Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon or anything associated with the Inheritance Cycle. Story and chapter titles are from the song "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse.
Claimer: I, SussieKitten, own this plot and the story. Borrow or steal my plot, my original characters (Aksel) or story and I will report you. I also own my version of Thorn/Saphira/Shruikan/Glaedr's human appearances.
Warnings: Male homosexuality. Female homosexuality. Heterosexuality. Swearing or strong language. Supernatural creatures – there will be mainly elves (immortals), dragons (drakes), dwarves, vampires and werewolves (weres) in this. Hurt/Injuries – meaning that some people are going to get hurt. Mentions of poisoning. Mentions of ill intentions towards humans and humanoid creatures. Obvious bias against humanoid species. Politics. If any of this disturbs you, click on the "back" button. I won't tolerate any flames.
The bold words are how some creatures are generally referred to in this story.
A/N Welcome to a shiny new story! This story came to me a few months ago, absolutely at the wrong time, but it demanded to be written. I haven't finished it yet, but I have a few chapters written out, so I felt comfortable with sharing some with you guys.
This is in no way an attempt to make up for my prolonged silence. Of course it isn't. *cough*
A few notes about this story, though. This will be hints of Paolini's magic blended with mythological creatures and a bit of my own tweaking. There will be talk of mates in this one, as well as eventual mating. Also note a clear mentioning of mpreg. As per usual when we're dealing with my stories, there'll be lots and lots of angst. More importantly, there will be a lot of political shenanigans and bias against, literally, other races/species. Some of this might be sensitive or graphic. I will put it in the warning list when it's mentioned, in case someone is sensitive to especially derogatory language and actions.
I will be adding vocabulary, for when it is needed, and special notes at the end of each chapter. There are things happening behind the scenes that might clear things up. I'll be adding this. Mostly I explain dynamics, new words and, possibly, how certain biases work.
On a side note; look out for some unusual pairings. Consider Restricted Access my warm-up when it came to pairings. I like to dabble around a bit; try out new things. Hopefully I won't scare you all away. Everything has its reasons; even weird pairings.
Part One; Exorcize the Demons from Your Past
There were days when Murtagh wondered how people had dealt with the first few years of living in a new, creature-filled world. His great-grandparents had been children when the world had changed by all sorts of creatures revealing themselves and demanding a rightful place in the world. His grandparents had been raised at the height of the prejudice against the 'half-breeds'.
Murtagh liked to believe that children of today were a bit more open-minded. Alagaësia was a different place now. The CMBRA – the Creatures and Mythological Beings' Rights Act – had finally been passed ten years ago. He knew today's society wasn't perfect, but he also knew that their generation were given a kinder view of creatures than he had been.
The cause hadn't mattered much to Murtagh. He believed in equality; always had and always would. As long as someone wasn't a murderous lunatic, he thought they deserved a chance.
His father had not been of a similar mind. Murtagh knew that was why it had hurt Morzan's pride so much when Morzan had been bitten.
Murtagh had gone over the memories many times. He remembered the reports of slaughtered animals and attacks on humans, all in their neighbourhood. He remembered staying clear of the topic with his father, not wanting to hear him rage about what he referred to as 'the scum of the earth'.
Later, when he thought back, Murtagh remembered that Morzan had been strangely quiet in those last few months of his life. The headlines and news reports hadn't upset him. It had taken an argument with their neighbour to finally shake him up.
The day of the argument had been on the day of the full moon. Murtagh had gone over there after dark, to try to square things over with their neighbour. In the process, he had prevented a murder, watched his father get shot to death and had gotten the werewolf curse.
He had been fifteen.
Now, seven years later, Murtagh had gotten his life back into order. After getting kicked out of his seventh foster home at eighteen, he had moved out of Uru'baen. He had no immediate family, no real friends to speak of. Morzan had forbidden him from forming any permanent connections.
Living on the other side of the country, working to fill up his days, Murtagh almost felt at peace. He had friends, a place to call his own. Someday soon he might even get a degree and a better job.
Most days were rough, especially those leading up to and just after the full moon, but he knew how to cope.
He told no one what he really was.
"Not this again." Nasuada sighed. "You would think we had gotten past this."
Murtagh didn't need to ask what she was referring to. He could hear the television's tinny tones even from all over across the diner. People were talking around him, but he blocked it out. Once he heard what the ruckus was about, he blocked out the TV too.
