up to the max

She put her wine glass down, and rested her elbow on her knee, holding up her forearm. Max only had to flick her fingers a certain way for her glamours to fade. Dotted down Max's arm were four blue stars, slashed with thick red crosses. She looked at them sadly, then back at Theo, pursing her lips. Another flick of her fingers and the tattoos were no longer visible. "Just an old job." She replied, fully aware of the other information that would be available to the other witch.

Max scooped up her glass, resting it between her fingers and having another sip. She leaned back, meeting Theo's gaze. She smirked, then leaned forward to top up her wine.

Another opened bottle later, Max was starting to feel the familiar fuzzy fog in the back of her head, and she found herself shifting closer and closer to Theo, until their knees were touching, their foreheads only a whisper away as they giggled about something Max had already forgotten.

It was Theo who leaned in for the kiss- Max would go down swearing that. She didn't pull away at first, instead kissing her friend back, her free hand reaching to trace Theo's hair behind her ear. When Theo reached to put her hand on Max's knee, it was like a trance was broken. Max blinked, pulling back and placing her glass on the table with a little too much force.

Theo was taken by surprise, however, when Max silently lifted the glamours that hid a secret marked upon her flesh that Max did not want the world to know about. Theo let out a quiet gasp, fingertips darting up to rest on her lips, comprehending the scorched stars’ meaning immediately—to get marks like that, the hedge coven Max had worked with must have discovered her betrayal, and exiled her. But not before physically branding her a traitor, in a way that meant she’d never set foot in another safehouse for as long as she lived.

Which, knowing her friend’s dislike for hedges, was likely something Max wanted, anyway. But knowing hedges in the way that Theo, unfortunately, knew hedges—the trauma she’d spent half her life attempting to recover from, with debatable success—gave Theo a unique insight and empathy for Max, and she understood that whatever pain and humiliation Max had endured when they scorched her stars was most certainly only the tip of the iceberg of the punishment vindictive hedges would have doled out on her for double-crossing them.

Her eyes swam with emotion, her throat muscles tightened. “Oh, Max, I—I…” She didn’t know what was appropriate or tactful or professional enough to say in the moment, and the seconds that Theo stalled saw Max hiding the evidence from sight once more. ‘Just an old job’—was the feeble excuse that Max offered up as an endnote, case closed. But the insincerity of the words rang through Theo’s mind like a too-loud game-show buzzer. 

“…I’m sorry,” Theo offered back, finally. And then, after a long moment’s consideration, Theo pulled her dark hair over one shoulder, and shifted to reveal the stars that adorned her own back, battered and obscured by scarring of entirely another sort. 

And just like actual, bright-burning stars up in space, it was like they’d entered into each others’ orbit, after that. They were bound to collide, sooner or later. Like a law of nature, it felt inevitable.

Max’s lips were wet and soft, stained with fruity smears of wine. Theo’s eyes fluttered closed, the feather-light tickling of fingers tracing the shell of her ear sent goosebumps down her arms and neck. For once in her life, Theo was poised to let herself feel instead of think—

But Max jerked away, and Theo was shot back into herself so abruptly that it echoed through her consciousness, rippled through her nerves. It started with her tongue, which dried up like sandpaper as she swallowed awkwardly around it. In seconds, Theo became uncomfortably aware of every single irksome inch of her body, wanting to claw herself free of her own skin—it was too hot, it was suffocating her, she couldn’t breathe—

And all the while Max’s apology, her dishonest words were making Theo’s head throb—don’t say you’re sorry, you’re not sorry—but still Theo found herself blinking rapidly, and nodding frantically, and blurting out, “O-of course, it’s—you don’t have to—I-I just, I need some water, I think—” She stumbled into the kitchen without making eye contact, her chest constricting in painful spasms as she held off her impending panic attack at an arm’s length, wine sloshing in turbulent waves in her stomach and her head. She gritted her teeth as she dodged the sink, barely fighting the simultaneous and overwhelming urge to either vomit up her brains in it, or else run the water as hot as it would go and scrub at her face and her hands until she stopped feeling like this. 

Instead, Theo threw open the refrigerator door and leaned almost down into it, letting the cold air wash over her over-flushed body, her chest heaving. She stood like a lunatic in front of the open fridge for several minutes, breathing in and out, until the pain that gripped her chest had subsided and the chilled wafting air had soothed and numbed her body’s awful itching cells. Then, and only then, did Theo reach out and grab a bottled water.

She gulped it down eagerly, staring at but not really seeing a scrawled label on a shelf that read ‘Dead Dove! Do Not Eat!’ Her eyes stayed glued on the spot, unfocused and uncomprehending.

Until suddenly, something inside her mind clicked into place, and she did see it. And, more importantly, she remembered seeing it.

Theo’s fingers were cold and still spasming with a tremor here and there as she reached into the fridge and withdrew the wax-sealed container, drawing it up close to her face in a sort of dissociated, disbelieving state of observation. Theo recognized this writing, she knew exactly where she’d seen it. The sight of it sobered her, and narrowed her focus until it was razor sharp; her panic, the kiss—all of it was forgotten in the face of this earth-shattering revelation. A meteor hurling through space. An unavoidable collision course.

She walked back into Max’s living room, and held out the container so that the label was facing outward and plain to see. In a gravely serious and measured tone, Theo said, “Max…I need you to tell me who wrote this.” Theo already knew the horrible truth, deep in her gut—she could see it clearly laid out before her, she could feel it like a needle pressing ink into her skin, as was always her fucking curse. But still, Theo needed to hear it confirmed: “It…it was Katie, right?”

