EXCUSE MY EGO

CLOWNS: does your muse prefer comedy or horror?

florence prefers horror. it isn’t that she likes blood & gore (she doesn’t, really) but she thinks the stories are more intricate. curses, bloodlines, hauntings--well-made horror movies have a complex set of rules. she likes that.

TIGHT SPACE: does your muse ever feel like they’re not living up to their potential?

sometimes, she thinks she could be doing more. but objectively, she understands she’s doing well for herself. she’s respected in the knights, she owns her own business, she’s a pureblood. until recently, she felt unshakeable. now, of course, that’s changed.

GETTING OLD: would your muse rather live 50 years loved or 200 years alone?

Athena paused for just a moment then took Florence’s hand. “I’m more than happy to take them off your hands,” she said, already feeling better. Athena hadn’t realized how much the rally had been weighing on her, and now that she had a way to deal with what had happened, it was like that weight had been lifted and suddenly she wasn’t hunched over anymore. She felt like Atlas, carrying the world on her shoulders sometimes, especially with the way that her family expected her to take over the mantle of Madam Lestrange sooner rather than later, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. Athena had plenty to weigh her down; she didn’t need to feel this loss of control like just another stone in her satchel any longer. 

“Test dummies?” she asked once they landed in Florence’s workshop, looking around once before she spotted them. “Planning for another war?” she asked, walking up to one and running her fingertips along its metallic shoulder. Athena hadn’t fought in the first war—losing her brother had been enough to steer her away from it—but now that she had chosen a side, she supposed it was time to dust off her dueling chops. She could feel the war brewing at the fringes; it was only a matter of time until it made it to the mainstream.

Florence smiled, giving Athena’s hand a gentle squeeze, and pulled out her wand. Moments later, they were standing in Florence’s workshop. She stepped to the doorway, ensuring it was locked, and began to make space for whatever Athena desired to do to her test dummies. She frowned slightly. If they were going to begin trainings again--and they should--they were going to need a larger space than her workshop. Hopefully, Riddle had some brilliant plan tucked away. So many of the Knights she knew were so young when the first war happened. She needed to ensure they would be truly ready when the time came. Glancing over at Athena, she nodded, watching the younger woman’s graceful hand trace over one of the shoulders.

///

Monty tilted his head to the side, thoughtful for a moment. He pressed his fingertips together lightly in his lap, considering her offer. They certainly weren’t on the best of terms—he had heard plenty of rumors about Florence and her potential involvement with a darker side of their community, though nothing had been verified—and it made him wonder why she would want to put forth any sort of effort towards making the disaster from the previous week less of a mess. Then again, he supposed any threat to magic would be a threat to them all, regardless of which side of the war they were on. “There are some strange metal things from around the arena,” he said. “The muggle artefacts office calls them ‘antenna,’ but I wonder if someone with your expertise would be better equipped to say if they were involved in what happened.” He paused. “I’ll have to talk to the Head Auror, but it might be useful to have you take a look at them.” 

//

Florence waited patiently. She examined him closely, making a mental note to sift through her files when she went back to her office. It would be useful to know all of his weak points, what tethered him to the world, what he would fight for when it came down to that. Perhaps Max would have some knowledge. Her face was carefully arranged in an expression of neutrality, but inside, she felt confident. Even if he believed her to be on the opposite side of his belief system--and she was, of course, no doubt about that--her reputation would proceed her. She was damn good at her job. Finally, he spoke, and Florence leaned in. Antenna. Interesting. She nodded, allowing a smile to break over her mouth. “I would love to take a look at them. If he enchanted them in anyway, I’d certainly be able to figure out how he did so.” This was the closest she’d gotten to feeling useful, and she had to admit, she was excited. The next step in the process. “I’m happy to work alongside a member of the Ministry, if it would make your Head Auror feel more comfortable.” She wanted to appear cooperative. Florence wanted nothing to jeopardize this opportunity.

///

As much as Phoebe disliked Florence, even she had to admit to Florence’s skill. Florence was a talented witch, and Phoebe would have been wise to make sure that she was keeping an eye on her.There was no telling how she might be involved in the new brewing conflict, but Phoebe would have been naive to think that she wouldn’t have a role at all. Phoebe had never been to worried about other people who were on Grindelwald’s side of the war last time—most of them were young and easy to beat in a fight—but Florence had always given Phoebe a run for her money. She was quick-witted, intelligent, and extremely talented with her magic. Suffice it to say that Phoebe wished Florence nothing but ill. 

Phoebe gave Florence a fake smile. “Oh, I’ll be sure to,” she replied, shaking her head as she looked down at her notebook once more before stowing it in her bag. At Florence’s laughter, she couldn’t help but feel a little jarred, if only because this may have been the first civil conversation they had ever had. It was unnerving, knowing that they were on the same side of an issue. “Oh, it was wonderful,” she replied. “Certainly something to behold. I was fairly certain that vein in Abraxas’ temple was going to burst out from under his skin.” 

