#splintered

Once he had her attention, Gilderoy waved a copy of Witch Weekly at her with a mischievous grin. On the cover was his photograph, bearing an identical grin.

"Gilderoy—"

“Gilderoy Lockhart, a wizard of extraordinary charm—” He paused reading to tilt the magazine, then looked up at Greta, expectant.

She tried to sigh in irritation, but smiled despite herself.

“Extraordinary charm, oh, unquestionably," she said, taking the armchair across from him. She rested her chin in her hand and motioned for him to continue.

"I won’t argue with that, either," he said. "Your discernment is impeccable."

For the first time in weeks, Greta laughed. Brief and harsh, close to a bark, but genuine. She covered it with the back of her hand, as if surprised by it. This was sweet, in its way.

"Well, go on, then. Read me the rest. "

Gilderoy brightened immediately, settling deeper into the cushions.

"—a wizard of extraordinary charm, whose exploits have captivated the magical world from Cairo to the Carpathians—"

Greta sat back in the chair, half-smile in place.

It was a shame Quirinus wasn't here to enjoy this. No doubt he'd be chewing the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing.

Her mouth straightened into a line, and she glanced at the door.

It was only two days into the school year, yet she and Gilderoy were already splintered off from the other faculty.

The corridor outside was quiet.

They were younger, of course. Severus was the closest at only four years older, though his tenure was longer.

It promised to be a long year. Gilderoy had a way of putting off everyone after more than an hour or two.

Except her, of course.

And Quirinus.

"—whose presence is said to be as dazzling as his deeds—" A pause. "Greta? Are you all right? You looked...sad for a moment."

She shifted, forcing her attention back to her friend.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm sorry, Gilderoy, I was just thinking. Go ahead, keep reading."

He studied her a few seconds longer, then resumed, keeping one eye on her.

"—whose daring exploits and unmistakable personal magnetism have secured him a place among the most admired figures of our age—"

Greta scoffed and forked out a hand.

"Fibber, it absolutely does not say that."

Gilderoy snatched the magazine against his chest.

"It does so."

"Give me the magazine, Gilderoy."

He sighed.

"Fine. It doesn't say the very last thing, after 'magnetism'. But everything else it does," he added. "Would you like your star sign?"

"Leo, Libra, Aquarius," she rattled off. "Go."

But Gilderoy didn't start reading. He froze and stared at her.

"Are you certain?" he asked after a moment.

Libra.

But the Libra wasn't here anymore.

The tension of the weeks dropped all at once. Greta burst into tears, then into sobs, as sudden and senseless as a storm.

Gilderoy was on his feet, and dropped to one knee in front of her chair. Without asking, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her close.

She contemplated pulling away, she'd made it this far on her own. But it was nice to have someone who cared, immediate and demonstrative. No more distant sympathy, no more polite grief.

Finally, she gave in and hugged both arms around his neck.

And with his face pressed against her arm, she realised he was crying too, hot tears tickling the sensitive skin.

Having a good relationship with all of the lead secretaries was an important life skill she had learned from Chief Tsai when she worked as his Chief of Staff. “Never make any of them mad, or make it up to them as soon as you can. I can’t afford a splintered relationship with them. If you mess things up for me, you’ll be out on your ass.”

With a nod and a signal of her own, she reassured her colleague that lunch would arrive as usual.

Having him already in a mood, she saw no point in giving it more time. She knocked five seconds ahead of her appointment, as usual.

The angry shout from within was no surprise.

She twisted the handle and swung the door open. Inside, the President was off to one side of his office. In one hand, he held a wooden board with a sheaf of papers.

“Mr. President…”

He rounded on her, his face a mask of rage.

“Beifong! Do you expect me to accept this?”

His tirades had gotten somewhat more frequent of late. Iroh had kept her informed on the First Lady’s travels in the Earth Kingdom. She had reciprocated with updates on the President’s declining mood.

“I gather you are displeased with my report on the Triad Interdiction Project?”

Somehow, he managed to look further enraged.

“No results for months! This city will never be safe, will it? You have wasted time and money on this program, Beifong! Cancel it!”

Even though she and Saikhan had anticipated he might react this way, it still stung.

“Give it time, Mr. President. Three weeks is hardly long enough…”

“No! No more time!”

In a blur, he raised and then slammed his writing board down on the edge of the desk.

It splintered, exploding into a cloud of shards.

“Get out,” he growled.