She turned, resolute in her decision to place her friend's need for comfort over her own job security, when Theo walked out with Katie's container. If she wasn't trained, it would have made her tear up immediately. Dead Dove! Do Not Eat! And Max knew, without inspecting the container, that there was a literal dove that she literally should not eat inside. Some fucked up experiment by her ex girlfriend, mid-way through investigating a theory that Max couldn't bear to ruin for her. Instead, her features remained schooled, gaze lingering on Theo's face.

You have been given Trust.

"Katie and I were together before I was promo-" She pursed her lips when Theo demanded she be quiet, then put her hands on her hips. Even though she was only newly promoted, she was certainly experienced, and being told to shut up wasn't something she was used to.

And when Theo did interrupt with her wild theories, Max couldn't help but chuckle, her steely gaze softening, "Oh- Oh, Theo, don't worry. Katie is... She's a cook. She makes food for the less fortunate, always so charitable, you know. I'm sure one of them raided some Muggle soup kitchen... What were you doing at the Free Traders, anyway? It's a shit hole, isn't it? You should've seen their last place."

But Theo's expression didn't soften. She didn't let up, or laugh about the miscommunication, or ask more about Katie's philanthrophic work. And Max, who had just sat through her boss's funeral, a break up, and the most humiliating loss of her career to date, began to crack. Her chin wobbled.

You have been given Trust You have been given Trust You have been given Trust-

She shook her head, truly unable to stop the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes, "No. No-" She said, as if sheer force alone could stop them. Years of training in Intelligence had left her with the ability to shut down her emotions. Trained them out of her. So why couldn't she stop? "No, because-"

She took the plate of nibbles as her champagne collected back in its glass. Max was not oblivious to someone flirting with her, but she wasn't flattered by it. The attention of men wasn't ever something that interested her. "Somehow I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them a bug had caused the scene, and not me. Though I think they're just looking for an excuse to ask me to leave." Max laughed.

Justin shrugged, "They don't do much believing around here of anyone that isn't in their circle." A circle that the Grants had once firmly belonged to and then spent the last hundred years escaping except when they needed an influx of cash or a good marriage. He was here by the grace of his blood and relation to Maeko, his eternal date, and now a permanent fixture of a room corner until Maeko wanted to dance or he found a pureblood 'virgin' to tumble in the garden with during the impromptu speeches. Better still when some uptight pureblood boy decided that getting his ass ridden by Justin in gardener's shed was a great way to figure themselves out.

So far, he'd caught the willing eye of three potential liaisons and was debating between each while reflecting on the woman in front of him - dress underpriced, but a good designer, the shoes a bit too practical, but Aurors you could take the cop off the beat... Justin sighed and smoothed the front of his lapel, she was not the worst dressed but certainly not the best with the Shacklebolts strutting about in their golds and purples.

Justin didn't pay much attention, at least that's what most folk thought, his head buried in feathers and furs, more dedicated to magical creatures than wix. But Justin could read, even if he rarely deigned to crack open a book, and the papers were practically screaming of the Auror's woes. "I think they'll want you gone more because they can't pay you. I'm sure plenty in the room dreamed of you in their pocket to grease the wheels when their sons decide to kill their muggle girlfriends or beat their sister's boyfriends for a deflowering. They'll want their lesser half-blood relations in your bed, or worse, in your office learning all the secrets of the Department." Justin grinned, head lolling as the bowtruckle climbed up his lapel, his cheek rubbing against the bug's slick outer shell before it crawled up and into his mop of curls.

She raised her brows, about to open her mouth to retort, but instead closed it, and picked at her plate. She wanted to defend the Department's honour; a home for the homeless, a good job with good benefits, a brotherhood where blood didn't matter. It was true among the Aurors themselves, sure, but she couldn't say half of the wix in this room didn't... Grease the wheels of the Department. It made her feel slimy, like her being there had a price to be paid. She glanced around for Theo, shifting uncomfortably.

And aside from her co-workers, and Theo... Max had no idea who anyone here, was. Not personally, at least. She saw their faces in newspapers and knew their names, vaguely, but Max didn't know any of them personally. So when Theo went out to answer an urgent owl, Max was left alone in the ballroom full of rich wix who wanted nothing to do with her.

Max raised her chin and strolled to a table with some prepared refreshments, admiring a champagne tower that was constantly refilling itself, before taking a glass and having a sip. It tasted deliciously expensive, and Max hummed, wishing she could see the bottle to find it in a store some time.

She hummed over the beautifully adorned grazing table, taking a selection of dried fig, cheese and cured meat to taste in one swift mouthful. Max was just about to try another concoction when a green, stick-insect looking creature scrambled across the table, grabbing the dried apricot out of her hand. Max gasped, spilling her champagne as she pulled her hand back.

She looked around incredulously as the creature shoved the dried apricot into its mouth, swelling the little thing's head to almost double in size. She reached for a different piece, but the creature swatted her fingers away, spreading itself over its mount of apricots protectively. "Well, am I allowed any of them?" Max asked, raising her brows at it.

The other Auror Commanders of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had received invitations for the evening’s soiree. They were well-born, their families weren’t disgraced. But she was not Commander Maxine Squint, here. She was just Max, brought along only because someone of better stock wanted company.

And aside from her co-workers, and Theo… Max had no idea who anyone here, was. Not personally, at least. She saw their faces in newspapers and knew their names, vaguely, but Max didn’t know any of them personally. So when Theo went out to answer an urgent owl, Max was left alone in the ballroom full of rich wix who wanted nothing to do with her.

