to define is to limit

Zacharias raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t paid much attention to Higgs, if any at all, but maybe he could be fun. For Zacharias, at least. “Oh? Are you usually a gambler, then? I s’ppose not, or you wouldn’t be talking about giving it up so easily.” He himself wouldn’t think of himself as a gambler; he takes bets every now and then, sure, but who doesn’t? It’s practically become a common thing, with how often he seems to hear variations of Bet you that yada yada yada. “What’s your vice then? C’mon, we’re all mates here, you can tell me.”

He offers no such information himself, of course. That’s not how these things go. In most cases, people would assume to know his vices anyway, as part of the image he’s carefully created for himself, and he likes it that way. Let ‘em think whatever.

“Avery… nah, rings no bells.” As Higgs goes on to add their year and house, it makes more sense; they’re a bit too young to hang in the same circles as Aaron and when you add the different houses, it all fits. “Aaron. Sixth year Puff. Nerdy like a Ravenclaw, though, the Hat really did a piss-poor job on that one.” Then again, Aaron is also a much better Hufflepuff than Zacharias ever was; he swears, the kid is like a fucking saint, with how much of his classmates’ bullshit he deals with. Where Zacharias might’ve told someone to fuck off, Aaron actually listens and befriends ‘em. Weird as shit. Must be all Amelie, but he wouldn’t know that, would he? It’s not like he actually cared to get to know her. “Does yours play Quidditch?”

Higgs’ honesty is unexpected but great all the same and Zacharias’ grin widens. “Trouble in paradise?” He doesn’t feel as guilty as one might expect about his comment about Ministry workers now that he knows Higgs is one. In fact, he doesn’t feel guilty at all. As Aaron says, ‘he’s right and he should say it’. Or whatever. Zacharias still isn’t entirely hip with memes. “Well, yeah, no shit. If you’re gonna decide to add technology to the shitstorm that’s already happening here you might as well do it right. Which you’re not. Or they’re not, since you don’t seem to think of yourself as one of ‘them’. Gotta say, though, you saying all that isn’t inspiring much confidence in my poor peasant soul. If not even you lot in the Ministry know what you’re doing we’re screwed, aren’t we?”

.

Oh, no. Apparently, he’s made a grave mistake. 

Well, alright, that’s being a bit dramatic, but the point is, he’s walked right into the trap of finding yet another way to emphasize his generally dull personality. Or at the very least, dull lifestyle. But in his defence... he sort of likes being dull. If quiet nights in with a book and casual dinner parties planned weeks in advance and bonding with his kid over ice-cream on holidays is dull, then he’ll take dull over the rest, any day. 

He chuckles a little, mostly at himself. Well, there’s no avoiding it now. “Ah—sadly, no, I’m not,” he replies. Though the only ‘sad’ thing about it, really, is that his attempt at being funny and interesting has just backfired on him. It’s a little too ironic not to be amusing, actually. “But my vice? Oh, Merlin, um...” he pauses, and though he experiences a wash of relief that he can actually think of an honest answer that isn’t ‘I don’t have any,’ which, even as a fully grown, adult man, would have been vaguely embarrassing—but the relief is quickly replaced with more self-deprecating amusement, because even before it’s out of his mouth, he knows how it’s going to sound. 

“Well, now I’m afraid I’m just going to disappoint you, with that look on your face. It’s a bit stodgy, really, but cigars. Which is a muggle thing, initially—but I got it from my father, who got it from my mother. Not that she smoked them, but he was fascinated with them, and... well, the rest is history, as they say. Though not a particularly exciting read,” he intones with a grin that’s almost apologetic. 

At the question about Avery playing Quidditch, he nods, no at all unproudly. He can’t help but smile. “This year is their first time, actually, yes. Keeper for Ravenclaw.” To be honest, he was still reeling from that news. 

“I didn’t say that,” he replies to Smith’s concerns about the Ministry. He’s wondering now if he should have been more careful with this words. If he should have avoided the subject altogether. But the problem is, not opening up a dialogue has never helped anything, ever. And what kind of man would he be if he disguised what he really believed in purely for the sake of hiding the Ministy’s imperfections. Owning up to the reality of conflict is a lot more effective and diplomatic. 

“I wouldn’t say it’s about not knowing what we’re doing—at least not any more than the inevitable ignorance of humanity as a whole. It’s just that... well, the Ministry is made up of a lot of different parties, all of which have varying opinions on how we should proceed, obviously. And I don’t happen to align myself with the current Majority. That doesn’t mean we can’t still see eye to eye on plenty of things, and work together. It just means... this is only one of many ways things could have unfolded, I suppose.” 

“It seems we are at an impasse. ” Terry sighs, skimming the contents of the book in his hand, “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s probably someone like you.” It had only been a month into this impossibly complex task but the clock was ticking. The no-contact statues we’re a short-term solution to a long-term problem. Still, Terry had faith in his countrymen to pull together and push forward. Failure is not an option. “Mysteries have kept Unspeakables going for decades. This is just another one.” 