"There will always be bigots in the world," Thorn said.
"It's been a decade since the CMBRA got through."
"The Church still rattle against gay marriage, even though that's been legalised for almost twenty," Thorn countered.
Nasuada pushed her bangs out of her eyes. "It still sickens me. This new Bill doesn't seem to make it any better for the Beings out there."
Murtagh tried to stay out of the media. Really, he did. As a werewolf – or were, depending on who you talked to – it didn't matter to him that he wasn't allowed to marry outside of his 'species'. A were had one mate and one mate only. If he never met them, there was no issue if he wasn't allowed to be with them or that their joining wouldn't be recognised as anything other than a common-law marriage. Because the odds of his other half being a werewolf were slim to none, why would he even bother?
"They have their own marriages, hand-fastings or whatever it is they do or call it. A government-sanctioned marriage is just one more form to fill out," he said.
Nasuada and Thorn looked at him. Murtagh didn't as much as blink.
"It matters a lot to me," Thorn said tightly.
"You're a Drake. You can, literally, only procreate with another Drake," Murtagh said and took another bite of his eggs. "So what if the government would be a dick about your marriage? As long as you're happy, they can go and fuck themselves."
"It matters because we won't get the same benefits as a human couple," he growled. "If one of us were to die, the same laws wouldn't apply. We would be screwed out of what's rightfully ours."
Nasuada put a hand on Thorn's shoulder. It looked impossibly small sitting there.
"Calm down, both of you," she said. Murtagh almost wanted to object. He was perfectly calm. "This is not the place or the time for this talk."
"We're not having this talk again," Thorn said and got up. He put down enough money to cover his tab and then stalked out of there before he even finished buttoning his coat.
Nasuada looked away, giving Murtagh a disappointed look.
Suddenly the eggs tasted like ash. Murtagh pushed away his plate and got up.
He shook his head. "I'll call you later." He grabbed his jacket and left, his share lying neatly next to Thorn's.
The chill seemed impossibly deep when he left the pub. Murtagh shouldered on his jacket roughly and walked off.
Days passed without him hearing from his friends. Murtagh knew he had it coming, but it still hurt.
They felt different about the cause, he knew that. Thorn was passionate in all things. He involved himself in something more often than he didn't. Murtagh preferred to stand back and appear neutral. Even Nasuada, human as she was, was more involved than him.
This time, he wondered if he hadn't gone a little too far. Murtagh didn't have many friends. He exchanged the occasional snark with Vanir at work, but it wasn't the same. Besides, Vanir was an Immortal, as the elves called themselves. Immortals stuck to themselves.
Murtagh looked over at Vanir. The guy was talking – or more likely drawling – at a customer. He could just see the tip of the woman's pointed ears. Another Immortal, then. Vanir rarely talked to anyone unless they were a fellow Immortal, even more rarely if they were just another other Being or human.
He hid himself behind a shelf and fished out his wallet. The library was relatively quiet now, with it being so close to closing time. He could spare a few minutes.
Murtagh knew he had been lucky to land a job at the library. The CMBRA protected him from a lot of discriminations, but he, like vampires, would never be able to work in the way of food or drink. The field was still investigating how the werewolf and vampire viruses worked. Until that was determined, their species wouldn't be allowed to work in certain industries.
But not even the CMBRA had managed to protect him from the new ID cards. Ever since the creatures had come out, they had been forced to register and always be able to identify themselves. His card therefore stated his name (Murtagh Morzansson), his birthdate, his address, his species (werewolf) and his status (infected).
Murtagh hated his ID card with a fierce passion. Had he been human, the status would simply have listed any existing allergies or simply been blank.
"Are you going to stand here all day?"
Murtagh slipped the card back into his wallet and put it away. He didn't even bother replying to Vanir's snark.
He left before his co-worker could say anything else.
Murtagh walked past Thorn's building every day to work. It was large, not large enough to contain Thorn in his Drake form but larger than most buildings around it. It was an all-Being complex.
Murtagh couldn't afford even the smallest apartment in such a building. They were all sleekly designed and equipped with the latest security system and identification-locks. That alone was half of the rent. He had to make due in a Being accepted building that had seen better decades.
There was a reason his friends didn't know where he lived.