Max raised her chin and strolled to a table with some prepared refreshments, admiring a champagne tower that was constantly refilling itself, before taking a glass and having a sip. It tasted deliciously expensive, and Max hummed, wishing she could see the bottle to find it in a store some time.

She hummed over the beautifully adorned grazing table, taking a selection of dried fig, cheese and cured meat to taste in one swift mouthful. Max was just about to try another concoction when a green, stick-insect looking creature scrambled across the table, grabbing the dried apricot out of her hand. Max gasped, spilling her champagne as she pulled her hand back.

She looked around incredulously as the creature shoved the dried apricot into its mouth, swelling the little thing’s head to almost double in size. She reached for a different piece, but the creature swatted her fingers away, spreading itself over its mount of apricots protectively. “Well, am I allowed any of them?” Max asked, raising her brows at it.

@justingrxnt

Maeko had belly laughed when she saw his ascot, Slytherin green and vines of gold, matching the green-and-gold vine patterned vest that doubled as a men’s bodice, beneath his black suit and black dress shirt. He hated going to these damned pureblood functions, often coming as Maeko’s eye candy but also to represent the every-wayward Grant Clan, here to shake hands with anyone who wanted seats to the show as long as they greased their way through certain countries and kept the ICW off their backs about certain performers, performances, and... associates they had. It was the kind of work Justin hated and had escaped as soon as Maeko was drawn into a dance with some gorgeous brunette he didn’t recognize. Likely someone who wanted a marriage contract or to feel her up, both would result in him hovering with his fists and a soft smile that he’d been told was distinctly scary on his usually genial face.

So he retreated to the refreshment’s table, where several large potted plants resided behind the buffet filled with food so far out of season, country of origin, and frankly made far too ostentatious to be considered real food. But he was mostly interested in the colony of bowtruckles in the plants, several which skittered across the table to make a jump at him, three made it but the fourth had decided to make a detour for a snack right out of another guest’s hand.

Justin laughed low in his throat, “Looks like this guy has made a claim over the whole feast of ‘em,” throwing out a tendril of magic to the bowtruckle, who snapped its eyes towards him. He couldn’t quite mind-speak with insects, even magical ones; they hovered on the edge of his magical purview, but he could exchange general thoughts with them. This one is clear and loud - don’t get crushed. Though, as the woman tried to make another playful grab for an apricot, there wasn't so much as an inkling she'd hurt the creature. “You’ve got a gentle way about you, considered bowtruckles are both mischievous and nervous creatures by nature. Though also vindictive when suited, their bites sting.” Justin grabbed a plate and reached for a few apricots, the bowtruckle skirting his fingers as he plucked them, and a few choice slices of brie, apple, and jam.

She took the plate of nibbles as her champagne collected back in its glass. Max was not oblivious to someone flirting with her, but she wasn't flattered by it. The attention of men wasn't ever something that interested her. "Somehow I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them a bug had caused the scene, and not me. Though I think they're just looking for an excuse to ask me to leave." Max laughed.

It sounded particularly false coming from Katie's lips. The phrase echoed in her mind as she walked out of the funeral hall, rattled against her skull and pressed down her aching spine. She paused at the door, turning, waiting for Katie. Katie, who could barely spare a glance for her.

You have been given Trust.

The walk back to her office was long, and completely alone. Her eyes were fixed on the floor ahead of her, as if it would stop the division's Majors muttering to each other: How could someone like Squint, so shrouded in secrecy and responsible for Ashworth's death, be given any parting words at all? Least of all, Trust?

They had the sense not to bug her about it for the rest of the day, leaving Max to drown in her thoughts and files and reports and audits. She was barely aware of the late hour when her phone buzzed, lighting up as a message flashed across the screen:

Theo’s painted lips pursed knowingly and with some—look, she couldn’t help it, it was her job okay?—disapproval that she wasn't totally able to hide. Because when you were asked a question from someone like Althea Rosi, pleading the fifth was as good as a confession. 

Was Theo aware that Max and Katie had an intimate relationship outside (and sometimes inside) of the Department? Yes.

Was it a matter Theo was determined to keep off her report, unless she found herself out of kinder options and bound to her code of ethics? Also yes.

But she couldn’t, in good conscience, broach that subject with Max right now—not with Max looking so…defeated. Heartbroken, Theo’s mind supplied. Besides, Max was the superior officer in this situation, and yet as far as Theo could glean, it was Commander Squint and not Captain Thorne who was taking the deterioration of the relationship the hardest.

Theo didn’t know if that made it any better, or if it just meant that everything sucked right now, unavoidably.

She sipped her wine thoughtfully, hearing the subtext in Max’s reply. Max had no love lost for hedges, and to that Theo could easily relate. Talk of hedge covens had Theo reaching up to scratch at the stars on her back compulsively, but she stopped herself, rolling her shoulders and setting her wine glass on a side table instead. “Agreed. And I can’t throw for shit, so that’s really saying something…” 

She aimed for lighthearted as she smiled at Max, and then carefully opened up a window for Max to unburden some of the heavy load she carried, if she chose to do so. “…so how’d a hedge witch wind up on your shit list, if you don’t mind my asking?” It wasn’t a question that Theo needed an answer to, really; she was able to piece together enough from the redacted reports she’d studied to get the gist of Max’s early undercover assignment on the local hedge circuit. But Theo had also learned through years of dedicated therapy that most of the time, sharing some of your trauma with someone else made it just a tad more manageable. 

