely noticed, just as he didn’t notice when Joel came in after casting the Fidelius charm and shuffled back to bed.
The fire flickered, the shadows danced on the walls, and the only noise punctuating the silence of the night was the sound of Miskos fingers pounding the typewriter keys.
1. Akicita is a Lakota title meaning 'Warrior' or 'Veteran'
2. Broomsticks are a European Wizarding invention, and Native American students are usually taught to use them at Ilvermorny. Ten Wands is a Native American Witch who never went to Ilvermorny. Most of the magic she uses (with the exception of a handful of European-style spells) was developed by her own tribe. Most of these spells can be cast without a wand. Ten Wands won her broomstick in a fight in the early 2000s, but has never learned how to use it.
3. Hau Akicita, mačhante čhetetanhan. --> “Hello Warrior, I greet you from my heart” translated using @istamaza‘s English-Lakota Dictionary.
4. Misko’s middle name, “Awasajiw,” is pronounced [uh-WAH-sa-JOO]. You can find a recording of it here.
5. “Tunkasila” means Grandfather in Lakota. It’s also what many Lakota speakers call God.
6. Thanks @istamaza for telling me this Lakota creation story.
Trump has violated the law and already executive ordered to advance the Dakota pipeline. At this rate, I hate the country I live in and I hate the people who voted for Trump, and I hate the media that decided to focus on Hillary Clinton’s fucking emails instead of the fact that the man has been accused of raping an underage girl and tricking people into his fake ass university.