He could hear shouting even before he arrived at his floor. The elevator had never worked, not as long as he had lived there. Murtagh doubted it had worked in ages.
Mrs Hernandez, his neighbour, was screaming at her son again. Murtagh didn't have to focus his senses to know what they were arguing about. He had been witness to the same match every time her son came to visit, roughly every other weekend. Ector didn't want his mother living in a building with 'dangerous creatures that could rip her to shreds'. He didn't want to have to go through the court orders if that happened, 'her inheritance be damned'.
Mrs Hernandez, however, refused to move out even though her building had been 'overrun by filthy creatures, as she had lived there first'.
He loved his neighbours, truly. They were such a lovely bunch.
Murtagh unlocked his door and went inside. The screaming was slightly muffled, but it didn't mean squat when his senses were already sharpened. Judging from the volume, Ector was roughly fifteen minutes away from storming out. Then there would only be Mrs Hernandez, her yippy dog and her shows.
That, at least, was quieter than the screaming.
The couple in the apartment below were breaking up again. Murtagh thought they were human, but he couldn't be sure. What he did know was that they broke up every other month like clockwork. They ignored each other for roughly a week, but every weekend, without failure, they would make up again and have sex almost until dawn.
Murtagh made sure to spend most of those nights roaming the streets. The sounds wouldn't have disturbed him as much if the couple had been two men or they had been quieter. As it were, he had to listen to the woman squeal and moan theatrically while they both said the filthiest and weirdest things to each other.
Ignoring their yelling made him think about other things, like how he hadn't talked to his friends in a week. Murtagh knew he owed them both an apology, but he also knew that he was entitled to his own opinions.
None of this would have happened if they knew he was a werewolf, but Murtagh refused to think about that.
He would rather listen to Ms Take-It-Up-Your-Ass-You-Filthy-Pig and Mr Shut-Up-You-Stupid-Whore go at it all night long.
"There's a female at the desk for you."
Murtagh pretended to be very interested in putting Chemistry for Dummies in its rightful place. There was only one person that could be.
"Not going to say hello to your girlfriend?"
"Fuck off, Vanir."
"It's alright. I can take it from here."
Murtagh stared hard at the thick Advanced Chemistry text in his hand. He wondered what the odds were of braining himself with it.
It was just the two of them, now. Vanir hadn't even stuck around to eavesdrop. Murtagh could clearly hear him walking away.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly.
Seeing as it was the final days before the full moon, he really wasn't. Werewolves were either ridiculously healthy or sickly. Word on the street was that an infected were was more likely to be a weaker wolf than a born were. Murtagh knew it probably wasn't true, but that didn't stop him from being one of the sickly ones.
While he was healthier than a normal human, he was sicker than the average werewolf. And now, before as well as after the full moon, was when he looked the sickest.
"I'm fine." He put away the last text and turned to face her.
Nasuada had her arms crossed over her chest. Right, the chances of her believing him were slim, then.
"You look dead on your feet. Did you sleep at all last night?"
"I did, actually." If anything, he had probably slept too much.
Murtagh waited. Hopefully, if he didn't suddenly faint from exhaustion, she would let it go. For now.
"Why haven't you called us?" Thank God.
"I figured Thorn didn't want to hear from me until he cooled down."
"It's been a week." She put a hand on his arm. It felt impossibly warm compared to his skin, even through the fabric.
"I was a bit of a dick." He shrugged.
Nasuada gave a weak smile. "A bit, yes. But he will forgive you if you talk to him."
"Murtagh." She shook her head. "Promise me you'll talk to him."
"Fine. I promise."
But that wasn't happening until next week, when the full moon was over and Murtagh was of a right mind again.
Well, as right as it could get, anyway.
The problem with transforming was that it hurt like a motherfucker. Murtagh had gotten used to acute senses. They were fine.
Bones breaking and elongating? No, that was still a bitch. Skin stretching and tearing? No, he'd rather be without that. Organs literally rearranging themselves inside of him? Fuck, no, why?
It wasn't too bad when the actual transformation was over. Murtagh knew he was one of the saner werewolves. He was himself when he transformed. There was no stress or external forces that make him go rogue. Most rogue werewolves were already fucked up as humans or had lost their mate for some reason or another.
As long as he stayed away from people, that would never happen to him.
The complex had several rooms in the basement where werewolves could shift. Murtagh was currently the only werewolf in the building. The room kept him contained. As long as he cleaned up after himself, he was even allowed to bring entertainment.