She put her wine glass down, and rested her elbow on her knee, holding up her forearm. Max only had to flick her fingers a certain way for her glamours to fade. Dotted down Max's arm were four blue stars, slashed with thick red crosses. She looked at them sadly, then back at Theo, pursing her lips. Another flick of her fingers and the tattoos were no longer visible. "Just an old job." She replied, fully aware of the other information that would be available to the other witch.

Max scooped up her glass, resting it between her fingers and having another sip. She leaned back, meeting Theo's gaze. She smirked, then leaned forward to top up her wine.

Another opened bottle later, Max was starting to feel the familiar fuzzy fog in the back of her head, and she found herself shifting closer and closer to Theo, until their knees were touching, their foreheads only a whisper away as they giggled about something Max had already forgotten.

It was Theo who leaned in for the kiss- Max would go down swearing that. She didn't pull away at first, instead kissing her friend back, her free hand reaching to trace Theo's hair behind her ear. When Theo reached to put her hand on Max's knee, it was like a trance was broken. Max blinked, pulling back and placing her glass on the table with a little too much force.

It sounded particularly false coming from Katie's lips. The phrase echoed in her mind as she walked out of the funeral hall, rattled against her skull and pressed down her aching spine. She paused at the door, turning, waiting for Katie. Katie, who could barely spare a glance for her.

You have been given Trust.

The walk back to her office was long, and completely alone. Her eyes were fixed on the floor ahead of her, as if it would stop the division's Majors muttering to each other: How could someone like Squint, so shrouded in secrecy and responsible for Ashworth's death, be given any parting words at all? Least of all, Trust?

They had the sense not to bug her about it for the rest of the day, leaving Max to drown in her thoughts and files and reports and audits. She was barely aware of the late hour when her phone buzzed, lighting up as a message flashed across the screen:

Max had changed out of her formal Auror uniform the second she had the opportunity. The fabric was stiff and gave away how rarely she wore it, only for formal occasions where the dress code strictly demanded it. Now home, Max was in a comfortable matching athletic set, which she donned before immediately going to the Peloton in her living room to start a workout.

Pedalling helped with the pent up anxiety in her brain, but the rhythmic whirring of her bike didn’t stop the repetitive phrase from swirling around, over, and over, and over: You have been given Trust. You have been given Trust. You have been given Trust-

The knock startled her, and Max looked down at her watch. Her flat was warded to the nines, as with most Aurors from I&I, and Max had connected her wards to a watch face with a rather intricate piece of Arithmancy. She studied its face and then sighed with relief, flicking her wrist towards the door so that it swung open.

Max was just getting off the bike and turning around when Theo spoke. She raised her brows, shaking her head and strolling forward to swipe the bottle out of Theo’s hand, “Auror funeral rites are… Long. And intense. Katie was the Speaker. I don’t know what else I expected, but…” Lydia gave me her Trust. And then she died on my mission.

She set the bottle on her bar cart, and it immediately started decanting itself while Max went to the fridge to get her water bottle. Next to it, Katie had left a wax sealed pewter container of some sort, haphazardly labelled: ‘Dead Dove! Do Not Eat!’ It made Max’s insides ache. She shut the fridge and turned to fetch a glass of the red instead.

It took most of her willpower not to drain the whole glass, then and there, having the good sense to have a sip before pouring a glass for Theo. “And Seren carried on and on- Half the time we’d thought they’d been sleeping together, the other half we were on the watch for a fucking assassination attempt. All I know is if Ashworth could see what Reese had done to her Department in the last week alone, she’d roll out of her grave and kill her herself.” 

She put down the wine with a little more force than necessary, going to hand Theo her glass. She raised her own, clinking their glasses together with a sigh. “Did you at least get some good work done with all of us out of your way?”

Theo sighed with relief as she stepped inside Max’s place, which was exceptionally clean and perfectly tidy in a way that made Theo intrinsically at ease, and closed the door. She teetered on one foot and then the other so that she could remove her high-heeled pumps and set them meticulously against the wall by the front door, and then padded over to make herself comfortable on Max’s tasteful—likely expensive—mid-century modern couch.

She watched the way her friend carried herself, the tension she'd been unable to rid herself of even after a hard workout, and listened sympathetically; Max wasn’t being dishonest, but she was holding a lot back. Which was kind of the norm, Theo had found, when it came to Max. She waited a moment before speaking, to give Max a chance to finish her thought, if she wanted—and when it became clear she wouldn’t, Theo gave a knowing hum and said, “I’m sure that was hard, yeah…did the two of you get a chance to speak, at all? Or is she still pulling the silent treatment?”

While Max retreated to the kitchen, Theo pulled an individually packaged disinfectant wipe—the kind they give out on airplanes—from inside her bag, and thoroughly wiped off her hands before carefully folding the damp cloth up into a small square and sticking it back in the torn-open package, to be disposed of later. Then she used her thumbs to dig into the sore arch of one of her stockinged feet.

She chuckled lightly as she pictured the theatrics of the grey-haired Head of the Auror Department. Theo had spent some of her (very limited) free time over the past week reading back through the case files that Reese and Ashworth had logged together over the years, and she’d arrived at some similar suspicions about the women’s working ‘relationship.’ “And? What’s the over-under on if they were doin’ it, you think?”

“Oh, Merlin, I don’t even want to think about Reese getting it on with someone,” She replied as if she hadn’t just ignored her, sitting down on the other side of the couch and cradling her wine between her fingers.

