Perfection Is Key

"Do you even know what you’re doing?" "We’ve already tried this." "You don’t even know what you’re doing." "How many times do I have to tell you?" "You have five seconds…" "I don’t even know who you are." "Didn’t your parents ever tell you that?" "Is this where you live?" "… Why are your hands down your pants?"

She wanted to argue, but she didn’t have a convincing enough argument against Millicent’s words, and Hestia would not look ignorant on top of everything else. 

However, when Millicent scooted closer, Hestia’s blood boiled and the fear that had been lurking under her skin surged. Oh gods, she couldn’t let the memories surface, she couldn’t let the resentment and the irrational terror consume her. Vaguely, Hestia realized that the head of her department was testing her, although she couldn’t put her finger on the reason why. 

Hestia twined her fingers together, desperately resisting the urge to push Millicent away. She wouldn’t let her emotions get away from her, and besides, she was almost positive that Millicent would flay Hestia alive before letting the obliviator get away with shoving her. 

Trying to ignore the panic in her chest, Hestia met Millicent’s gaze. “Thank Merlin that we have a leader such as yourself to mitigate the finances,” the words only contained a spoonful of sarcasm. “I don’t think that you’d allow anyone to cut the budget while you’re in charge.”

Casually, Hestia scooted away from Millicent, using the excuse of grabbing getting closer to examine her own file. A small picture of herself—taken when she’d first gotten the job—stared back at her, and Hestia frowned at the image. She hated that picture: she looked too fat, her skin too oily, and her hair had been an absolute wreck that day. Of course, on top of everything else happening, Millicent would have a horrible picture of her to mock later. 

At Millicent’s words, Hestia’s gaze shot back to the woman, barely concealing the shock she felt at the slight compliment. 

"Why study my reaction to this small infraction?" Hestia asked. She didn’t quite believe Millicent’s words; the woman was too powerful to willingly give up her position… unless she thought that she could run for something higher—- the minister of magic, perhaps? 

Hestia wanted to laugh at the woman’s hope; did she really think that she could be the next minister? She was too rough, too stringent. Millicent Bagnold was too much to be minister. 

Millicent could see Hestia wanting to say something, the words were sitting on her lips. Millicent’s eyes’ scanned Hestia’s face once again, lingering on the younger women’s lips. 

Distractions were everything Millicent had to keep her mind quiet these days. She could drink like a fish but still the nightmares would come, she could go until her body finally gave in to it’s need to sleep and still she would be up two hours later covered in a cold sweat and all her sense on edge. Distractions such as work and sex seemed to be the only things to keep her mind silent, and at the moment Hestia Jones was offering Millicent a  rather nice distraction. 

Millicent chuckled slightly at Hestia’s remark. Millicent leaned easily on the front of her desk and watched Hestia’s eyes go over her folder. The picture was not the most flattering, in reality, Hestia Jones was one of the more beautiful women Millicent had seen in the ministry. She would have to put in a note to update the photo soon. The women had done enough work in the department to get at least a decent photo in her file. 

“Because, those in power usually get blamed for the smallest infractions. If you haven’t noticed yet, this line of work is filled with egos, and there is nothing that builds and ego like deflating some one else’s.” Millicent smirked tapping her finders slightly against the wood. 

Moody might be stubborn to the point of death, but Crastor was a bit more…pliable. The head hitter was a failed auror candidate, a promotion that never struck Amelia as being the wisest, but it happened far before she began in the department. There was talk, however, that the man might be retiring in the next few months, she could only hope it was true.

"I honestly think, and Mr. Crouch agrees, that if you were to speak to him, let him know how much you’d like the situation settled, that he’d stop stirring things back up. He hates Mr. Moody, he hates the auror department and his resentment flows down to the rest of the Hitters. However, he’s up for early retirement and Mr. Crouch seems confident he’ll accept it," she sighed, shaking her head. The politics involved in soothing everyone’s egos were tiresome at best. "It doesn’t have to last very long, Ms. Bagnold, just long enough for Crastor to retire in peace so the department can find a new head and, hopefully, put an end to this nonsense."

Millicent had gotten used to working with ego’s over the years, but it still amazed her how the men she worked with could hold grudges for years and let it affect their work. Millicent would be the first to tell you how much she detested Alastor Moody, but she would never risk her job or a mission because of her personal feelings towards he man. She had found that there was nothing more delicate than a man’s ego through the years of working in the Ministry.

“Fine, fine, I’ll talk to Crastor, though I can’t blame him for his hatred.” Millicent picked up her quill and scribbled a note to herself and looked up at the young women. “Crastor will take it, the man needs to retire. As for the new head, Ms. Bones, I would not hesitate to encourage you to start looking forward. You have a good head on your shoulders and I would like to see more women step up into positions of power around here.” Millicent smiled softly and nodded once before tapping her fingers on her desk and looking back up at Amelia. “Is there anything else I can help you with, now that you’re here?” 

Fabian’d gotten restless in his apartment, waiting on another assignment. Gringotts had him in-country for the moment, and he’d heard rumors of some Scottish catacombs up north. But for now, he was off-duty, forcing himself outside whenever possible. As much as he wanted to lie around, maybe sleep a bit, nothing was more painful than the silence. Distractions helped, in that regard. So that morning he’d gone to a Muggle restaurant downtown, eager to be in the company of strangers. People who didn’t know him, then or now…people for whom he didn’t have to pretend to be alright.

He quite liked Muggle places. Art talked about Muggles incessantly, and Fab had to admit, they were sort of incredible, in their way. He did his best to blend in, but he was still learning to deal with Muggle money. Fortunately the numbers were straightforward enough, even if the bills were weird. Paper didn’t seem very sturdy, as far as money went. It burned and tore and blew away. But to each their own, he supposed.