Entertainment always consisted of raw food for the wolf, something for his human stomach, clothes and a blanket. Sometimes he grabbed a paperback. As long as he was contained, he wouldn't even think about doing any harm.
But that didn't mean he treasured the experience. Not at all.
The full moon week was particularly rough that month. He still hadn't talked to Thorn and hadn't been able to leave the apartment at all during the three days the moon was at its fullest.
He didn't feel particularly well the third day after the full moon, but he knew he had to go to work.
He hurried past Thorn's building on the way there. He really didn't need another reminder of why his life was fucked up.
Things were remarkably slow that morning. Murtagh thanked whatever Gods were out there for the silence. Despite having put on a thicker jumper than normal, his hands were still shaking and he couldn't quite get warm. If he hadn't known any better, he would have suspected silver poisoning.
"You sure you should be at work looking like that?"
Murtagh put all his energy and then some into glaring at Vanir. It must have worked, as he visibly startled.
"With all due respect, Vanlandersson; fuck the hell off," he snapped.
Vanir looked sceptical. Well, he looked more sceptical than normal. Even the Gods had to know that Vanir had three default expressions; sceptical, annoyed and smug.
"You sure someone didn't slip you some wolfsbane?"
Murtagh visibly flinched. No, he had prepared his meals himself over the past few days. And unless someone had tempered with his cell, which he would have noticed, there was no way he could have ingested or been exposed to the plant.
"Why would I care if anyone slipped me wolfsbane?"
"Because it's a highly toxic plant," Vanir drawled, "doubly so for someone like you."
He froze. He had told no one, no one, what he was. Even though he was required to state his species at job interviews so they could double-check, there was no way anyone could have looked at those records.
"What do you mean, someone like me?" That wasn't his voice. That wasn't panic in his voice.
"Oh, please." Vanir rolled his eyes. "This is clearly not your first choice of job as you appear to be educated enough for other type of work, which means you are exposed to prejudice. The most likely prejudice, though there are others, would be that you aren't fully human. If you add in that you look like hell around every full moon, it takes no genius to connect the dots."
He was going to puke.
"I'm surprised you've hid it this long. Although, judging by the look on your face, I would guess you've made sure to be scarce around your friends until you look presentable again. Well," he looked Murtagh up and down, "more presentable."
And suddenly he didn't feel as sick anymore. Well, he didn't just feel sick.
"I'm going to murder you," he growled.
"Well, at least you look like yourself now." Vanir fished out his wallet and pulled out a card. He shoved it into Murtagh's palm. "You should see a Witch, just in case. This woman is good, though a bloody menace. I suppose she's earned the right to be."
Murtagh blinked at him.
"Nice chat. We should do this more often."
And just like that, he was gone.
Murtagh hadn't meant to go. He didn't know Vanir at all. They hadn't worked together long. If he recognised Murtagh as a fellow Being, then he probably wasn't trying to troll him. Probably.
But he still hadn't meant to actually go to the witch's shop.
Murtagh fixed his statement as soon as he entered the store. The wind-chime over the door said 'wiccan', not 'witch'. Any Being worth his salt knew the difference. 'Wiccan' meant healing and spiritual guidance. 'Witch' meant spells and the occasional darker magic.
He let the sights, sounds and smells wash over him. There was a scent of lavender lingering in the air, just bordering on overpowering. He could see concoctions, labelled jars, odd items and spellcraft on the shelves. He felt a tingle of warding magic when he took another step into the room.
The store itself was empty. There was no one behind the register, though he could see a dark doorway shadowed by strands of beads.
He discovered the source of the lavender on the register. The bowl of incense was still smoking gently.
"Welcome to Angela's shop."
The beads tinkled softly as a woman stepped out from the adjoining room. Even if she hadn't identified herself, Murtagh would have placed her as the owner. She carried a lumpy pouch in her belt, strings drawn just tight enough that Murtagh couldn't smell its content. He recognised the protection charms on her necklaces, the healing and spirit runes on her wrists.
"How can Angela be of help?"
Murtagh fisted his hands in his pockets, trying to pull the sweater tighter against his skin. He still felt just a touch too cold.
"Vanir recommended you."
Angela barked a laugh. "Either he doesn't like you or he ran out of options."
Comforting, he thought.