She was mid-sip when Theo mentioned the hedge witch. Max swallowed, wrinkling her nose and setting her glass down, “Dead end,” She explained, running a hand through her hair, then pressed her head to her palm, her elbow resting on the edge of the couch, “They’re just a hedge witch, really unreliable source. They only knew about the Daughters because of some old clash between their covens. I kinda hoped they’d just sort each other out like they usually do, but they said the hedges were hesitant, because one of them was related to the Daughters’ new mark?” Max shrugged again, “But take it all with a grain of salt. I’d only trust hedge wix as far as you can throw them.”

It sounded particularly false coming from Katie's lips. The phrase echoed in her mind as she walked out of the funeral hall, rattled against her skull and pressed down her aching spine. She paused at the door, turning, waiting for Katie. Katie, who could barely spare a glance for her.

You have been given Trust.

The walk back to her office was long, and completely alone. Her eyes were fixed on the floor ahead of her, as if it would stop the division's Majors muttering to each other: How could someone like Squint, so shrouded in secrecy and responsible for Ashworth's death, be given any parting words at all? Least of all, Trust?

They had the sense not to bug her about it for the rest of the day, leaving Max to drown in her thoughts and files and reports and audits. She was barely aware of the late hour when her phone buzzed, lighting up as a message flashed across the screen:

You have been given Trust.

It sounded particularly false coming from Katie’s lips. The phrase echoed in her mind as she walked out of the funeral hall, rattled against her skull and pressed down her aching spine. She paused at the door, turning, waiting for Katie. Katie, who could barely spare a glance for her.

You have been given Trust.

The walk back to her office was long, and completely alone. Her eyes were fixed on the floor ahead of her, as if it would stop the division’s Majors muttering to each other: How could someone like Squint, so shrouded in secrecy and responsible for Ashworth’s death, be given any parting words at all? Least of all, Trust?

They had the sense not to bug her about it for the rest of the day, leaving Max to drown in her thoughts and files and reports and audits. She was barely aware of the late hour when her phone buzzed, lighting up as a message flashed across the screen:

New Message From Althea Rosi: 🍷?

Theo hadn't been extended an invite to the service for the late Commander Ashworth.

Which—honestly, was kind of a relief.

The cloying sadness that hung over the department that day lifted somewhat as every auror in the DMLE retreated to the funereal hall, leaving Theo to her preferred solitude to work.

Too much silence, though, made her thoughts in her head echo uncomfortably, so Theo switched on her static noise machine, and was soon so absorbed in her reading and notetaking that she was undisturbed by the passing of aurors returning to their stations following the service, and was indeed entirely unaware of the long hours that had passed until her vision began to cloud and her eyes ached with strain. Only then did Theo note the stiffness of her neck and shoulders, having sat motionless for so long.

She got up and stretched, the popping of her joints releasing little bursts of dopamine that made her hum. The hallway beyond her office door looked dark and empty, signifying it was well past the end of the day—or else the majority of the department had dipped out early for bereavement, which Theo would certainly not fault anyone for.

And of course, she thought of Max.

Theo didn’t even need to be a fucking mind reader to know how hard this day would have been for her friend. So as she locked up her case files, closed up her office, and made her way up to the Ministry Atrium, Theo sent a text to Max—a single emoji that they’d taken to using when words cannot even convey what unreal bullshit this day has been, but a bottle of wine is a good start.

Their usual haunt was a chic cocktail lounge uptown—but since it was late already, and the funereal melancholy still lingered, it seemed more appropriate to meet at Max’s flat instead. And since Theo took a cab, and stopped for a bottle of Max’s favorite vintage on the way, Max was already home when Theo knocked on the door.

Pedalling helped with the pent up anxiety in her brain, but the rhythmic whirring of her bike didn’t stop the repetitive phrase from swirling around, over, and over, and over: You have been given Trust. You have been given Trust. You have been given Trust-

The knock startled her, and Max looked down at her watch. Her flat was warded to the nines, as with most Aurors from I&I, and Max had connected her wards to a watch face with a rather intricate piece of Arithmancy. She studied its face and then sighed with relief, flicking her wrist towards the door so that it swung open.

Max was just getting off the bike and turning around when Theo spoke. She raised her brows, shaking her head and strolling forward to swipe the bottle out of Theo’s hand, “Auror funeral rites are... Long. And intense. Katie was the Speaker. I don’t know what else I expected, but...” Lydia gave me her Trust. And then she died on my mission.

She set the bottle on her bar cart, and it immediately started decanting itself while Max went to the fridge to get her water bottle. Next to it, Katie had left a wax sealed pewter container of some sort, haphazardly labelled: ‘Dead Dove! Do Not Eat!’ It made Max’s insides ache. She shut the fridge and turned to fetch a glass of the red instead.

It took most of her willpower not to drain the whole glass, then and there, having the good sense to have a sip before pouring a glass for Theo. “And Seren carried on and on- Half the time we’d thought they’d been sleeping together, the other half we were on the watch for a fucking assassination attempt. All I know is if Ashworth could see what Reese had done to her Department in the last week alone, she’d roll out of her grave and kill her herself.” 

The milk jug, which had been rather depressed of late, sunk visibly at Theo’s rejection. “Oh, shush.” Max crooned to the tiny thing, which turned to face her, jostled side to side indignantly, and then sailed back to the tea tray in the corner, accompanied by the sugar cubes. Max rolled her eyes and sipped her tea.