He was staring at the bills in his hand, trying to count out the right amount to cover his bill when a blast tore through the window, blowing the tables backward. Fabian hit the floor with the others, grunting at the shards of broken glass and splinters of wood flying through the air. His ears rang, blinking at what remained of his table as he glanced around, surveying the damage. Fuck. His left arm hurt like hell, using his other to awkwardly ease off it. As he tried to support his weight on it gingerly, he swore silently, letting out a low hiss as he sat up, tucking it in close to his side. He’d tried catching himself, slamming it into the ground as the blast’d knocked him over. Didn’t know for sure without a mediwizard, but it felt broken. Wasn’t too keen to look at it or fuss with it, right then. He touched his tongue to his lip briefly, tasting blood. He must’ve split it somewhere on the way down.

What the hell’d happened? He’d heard about these…Muggle explosions. Fytomite; gran aids; leeks. Was this one of those? A boom, maybe? But as he heard a voice call out—a clear spell, this time—he grabbed at his jacket pocket as he heard the sound of cracking wood, as though they were trying to shatter the bar to bits.

Wand intact. Small mercies.

He peered up over the wreckage, heart racing as he appraised the situation. Two dark cloaks, two familiar masks. Two Death Eaters. One him. He wasn’t quite sure who the odds were favoring that day. Glancing over to some of the Muggles huddled in the corner, he leaned in. “Stay down,” he hissed. Running’d be no help. They might even make a game of it, hexing Muggles as they ran down the street.

Fabian Prewett was a decent person. Not necessarily in terms of personality or temperament, but in terms of skills. He was alright at a lot of things. He could cook well enough to stay alive. He was a good flyer and a fair Keeper. Could make a decent-sized house using a deck of Exploding Snap cards, and didn’t poison himself every time he brewed a potion. That said, the list of things he excelled at was much smaller. His alcohol tolerance bordered on godly, and after several years of practice, he could magic his way into anywhere.

Fortunately for him, dueling was on the shorter list.

They hadn’t spotted him yet. One, two—

"Impedimenta!"

It hit one, slowing him down as the other took aim. As he ducked down, running along the wall, a curse came hurtling his way. Something white hot grazed his side and he swore, grateful it’d missed but irritated he’d cut it that close. The next few moments passed in a flurry of spells and shattered glass as they cursed back and forth, Fabian ducking behind whatever he could find, running along the length of the bar. He stood up again, throwing a hex over the barrier, preparing to dodge whatever it was they threw back at him. But as soon as it’d come it stopped. And with a crack, they were gone.

He lowered his wand cautiously, only just registering their disappearance when several more cracks hit the air. And there he stood in the middle of the ruins, wand in hand, facing Millicent Bagnold and several other members of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Broken glass littered the floor, along with the remnants of several tables, bits of food, and the plates the food’d been sitting on. Not to mention the twenty-odd Muggles carefully peeking up around the edges of the bar….and whatever was left of the others.

A robed wizard he didn’t recognize stepped forward. “Drop your wand, sir, and put your hands in the air.” 

Turning and glancing around, Fabian sighed, doing as he was told.

He winced as he raised his left arm, putting it as high as he dared put it.

Fan—bloody—tastic.

Work was her only escape from the constant headaches, nightmares and panic attacks. She could focus on fixing manageable problems, she had control of situations, she had power and knew exactly what to do. There were rules and regulations, there was a flow to the day, there was order instead of the chaos going on in her head. Today was no different, she had a neat schedule on her desk to keep to, meetings to attend, budgets to over look, and reports to review. Each hour of her day was filled with tedious, mind numbing work and that is exactly what she needed. 

As the hours ticked by, Millicent got into the motions of the day, letting her previous thoughts and worries of that morning subside to a hum in the back of her head. She had just finished up some paperwork and was gathering what she needed for her next meeting when her door burst open. Annoyance filled her quickly, but the moment she realized the pure panic and distress on the man’s face Millicent knew that their had been another attack. 

Slipping her wand out of it’s pocket in her jacket, Millicent followed the young man quickly, listening to him explain what they knew. A muggle restaurant had been attacked, the restaurant was in bad shape, but there were clear signs of magic being used and not just a muggle bomb. Millicent quickly sent the man off to get the rest of the forces they would need. Millicent could start to feel the panic building in her stomach, bubbling and turning of the fluids with in it as her chest tightened and her breath got shallow. She could feel a slight tremor in her left hand start as she walked down the corridor. 

Pull yourself together, Millicent. It’s just work, you know exactly what you are doing. 

Millicent focused her thoughts on the sounds of her heels clicking against the floor, counting the steps as she went. One, two, three…Repetitious behaviors were always best, count to ten, tap her fingers in a rhythm against her desk, anything that she could do over and over again mindlessly to subside the adrenaline pumping through her veins. 

When the team she asked for was finally together Millicent gave the order and disaperated quickly. As unpleasant as the feeling of apperating was, it was a much more efficient method of travel, especially when it came to dealing with containing a breach of security such as an attack. 

Millicent landed easily in the middle of the restaurant, with her team behind her. The place was a mess, most of the windows were gone, shattered across the floor, tables were overturned with people hiding behind them, while others were passed out or injured. Millicent’s eyes scanned the room quickly trying to find any traces left behind to help identify the cause of the initial explosion. 

Millicent had spotted Fabian Prewett quickly, knowing full well that her people would deal with him as needed for now. She did not have the patients to deal with him at this point. The damage was too much to be caused by one person, let alone one who’s arm was clearly broken from being in the explosion.