"Probably the first one."
Angela grew serious. She stepped out from behind the counter and looked at him from head to toe. "Were, bitten less than a decade ago. You're having trouble sleeping or resting properly."
There was something nagging at the back of his mind, but he pushed it back. "How did you know?"
"I make it my business to know these things." She crossed her arms and did another sweeping glance. "Also, Sol told me all I needed to know."
There was a hiss from the debts of the shop.
Angela smirked. "My familiar. He never did like my were customers."
Familiars never did. A familiar, no matter if it was partnered with a wiccan or witch, was usually feline, and a were was always a wolf.
"Has your scar been aching?"
Murtagh shook his head. "No. But I do feel weaker and can't get warm."
"Were you bitten or scratched?"
He blinked. "Does that matter?"
She crocked an eyebrow.
Well, that told him everything he needed to know. Not. "Scratched."
Morzan had taken a long swing at him that night. His lower back had a long scar almost across the entire width of his frame. It was just high enough that his preferred pants wouldn't cover it. The few people he had slept with hadn't seen his back; he'd made sure of that.
"Have you eaten anything suspicious since you noticed these symptoms?"
"No. It happened right after the full moon. I would have smelled it if anyone tried to poison me."
Angela pursed her lips. "Come with me."
She led him back to her back room. The hissing got louder when he entered the room.
"Solembum, behave," she said firmly.
The hissing stopped, but Murtagh could still smell the familiar. He, as it was definitely a male, was still in the room.
Angela sat down at the round table in the middle of the room. There was no crystal ball there, though Murtagh had almost expected one. There was, however, a shallow bowl and three stacks of cards. There was also a teapot, two cups and a board of some sort in the middle of the table.
"Take a seat."
Murtagh did, watching as she put away the board and the bowl, but left the rest. She pulled out a mortar and several herbs from the shelves surrounding them. Angela did everything precisely. She didn't fetch a measurer of any sort. Murtagh could tell she had done this enough times to have the moves memorized.
After adding a pinch or so of every herb, she poured in some water from the tap in the room. She stirred it until Murtagh could smell all the herbs combining into something else entirely.
"Give me a finger on your non-dominant hand."
Murtagh held out his right hand.
Angela was quick as lighting. He didn't have a chance to react before she nicked the pad of his middle finger with a ceremonial dagger.
"Motherf-" He cut himself off.
She gave him an amused look. She grabbed his hand and let three drops fall into the mixture.
"There are bandages by the tap. Feel free to grab one."
Murtagh walked past her to grab one. He felt the familiar more strongly now, but the feline didn't hiss at him again.
He walked back to the table, band-aid in place, and tried to guess what she was thinking. Her eyes were downcast, hidden by the heavy curls of her hair.
"There are no toxins in your blood," she said and looked at him. "Your symptoms are being caused by something that belongs in your body."
"Great. You're saying I have cancer or something."
"No." Her voice was firm. "Lycanthropy makes you immune to diseases much in the same way as vampirism. It is more likely that it's the lycanthropy that is causing all this."
"How? I've lived with this for seven years."
"I've seen this in weres that were infected in their childhood." Angela carried the mortar over to the sink and rinsed it. "How old were you when it happened?"
Murtagh looked away, but there was little else to focus on in the room. "Fifteen."
"The human body generally stops growing when the host is at eighteen to twenty years of age." Angela returned without the mortar, drying her hands on a towel. "Lycanthropes age at a slower rate than normal humans. It would explain why this is happening to you now."
"What do you mean?"
"While the body is growing, the lycanthrope virus grows to adapt to the body. A larger body needs a larger quantity of lycanthropy cells to sustain the wolf. When your body stops growing, the virus isn't used to the new pace yet. It will continue to multiply until your body gets it under control, or you succumb to it."
Suddenly he was having trouble breathing. "So I can die from this?"
Angela scoffed. "You could get run over tomorrow. Simply breathing means that you're slowly dying. Death is a part of life; get used to it."
Murtagh clenched his jaw.
She clicked her tongue. "Yes, it could kill or severely mentally impair you. If your father had lived he would have been fined, if not sent to prison. There is a harsh sentence for forcing the bite a minor, much more so than an adult. You yourself are experiencing why."
"An adult has a greater chance of survival," he said to himself. "Great. So I should just start writing up my will, then."