She was just starting to settle with Theo, relieved to have an expert in the area working alongside the Department, even if the Daughters’ case didn’t sit squarely with her anymore. Max straightened in her chair, suspicious, her thumb rubbing against the edge of her desk. How much digging could this witch really have done, if she didn’t know who had written the fucking forensics report? … And why would she ask her, instead of the Majors of the particular Forensics teams that had gone out that day, if not because she knew about her relationship with Katie? “Captain Thorne,” Max said- But you already knew that. “She’s unavailable for a sit-down meeting at the moment. But I’ll instruct her to pencil you in when she can.”

Not that Katie would let her instruct her to do much of anything, despite being her superior at work. There truly was no point even warning Katie about the witch’s enquiries, given Max was still the subject of Katie’s ire. Thinking about her girlfriend was still tinged with sadness, with regret- Max sipped her tea.

If mentioning Katie wasn’t enough to make Max suspicious, this was the final nail in the coffin. “With respect, Seren’s going to have to do a better job than that,” Max shook her head, leaning back in her chair. Fucking despicable. Not content with fucking up Max’s case, sentencing her to a career-ending transfer to the armpit of the Department, and beginning a steady reign of terror, Seren Reese had apparently decided to hire a fucking consultant to work out who was loyal to her. It infuriated her. “I’ll do my job. Always do.”

“But can I just say- every second she’s got you working on this, is time you’re wasting. You know as well as I, the Daughters of Tituba are an unmitigated threat to our entire society. Seren’s using this loyalty test, or structure evaluation, or whatever she fucking called it- to distract from the fact that she fucked the case, tortured the only two people of interest in this case I’d managed to find, one of whom was a male victim, and then sent me down here when I told her off about it. The Daughters are your priority. Not the Department.”

Captain Katherine E. Thorne, 25, of Bristol. Adept Duelist, Master Potioneer and Alchemist, according to DMLE qualifications. Recruited out of Hogwarts, Gryffindor House. Goes by ‘Katie,’ Theo’s mind supplied, from the extensive reading she had, indeed, already done in studying the department files prior to her arrival here.

And Max’s answer provided what Theo would consider confirmation, of the rumors that Captain Thorne was involved with her direct superior in the Department.

“That’d be great, thanks,” Theo said, her polite smile not faltering—even throughout Max’s allegations regarding Theo’s whereabouts and motivations here. Commander Maxine Squint was a smart cookie, it seemed; it only served to warm Theo more to her, despite the auror commander’s moderate hostility at the current moment.

Because Theo had read Max’s file, too—including the report from when the auror had returned from a lengthy undercover assignment in Ireland, which had been unethically compiled using Legilimency and had since been classified and sealed. Theo knew all about the high risk of potentially permanent mental and emotional damage that could occur when Legilimency was administered negligently on a victim of recent trauma; she would have never handled a case that way, not even the worst among the disreputable people Theo had profiled throughout her career, and certainly not a woman who had just been forced to witness the methodical execution of her entire squadron right in front of her.

No, Theo did not want to make an enemy of Max Squint.

She made a few more notes—‘interrogation tactics involve torture;’ ‘unidentified DOT male—high priority’—before she gently closed her binder, and leaned forward to say with the utmost empathy and very slight conspiratorial twinge to her tone, “I appreciate your candor, Commander Squint—believe me, you’re saving me from a horrible migraine by being upfront. I can assure you that the situation with the Daughters is my priority, and I give you my word that the group that’s been operating here won’t evade justice again on my watch; we will fix the missteps that have been made on this case, and your work won’t have been for nothing. But, between you and me….”

Theo took out a plain card that was printed with her name, and on the back of it she hand-wrote the number of her personal line. “…I’m not here under the orders of Seren Reese, and I’m certainly not beholden to any loyalty toward her, nor fear of her so-called wrath—I report to a higher authority. So…” She slid the card across the desktop toward Max. “…if you find yourself with the…inclination, to chat more about your experiences with the new Department Head? I’m a good listener.”

She stood when Theo did, still deep in thought as she pocketed the card. Max extended her hand, shaking the American’s hand firmly, “Let me know if they don’t give you a desk by 0900 tomorrow. I’ve got an Assistant I’d love to yell at.”

Max stayed behind her desk as the witch sauntered out, and then sunk back into her chair, exhaling and closing her eyes as the neck and shoulder pain returned.

Determined not to be perceived as feeling sorry for herself, Max heaved a stack of paperwork across the desk, took out her quill, and started writing. After hours of it, interrupted by meetings that punctuated with raised voices and more than one drawn wand, Max was nearly delirious from exhaustion when she pulled the little white card from her robe’s pocket and texted the number: 

A million hypothetical scenarios spilled into Max’s mind, melting together: Were these two even related to Dona Outterridge? Had the Free Traders put them up to this fact-finding mission? Was that why Nathaniel had the brand on his hand? Why else would two blue-ribbon, classically educated teenagers do their dirty work? She frowned, gaze flicking from the boy to his sister, re-affirming her suspicions as they sought to shift her focus from the hedge witch coven to their family. “I don’t know what you’ve done to get yourselves mixed up with them. But I assure you, there is a history there you’re not aware of. They’re dangerous.”

Her mouth opened to protest as Nathaniel helped himself to her files as she spoke, half-raised from her seat- but his comment had her sink back down, her lips mashing into a hard, frustrated line. “The investigation is with another department, there’s a file audit-” She insisted, but trailed off, shaking her head with a huff. Why was she even explaining this to them? Why was she so nervous? You’re a fucking Commander now, idiot. Act like it. Max rolled her shoulders uncomfortably, her hands stretching over her knees, fingers flexing. 