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “That’s the problem. Everyone I’ve talked to doesn’t know who it was,” she said. “And he wasn’t wearing a mask or anything. Maybe he charmed his appearance, but even so, what would he gain from that? It was clear he wanted to make some sort of public debut.” Phoebe bit down on her lip thoughtfully. “Until we figure out who he is, we’re not going to be able to work against him.” 

//

“I’m sure I’m more skilled than whoever you’re working alongside,” Florence replied coolly, her eyes flickering over the buildings of Diagon Alley. It was, of course, a multi-layered jab. Florence wasn’t sure if Phoebe did her consulting work with a team of underlings--she didn’t particularly care--but she was sure none of them matched her in skill or wit. The weight of the investigation would be entirely on Phoebe’s shoulders, and a stressed Finch-Fletchley was Florence’s favorite kind. Underneath that, of course, lay the veiled reference to Phoebe’s time with Dumbledore. Florence was certain that the old bat hadn’t simply retired after defeating Grindelwald. Surely, he had some sort of collection of do-gooders readying themselves to fight against this new force. Surely, Phoebe would be among them. A snivelling band of kind-hearted wix, bolstered by their victory against the falliable Grindelwald, ready to charge headfirst into this new war. Merlin save them. “And you know how to get a hold of me.”

Her smile widened, perfectly pleased at the thought of Abraxas’s infuriating face pulsing with anger. He was on her side, but his pride made him insufferable to Florence. She had thought Charis would have made a better minister, but Riddle thought a woman would draw too much attention, too much ire. “It would have been a shame if it had burst,” she replied, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “You’d have gotten blood all over that lovely coat.”

Florence nodded. The Knights had reported similar things--the man had been plain, boring, unrecognizable. “Still,” Florence started, “he knows about magic. I suppose it could be a muggle, but they don’t strike me as the clever or scheming types. Too stupid to have pulled off something like this. Whoever it was must have been a wizard. Or wizard-adjacent.” She thought about it for a moment more, running over the theories she’d been toying with for the past few days. “If he didn’t disguise himself, it would be because he was certain no one would recognize or remember him, or because he wanted to be remembered. He isn’t afraid of us. A mistake, of course,” she said, her voice turning to steel, “but one that could lead to his downfall.”

///

Athena paused for a moment before nodding. “Can we go just hex the shit out of something?” She wanted nothing more than to feel her magic coursing through her veins again, to feel like she was in control again. Athena was always so carefully controlled, to feel so far out of control and removed from herself had not only been jarring, but it had put her in a position that she wasn’t used to being in. She had no way to deal with it, and that was clear. It was exactly why she felt like she did when her brother died—that lack of control over her situation was infuriating. She wanted to feel powerful. She wanted to feel like she could be the formidable witch she had always been. 

She let out a sigh. “I know,” she replied. “Thank you.” She sounded sincere—or maybe that was just the whiskey talking—but regardless, it was important to her that Florence was there. Athena didn’t receive this kind of mentorship or care from anyone else, not even her mother, who had always been grooming her for leadership. Athena never felt as cared for as she did with Florence looking at her like that. 

Florence nodded, the ghost of a smile floating across her face before disappearing entirely. She pushed off of the desk, standing upright, and held her hand out to Athena. “I can apparate us to my workspace. There are a few things there you can obliterate.” Athena’s trust meant the world to Florence. She had left the idea of a biological family behind a long time ago. In her line of work, children and spouses felt like little more than weak points to be exploited. She supposed, in her own way, she’d transferred whatever maternal urges she could have possessed onto the young women of the Knights. It infuriated her that they had been violated so violently, and that she was as useless as the aurors in discovering who had done it. The least she could do was provide Athena the opportunity to feel powerful again.

///

He tapped the large tome next to him. “Just a bit of light reading,” he joked casually before leaning back in his seat. “Now, tell me. What brings you to the Auror Office this afternoon? I’ve rarely seen you stray from your work in other departments.” He was certain it had something to do with the rally, and it was going to be somewhat humiliating to have to admit that they didn’t have anything yet, but he figured he would have to get used to it. People assumed that just because he was an auror, he would have the answers to everything, but Fleamont was often left with more questions than answers after something like what happened just a few days ago and he would just have to get used to saying that to people. It would suck, but he just had to bite the bullet and get it done. Besides, he was certain they would have something soon. He didn’t know what he’d do if they didn’t. 