The Department of Mysteries had been dissecting the otherworldly into understanding for centuries. Like the heart or the brain, or time and space – all which silently pump us full of divine being, all which were once riddles now solved and printed into textbooks just like the one in his hand. Terry reads through the introduction silently; hoping that he’ll be reading about a spell, a charm, or even a god-forsaken invisibility cloak that can shield Magic from the lens of a smartphone in the near future.

“Well, what materials do you need?” Terry asks, snapping the book shut and carefully returning it to it’s original placement in the pile. Though Terry agrees procedure has it’s place, sometimes the rules must he misshapen and bent for true progress. Right now, all incoming material from the Muggle World was filtered though the Muggle Liaison Office who took their own sweet time with each item in the name of national security. Paired with the additional shipping and delivery, it was all time the Technomagical Initiative didn’t have. “Perhaps I can help speed things up for you.” Terry is used to throwing his weight around to trying to get things done, he’s also not opposed to some external help if it meant moving this whole process along. With the Techno-Fair embroiled with bad press, the Technomagical Initiative needed a win, and Terry was determined to get one.

Thinking of which, it’s probably time to may Potter a visit about the stolen items from the fair. His brows furrow together just thinking about it, and then quickly relax once he realises he look they cast on his face. As Terence speaks a small smile slowly splays across his face, watching as the man finds all the right words to wrap the disaster that in a pretty euphemism. Terry’s piercing blue eyes meet Terence’s gaze, a small defeated chuckle escapes his lips, “Well, I suppose if those in attendance took saw some value in it, it wasn’t a total failure.” He says with a small shrug.

.

But if anyone can figure it out, it’s probably someone like you.

It’s framed like a compliment, but it’s one of those comments that could just as easily be a threat, and given the nature of Terry’s intimidating presence and often impassive tone, Terence isn’t sure he’d be confident enough to bet on either. Not that he’d go so far as to say he fears Terry in any way—he means it when he asserts that he respects the man, is fond of him, even, in the way one might be fond of an imposing superior one only knows at face value—but still.... something about the comment leaves Terence feeling vaguely unsettled. 

Nonetheless, Terry makes a good point. Difficult and long-running mysteries is and has always been the very definition of an Unspeakable’s job. In an unexpected way, Boot’s casual observation is actually reassuring. 

Terence sighs gently, nodding. “Well, I’m tempted to say you flatter me, but that would be misleadingly dismissive—I appreciate the vote of confidence, actually. And you’re right, of course—it’s good to keep it in perspective like that. This is new territory for us, but in many ways, we’re hardly unfamiliar with the concept of new territory, are we?” He offers a small, calm smile. 

The book snaps shut, sharp and precise and clean, much in the way Boot is, and Terence feels a subtle rush of something like adrenaline or an abstract form of thrill. He reasons with himself that it’s the offer Terry hangs in front of his nose then: an offer to use the weight he holds in ministry to Terence’s advantage. “Oh, well I have a couple texts on back order under my name—and the name of the Initiative, of course—they were supposed to arrive weeks ago but every time I inquire about it I get increasingly more dismissive replies so I’m... reluctant to rock the boat more than I have. I think at this point I’d only be shooting myself in the foot. So if you wanted to look into it, being that you have more.... influence than I do, I’d definitely be... grateful.” He pauses, steers his mind away from the path it seems tempted to wander just then, and licks his lips. His fingers absently draw circles in his left temple. “Other than that, I was... considering asking Granger for an exception for an afternoon or two, just to head into London. But I’m not sure how well that would go over.” 

But something about Terry’s drawling reply regarding the fair sends a spike of vague panic through Terence. Perhaps unnecessarily, and so he swallows most of it down, but nevertheless, Terence’s spine straightens as he shakes his head, eager not to be misunderstood; particularly under that striking, crystalline gaze. The last thing he’d wanted to do is offend. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it was a failure by any stretch of the imagination. We’re doing something controversial here. Something new. It was bound to get at least a little backlash. But nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Personally, I’m extremely grateful the Ministry is demonstrating the courage it takes to stray from tradition, even if it’s in baby steps. With everything that’s gone on under the—” He stops himself just short of saying Minister Granger’s government. Even if he knew Terry much better than he did, it’d still probably be a bit unwise to speak ill of the Minister under her own roof. At least directly. “With the no-contact statutes,” he continues instead. “The community certainly could do with the reminder that at the end of the day, we’re all on the same side.” Or we should be, he thinks.

Lisa opened her mouth to protest - he had nothing to apologise for, she was the one who’d pointed a wand at him - but they could be stuck in this whole ‘no, it’s alright, I’m sorry’ circle for a while and she’d never really had much patience for small talk. So instead she swallowed back another apology and instead let out a small laugh; she was all too familiar with losing track of time.

“Yeah, I know the feeling. I’ve been called a workaholic once or twice, if you can believe it,” she said wryly. But it was the truth; there was simply no escape from work, not even off the clock. Her chuckle turned into a sigh at that. “And with the Burgess trial coming, I suppose I’m really living up to the title.”