It was like she was back in school, forced into silence and submission as the Inquisitorial Squad marched down the halls. She remembered sinking into chairs in the library, watching her classmates eat at dinner and pacing her mouthfuls with theirs so she never finished too early or too late, remembered ducking her head and averting her gaze when the Carrows pulled Gryffindors out of their shared classes. Years later, Max felt that same pit of terror at being found out, the desire to hide from the man with authority over her, to sink into her chair. She’d had never felt anything like it. 

The file snapping closed had Max blink to attention, barely aware she was still shaking her head. She bit back the bile that rose in her throat, tried to keep her voice clear, and focused, “The fact is that your supposed cousin is a pureblooded, apparently very important witch, who’s entangled herself with a terrorist organisation-” The file landed on her desk with a thud, and Max snapped, pushing herself to stand, “She’s not in custody. Honestly, we don’t even think they’re in the country anymore. I don’t know what you think I can do.”

Nate’s stomach dropped out; not in the fucking country anymore?

But before the panic over this devastating revelation could even begin to set in, while Max rose from her chair to snap at Nate, he saw Harriet behind the auror’s back raise a hand and flash him a gesture that meant, ‘distract her.’

So Nate acted instinctually, raising his voice to spit back at Max accusatorially (and hopefully, press her buttons enough to keep her attention focused on him for another minute), “I’m sorry—my ‘supposed cousin?’” He laughed, overtly derisive and indignant, while out of the corner of his eye he saw Harriet rise from her chair, slip her coat back on, and silently snoop around the auror commander’s office.

For fuck’s sake, Harriet, is this really the best time for your klepto bullshit? Nate thought with exasperation, but he was already committed to this bit so he continued on, scorn and judgment dripping from his tone, “…what, is the family resemblance not fucking clear enough for you, Commander? Jesus Christ, I mean—I knew the N.Y.P.D. had a racial profiling problem, but you would think a department full of magically educated and trained aurors—that are allegedly world-fucking-renowned—would possess just a tiny bit more common sense than some fucking racist No-Maj cops…but I guess not, if what’s in there—” He gestured at Dona’s file disdainfully, “—is anything to go by…”

Nate glanced at Harriet, and she jerked her head in the direction of the door. Thank god, finally. He gave Max a pitying once-over, and moved to join his sister as he drawled, “…enjoy your little promotion while it lasts, Max—we’ll see how long any of you last here now that you’ve gone and bitten the hand that feeds you. And a word of advice?” Having reached Harriet’s side, Nate turned and looked down his nose at Max, positively exuding smug superiority. “You’re a commander now, and that means politics and purebloods matter. So you might try spending a little less time sniffing around hedge witch safehouses, and a little more time learning who the fuck the Outterridges are.” He smirked, and shrugged. “Just a thought.”

He reached out and inconsiderately threw the office door open, to the audible objection of some wix in the hallways that were passing by. For some reason, Harriet very obviously dragged her fingers over a glass cube full of swirling, multicolored smoke that was sitting on a shelf. “Mind if I take this?” she said to Max, and then without waiting for an answer, Harriet stuck it in the pocket of her coat and said, “Thanks,” before walking past Nate out the door.

And his sister usually got off on stealing useless shit without calling attention to it—that was the whole fucking point—but Nate didn’t question Harriet about it until they’d passed the front desk on the main level and were walking toward the entrance where they’d come in. “And what, pray tell, was the point of me pulling the ACAB card to distract her if you were just going to swipe that right in front of her face, anyway? And what are you even going to do with that ZenBox—fucking meditate?”

She pulled the cube from her pocket. “This? Nah, I don’t give a shit about this piece of enchanted stress-relief trash…” Harriet said as Nate shouldered the door open and they both walked through. “…I just figured we might need a getaway.”

On cue, as soon as the twins had stepped into the light outside the Ministry of Magic, a surge of media wix who’d been waiting on the street, assumedly since they’d been spotted entering earlier, lurched toward them with raised cameras and calls of “Nathaniel, can you tell us about—?” and “Harriet, do you have any comment on—?”

“Fuck—” Nate grumbled, turning his back to them, but Harriet gave one of her sly smiles and very deliberately let the ZenBox tumble from her hand to smash on the stairs that separated Nate and Harriet from the media wix. A tornado of rainbow smoke swirled up into the air, obscuring everything in the immediate vicinity from sight; there was an uproar of voices from the street below, and Harriet firmly grabbed Nate’s wrist and apparated them to the bar.

They walked in looking like they’d just come from a Pride parade, and at the sight of the pair of them Helle, who was tending the bar today, howled with laughter, while Fish said, “Did you take a wrong turn and end up in a Color Run?”

“Hilarious…” Nate said sarcastically as he followed Harriet to a table in the corner, and then to Helle: “When you’re done literally asphyxiating on how much of a cunt you are, would you mind bringing us some drinks? Fucking hyena…” Helle gave one final snort and flipped Nate off, but still grabbed two lowball glasses and filled them with ice. “Well—style points, or whatever, but I don’t know that we came away from all that with anything that will actually get us any closer to Dona…”

Harriet set on him a look that she often wore with Nate—which was roughly the equivalent of how on earth do we share this much DNA and you’re still so tragically stupid? “It’s called misdirection, Nate…” she said, patronizing, and then tossed a plastic bag that was labeled ‘EVIDENCE’ on the table between them.

​

Max had always been anonymous. It was why she took to Intelligence & Infiltration like a duck to water. She was of average height, average beauty. She was intelligent, sure, but largely because she worked at it. Max was an orphan in a generation of hundreds, from a House not known for its daring or cunning or kindness. She was good at her job- but not good enough, apparently, to be promoted on merit. Each rise in the ranks had been shrouded in controversy.