//

She arched a single eyebrow, but said nothing in response to his joke, instead letting her gaze flicker to the spine, hoping to catch sight of the title. Florence pressed her lips into a polite smile, mimicking his movements and leaning back into her chair herself. He was right, of course. It wasn’t often she made personal visits to the aurors offices. It never felt like the benefits outweighed the risks, and as she’d gotten older, Florence didn’t often lean into risks. Of course, it felt as if all that was about to go out the window -- something violent was brewing, and she had a feeling that this time, she’d be more hands-on than before. “I thought perhaps I would come offer my services,” she replied, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Florence wasn’t one for small talk -- not with Aurors, especially -- and she didn’t want to waste any time. “I imagine it’s a bit unorthodox, but I can’t imagine much progress has been made in hunting down the suspect or figuring out how he did what he did.” She paused, examining his face for a moment. “I think I could help.”

///

Ever since the previous war, Florence and Phoebe had an animosity that was a rivalry to match even that between Grindelwald and Dumbledore. The two of them had been high in the ranks for their sides of the war, and currently were high in the ranks again, though they were not sure of the other’s involvement. Regardless, Phoebe didn’t trust Florence for a second, and she didn’t doubt that Florence didn’t trust her, either. 

She was startled by Florence’s appearance, but managed to only show it in a slight twitch in the corner of her lips, her expression pulling down into a thoughtful frown again. She glanced over her notes, clearly stalling before speaking to Florence—if only because she knew the disrespect would be infuriating—before closing her leather-bound notebook and looking up at Florence. Say what you will: evil, at least, suited her. She was looking better than Phoebe had expected, and that made Phoebe even angrier. 

“Not yet,” she replied. “Whoever it was, was particularly good at covering their tracks.” Regardless of what side of the current conflict they were on, none of it was going to matter if they all lost their magic. There was no harm in sharing this information. “Not at all,” Phoebe said, just a hint of a smirk curving at her lips. “He never is.” 

//

To most, Phoebe Finch-Fletchley was a name that commanded respect. Even among a few of the Knights. Her achievements during the wizarding war had garnered her a reputation of bravery and ingenuity. It was unfortunate she had decided to squander her talents under Dumbledore. Her do-good desires rankled Florence - and though she’d never admitted it out loud, Phoebe gave her a run for her money in terms of talent and cleverness. Most of Dumbledore’s bumbling sycophants were mere shadows to Florence, cowering, posturing wix meant to simply be stepped over. But Phoebe? Phoebe couldn’t be simply stepped over. Phoebe had to be respected, even begrudgingly.

Florence didn’t like Phoebe.

Case in point: the other woman waited a few moments, probably only pretending to skim her notes before addressing Florence. When Phoebe finally closed her notebook and looked at her, she smiled, a warm and polite fuck you sparkling in her eyes. She tutted, looking back at the arena. “Shame. If you want some help, all you have to do is ask.” Her smile grew genuine with amusement at the thought of Phoebe stooping to ask Florence for help. In spite of herself, she let out a laugh. Florence didn’t much care for Abraxas. In her eyes, he was an arrogant idiot, too happy to play Riddle’s Ministry puppet. “To be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” she mused. An air of seriousness settled over her. If Phoebe hadn’t found anything, it probably meant that there was very little to be found. Whoever was behind this, they were good. That worried her.

“Do you think it’s someone we know?”

///

This was why Athena never told anyone about what she was feeling. It was that look—the pity, the sadness. She hated it. She hated being treated like she was anything but the brilliant witch she knew she was, hated being treated as though she needed saving. She knew, however, deeper down, that Florence wasn’t actually treating her like that. She wasn’t looking down at Athena, she was looking through her, understanding why she was the way she was and understanding what she needed in order to make it through this in one piece. Athena hadn’t expected the events of the rally to shake her so deeply, but being without her magic was a feeling she never wanted to get accustomed to. 

She paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I…I broke things. A lot of things.” She had broken many delicate instruments in the charms classroom, had thrown her books off the astronomy tower, had destroyed her dorm room in Ravenclaw, all because she needed some way to vent all of the anger and frustration and pain that had come along with Nico’s death. 

//

Florence listened carefully as Athena spoke, a wry smile twitching on her lips at the thought of Athena destroying pieces of Hogwarts in grief. She understood the impulse. It was cathartic to make things on the outside look how one felt on the inside. "Would you like to break things now?” She didn’t want to be presumptuous, but if it would help the younger woman move through her grief, Florence had plenty of scrapped items at her workshop. Magic was wonderful for quick clean-up. She had been thinking a lot about how much she relied on magic, how much it was a part of her as her clever mind and her steady hands and her ability to move around without any help. Even now, in seeking solutions, it played a necessary role. She wasn’t sure how the loss - and regaining - of magic compared to losing a sibling. She hadn’t experienced either.