She crocked an eyebrow. "Do you have a mate yet?"
"You should consider looking, then." She grabbed one of the decks and started to shuffle the cards. "A mate is someone who can look after both you and the wolf."
"Or I'd just leave them behind when my mind breaks or I die."
She flashed a quick smirk. "Your mind could break entirely, the wolf could take over, or you could die. Or you could live and it's all thanks to the person standing beside you."
Murtagh crossed his arms over his chest. "No thanks."
"Don't hack it till you try it, kid." She started laying out the cards. "There's an herbal tea you should try to boost your immune system. It's right behind the counter, second shelf from the top. Blue box. Leave the money on the counter before you go."
"And why should I get it?"
She looked at him through her bangs. "Because you don't want to die."
Murtagh left before she could say anything else.
If he grabbed a box and left her a tenner, well, then it was just a coincidence.
A/N And that was the first chapter. I currently have 2 more finished, and hopefully quite a few plot bunnies lying in wait. I know how to make this story work; I just need to write it.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. There is more to come.
Before I go, have a few notes about the story and its background. Beware; it can be quite a mouthful.
This universe is very "realistic" in that I'm addressing prejudice against species and political BS that is relevant when it comes to creatures and magical beings. Relevant creatures are werewolves, vampires, elves, dragons and witches/warlocks.
Special Author Notes:
Vanir Vanlandersson - In this world, female elves take the name of their mother while male elves take the name of their father. As Vanir's father is unknown, I dug a little into Norse mythology and tried to find a name. I focused on Vanes, a group of gods that existed in Norse mythology, because "Vanes" or "Vane" can be written in several ways, one of them which is "Vanir". Vanlander is adapted from Vanlandi. Vandlandi is said to be the son of a king and a Vane.
The theory of bitten versus born, werewolf edition – What Angela says in this chapter says it all, but I'll repeat it in case someone has questions. A bitten werewolf will always be weaker than a born werewolf, as their bodies have had to fight against the infection (the lycanthropy virus). A born werewolf will never have these problems. Sometimes, especially if someone very young is bitten, the body has to fight so hard that the werewolf manages to pull through only due to something of a small miracle. Death because of too much strain on the body is an unfortunatly common event when it comes to lycanthropy.
ID cards – These are mandatory. They will always state your name, your birthdate, your species and any afflictions you might be exposed to. With a human it would be a rare blood-type, a long-lasting disease or an allergy. With werewolves or vampires, it will state whether or not the individual was born this way or has been bitten later in life.
Prejudice against werewolves; werewolves are considered very dangerous. They can't work with food or drink because they don't know if the werewolf "virus" could spread through food. They can only live in "creature sanctioned" building; aka buildings that are equipped to handle a werewolf transformation. They have to go into special cells and transform there every full moon. They are only allowed to marry other werewolves. Marriages with another "species" would be considered invalid in the eyes of the government. Because of this, a lot of benefits married couples get aren't available to inter-species couples. To explain it simply, it's the same as married vs. couples living together without being married (cohabitation).
Prejudice against vampires; it's asically the same as werewolves. The building thing here is because vampires can go rogue and kill people, much in the same way as werewolves could. So they need reinforced walls in their apartments so that they can't break out if they have an episode.
Prejudice against immortals/elves; elves can work in whatever profession they wish. Their species is probably the one that is the least frowned upon, which is funny since most witches and warlocks are human. Generally they are seen as snobby and antisocial. They rarely, if ever, marry outside of their own species, so they aren't bothered by the marriage law. A lot of the prejudice with elves actually comes from within, as elves that marry and have children with, say, humans, are seen as less than an elf that marries another elf. They are usually shunned from the rest of the community.
Prejudice against drakes; drakes are also required to live in specially sanctioned buildings, because of their dragon form. Because they can only marry and procreate with other drakes, they don't have as much prejudice against them as other creatures. On the other hand, they are seen as very animalistic and people have questioned if they should be considered a humanoid race at all.
Prejudice against witches/warlocks; because of their magic, there are a lot of jobs those with magic can't have. They can't work in the government, in the police, in law or politics in general. This is because "normal people" are afraid that they will use their magic to influence others into doing what they want, not what is right. Usually witches/wiccans and warlocks/wizards ends up in the medical circle or selling products related to or made with their magic. The former is allowed as long as it is government sanctioned.