And despite being years their senior, as Hardiet Pinnock discarded her coat without being invited, and Nathaniel eyed her new office like it ought to be demolished, Max Squint felt invisible.

“That’s-” She swallowed, “Details result of a confidential investigation. You’re free to put in an information request…” Nathaniel continued speaking, as if Max hadn’t responded to his sister.

They knew what had happened to the Daughters’ mark. Why else would they be there?

If Dona Outterridge had told her apparent cousins about the incident with the Nest, it was a good sign. She wasn’t so far gone that she’d lost touch with her family. There was still time to save her.

Unless the Free Traders had sent them, trying to pry information out of her, to check if she’d done their dirty work…

Max blinked, her gaze flicking down to the boy’s hand pressed on her desk. One of his hands had a mark on it- flashes of an Oath Breaker’s Sigil, she was sure. Was this what Free Trader Beowulf had on Nathaniel Pinnock? Some shitty deal that backfired and resulted in indentured servitude?

“I understand, Mr Pinnock,” she said, starting to get what she believed to be a clearer picture as her gaze flicked back up to his face. She sat back down in her chair. “I can’t help you, though. This the Crime & Forensics Division, the investigation belongs to another department. And even if it did: I have no interest in working with the Free Traders.”

It was hard to keep a steely gaze under the weight of their stares. As it was, her voice wavered, bogged down by exhaustion. She felt like an ant under a microscope, ready to be set alight. “I can help you with that, though,” her gaze flicked purposely from the sigil on Nate’s hand to Harriet’s eyeline, “Both of you. Seth’s information led directly to the death of a well-respected Commander. That’s worth something.”

@harrixtpinnock

Shit. How did this nobody auror know what an Oathbreaker’s Sigil was? Though apparently, Max Squint didn’t know nearly enough about what it was really like, inside the exclusive and treacherous world belonging to the upper echelons of wizarding society, if she thought the blood oath and branding that marked Nathaniel Pinnock had come from his involvement with hedges—the ones who had saved him from spending his life being dragged by the throat at the end of that golden leash of pureblooded legacy, made to perform for the pleasure of the greedy public like a trained dog while his father pulled the strings—and not the other way around.

Nate straightened, squaring his shoulders and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Seeing as the raid was a DMLE operation, it seems to me that it was piss-poor planning and shoddy police work that led to that unfortunate result, Commander…” Nate bit back, an effortless deflection. He couldn’t help it; Nate had always been a compulsive button-presser.

Harriet, from where she had purposefully and meticulously arranged herself to look relaxed and at ease—by all accounts lounging in her chair with an air of utmost insouciance, even though Nate knew in actuality she was on high alert, analyzing every single detail of their situation—picked up the baton from where Nate left off and drawled, “…and just to be clear, you’re not dealing with Free Trader Beowulf, Commander Squint—you’re dealing with Pinnocks. Do you really think we work for them?”

It was a flawless act, really, and Nate took his cue to give a derisive laugh—all arrogance and superiority. He knew Harriet wouldn’t want the auror’s attention on her for long, so Nate contemplated some way to draw Max’s focus back to him.

But of course, Harriet was faster.

Nate felt Harriet looking at him and he met her eyes, the line of which she proceeded to move with purpose until it was fixed on one of several tall stacks of paperwork that sat atop Max’s desk. Following the direction, Nate looked over and focused on the label on the file until he could make out the name—

‘Incident Report: Dona Outterridge (F, p.b.) & Unknown Accomplice (M, squib).’ Bingo.

Without bothering to ask, Nate very visibly and unconcernedly reached an arm across Max’s desk and picked up the file with his cousin’s name on it. “You were saying, about this being with another department…?” Nate said with an accusatory and rather patronizing tsk, before drawing it up and flipping it open to insolently examine right in front of Max’s face. After all, what was she going to do—arrest him? Not fucking likely.

It was an intake report; Dona’s mugshot photograph was paper-clipped in, and she blinked up at Nate with smudged makeup lining her eyes, like she’d been crying. She looked terrified and distressed, and Nate had to work to keep the emotion he felt as he stared at his cousin’s likeness off his face.

Next to Dona’s was another mugshot—a young man that Nate didn’t know, with dark skin and a vacant, hollow expression. The boyfriend that Catelyn had mentioned, perhaps?

Nate flipped the page, and on the next one was a detailed account of what seemed like an interrogation. There was quite a bit of thick, opaque blocks of black scattered throughout the multi-page report, redacting some of what was said.

But there was plenty that he could read that made Nate feel increasingly ill, the deeper into it he got…

Her mouth opened to protest as Nathaniel helped himself to her files as she spoke, half-raised from her seat- but his comment had her sink back down, her lips mashing into a hard, frustrated line. “The investigation is with another department, there’s a file audit-” She insisted, but trailed off, shaking her head with a huff. Why was she even explaining this to them? Why was she so nervous? You’re a fucking Commander now, idiot. Act like it. Max rolled her shoulders uncomfortably, her hands stretching over her knees, fingers flexing. 

It was like she was back in school, forced into silence and submission as the Inquisitorial Squad marched down the halls. She remembered sinking into chairs in the library, watching her classmates eat at dinner and pacing her mouthfuls with theirs so she never finished too early or too late, remembered ducking her head and averting her gaze when the Carrows pulled Gryffindors out of their shared classes. Years later, Max felt that same pit of terror at being found out, the desire to hide from the man with authority over her, to sink into her chair. She’d had never felt anything like it.