“Regardless, I think perhaps you should take a break from your work. I’d be happy to escort you home for another drink, or you can smash up a few things in my workshop, or we can sit here, talking or in silence.” Florence looked at Athena, pressing her lips together in a flat line, before reaching out, resting her hand almost tenderly on Athena’s shoulder. “I want to help you.”

///

Fleamont had been swamped with work ever since the rally. He hadn’t been sleeping very much, oftentimes bringing files home from work and working late into the night, sitting up in bed with a light shining from his wand and illuminating the parchments in front of him. That day, he had been poring over research on the origins and energy behind magic, the place where magic came from and the place where it would go. It was all about transformation of energy, Fleamont was finding out, but as he got more into the nitty gritty of the science behind magic, he was starting to feel like his brain was oozing out of his ears. He closed the book in front of him and sighed, rubbing his forehead once and looking out at the bullpen outside of his office. He and Lyall, being senior aurors, had their own offices, but the junior aurors all made do with desks in the large area of the office outside. 

He watched as Florence approached across the bullpen, his curiosity piqued the instant he saw her. It wasn’t necessarily unusual to see a metal-charmer of her caliber around the Ministry, as the Ministry often hired some of their more complicated spellwork out to private contractors such as Florence, but she rarely made an appearance in the Auror Office. “Yes, Madam Rosier, please take a seat,” he said, standing up and reaching a hand out to shake.

//

Florence smiled, reaching out and shaking his proffered hand. She sank into the chair opposite him, her eyes flickering over his desk, taking note of a few of the headings on the papers spread out in front of him. Old habit. She wasn’t here on Riddle’s request, and she planned on keeping any information she learned today to herself. She was beginning to have her doubts about Riddle. He was afraid - rightfully so - but his fear was making him consider making alliances with those who would normally disagree with the Knights and their methods. Florence thought it was weakness, similar to what led Grindelwald to his defeat. All this, of course, she kept to herself. No need to include others on her doubts. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting you.” She said, tilting her head towards Fleamont’s desk. “Were you working on something important?”

It had been awhile since Florence had walked through the halls of the Ministry. As a young woman, she’d spent most of her time here, making small metal charms alongside a handful of other bright young women. She had, of course, been using the time to gather information for Grindelwald, but there was no reason for anyone to suspect her of that. She’d been very careful. She’d left the Ministry a few years after Grindelwald had fallen to Dumbledore and had tried her best to maintain a professional working relationship with the people inside the building. It was those professional working relationships that got her inside today. The Ministry was busy, as she’d anticipated. A lot of people milling about trying to solve the same mystery she was. It was what had brought her here.

She arrived in front of the Auror’s office, his name neatly embossed on the wood. Fleamont Potter. He’d been one of the Aurors assigned to the event - one of a few, if Florence’s intel was correct. The rumors about Auror Lupin left him less than desirable to interact with, so Florence was here, hoping she could get some more information from a source that wasn’t as close to her. She knocked twice. “Auror Potter? I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

///

Florence had a good point, one that Athena hadn’t been willing to admit to herself thus far. She sat down heavily behind her desk, the chair facing the back wall for a moment before she turned and finally looked at Florence. “No,” she admitted. She thought that throwing herself back into her work would be enough to snap her out of the funk she had been in ever since the rally, but it only seemed to be getting worse, not better. Her hands shook and she folded them in her lap. “I haven’t felt like this since Nico died.” Then, she had been young, destroying her dorm room at Hogwarts and pushing everyone away. She didn’t know how to handle overwhelming emotion then, and she didn’t know how to handle it now, either.

Athena didn’t admit to much. She liked to pretend that nothing could touch her, like nothing could faze her, but in actuality, she felt deeply. She felt deeply and keenly and it was difficult for her to pretend that what she was dealing with wasn’t weighing heavily on her mind. The fear and chaos of the day had brought up plenty of feelings she had been doing her best to repress, and it hadn’t been working.

///

Florence nodded, a small dip of her head, as Athena moved to sit. She said nothing, waiting patiently through the silence as the young woman moved through what Florence was sure was a myriad of emotions. Athena’s soft and quiet no was all the confirmation that Florence needed. She turned, slightly, folding her hands in her lap. Too many wix these days believed that the only way to accomplish a goal was to run through the obstacles headfirst. If they were going to solve the intricate puzzle that lay before them, they were going to need to do it with a clear head. Florence pressed her lips together when Athena mentioned Nico. She knew, of course, about the boy and his death -- but the details of it were unknown to her. Florence looked over, taking in the other woman. She felt a particular allegiance to the young women of the Knights. The men, she found, sort of bored her. The women were clever, intelligent, ferocious witches who seemed to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

"When you lost your brother,” Florence started, her voice quiet and calm, “what helped you express your grief?”