At this point, she assumed the news that she would be representing the prosecution in the upcoming trial had already made rounds in the Ministry, if not the press too; she didn’t feel she was breaching any protocol by simply mentioning it. And although she would never admit it, perhaps a part of her was also using it as an excuse for her overworking nature; it had been something people had admiringly pointed out about her while she was still climbing the ranks of the Ministry, but as of late, all it got her were pitying looks rather than anything else.

With that thought only souring her mood, she tried to push it away. Instead, she turned her focus back to Terence, racking her brain to find why he seemed so familiar outside of simply being a fellow Ministry worker. “You were pulled to the Technomagical Initiative, yeah? I think I remember seeing your name somewhere on the paperwork. In which case you have quite the solid excuse for losing track of time; I imagine the change is taxing.” She then paused, considering. With how many Terence and Terrences there were around, it was also very possible that she was wrong, but she figured what was some more embarrassment at this point? “Or I’m not remembering that right in which case, please disregard - as we’ve established, it’s been a long day.”

.

He knew she was being sarcastic, but still, the ‘if you can believe it’ brought a chuckle to his lips. “You’re a lawyer. I would think ‘workaholic’ is in the job description,” he quipped with a wry grin. Followed by a small sigh. He was no lawyer, but he knew he was prone to much of the same. It’d been a personal trait he’d been battling for years—ever since Avery had come into the picture. Because of course, before Avery, he’d had very little reason to curb the habit. He’d had no one really depending on him, no one he’d felt responsible to, no one he’d really put before his work—though, he had to admit that probably spoke volumes about why none of his relationships ever seemed to pan out. 

“Nevertheless, I will say, though, that working in politics sort of means that there will always be something coming up. If it weren’t this trial, for instance, it would be another. Just one more thing we tell ourselves we’ll get through, and then we can relax. But there’s never any end to it. And trust me, I know I’m being a hypocrite for saying it, but at a certain point I think we have to realize that our personal health comes first now, not just later. Otherwise, I doubt we’d survive more than ten years in the field.” 

He gave her a soft, empathetic smile. “Granted, I promise you, I’m telling this to myself as much as to you. Because look at me—” he gestured vaguely to the quiet, moonlit halls around them. “I’m still here. It’s easier to... keep this stuff in mind when my kid is at home waiting me. It’s a lot harder to keep up during school season.”

Zacharias snorts loudly at the mention of Higgs’ mother liking films – doesn’t that just sound familiar. “Yeah, mine was the same. It’s important to keep in touch with our Muggle origins,” he mimics, rolling his eyes, though there’s nothing but affection there. His mother was cool as fuck, something that has only become all the more apparent to him after her passing. “And how’d that gamble work out for ya, Higgs?” He’s just teasing at this point; it’s pretty damn clear that whatever happened later in the film definitely hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. “Don’t tell me that’s the only film you saw at this thing, that would just be sad. Then again, Brown dragged me to see the shitty love one with her which I guess is even sadder; can’t win with this shit, can we?”

He doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about his assessment of the Ministry which is odd enough to make Zacharias remember that he has no clue what Higgs does for a living. He doesn’t think much of it, though; he isn’t at this thing to think. “Sounds like a smart kid.” After a brief moment of consideration, he decides fuck it, and asks, “What’s the name?” And then because he can’t have Higgs thinking he’s trying to make friends or whatever, he adds, “I’ve got a brat at Hogwarts too, I guess I’m just curious if yours is someone I’ve heard of.”

His answer to Zacharias’ question sounds… rehearsed. Like the shit you’d hear Granger (sorry, Granger-Weasley) sprout at press-conferences and stuff. “How very diplomatic of you. So you think showing us phones and computers in a glass case is going to help Wix understand them? While at the same time forbidding Muggle-borns and Half-bloods to keep theirs? Seems a bit hypocritical, is all.”

.

And how’d that gamble work out for ya, Higgs?

Terence’s responding grin is wry. “Great—if only because I think I’ve now given up the habit,” he drawls. 

There are times that he can sense the separation between himself and his acquaintances—between himself and the rest of the world, it often feels like. And in fact, there are many of such times. For a man who can carry on a decent conversation with just about anybody, it may even surprise people to know how deep his sense of isolation runs (with the wonderful exception of Avery, of course—Merlin bless them). Then again, maybe it would surprise no one. He is well mannered, polite—even droll. What he lacks in spontaneity, we makes up in wit, he’d like to think. But he has heard himself described as hard to read more than once. ‘Stoic’ or ‘reserved’ were some of the kinder expressions used. ‘All the personality of a paper cup,’ was a less flattering example. 

Despite all this, however, he thinks he does a fairly good job of playing a part. Of pretending like everything is effortless for him, like everything is simple. Many Slytherins might’ve grown up learning to hide their alienation behind cruelty and apathy. Terence hid his behind easy-going charm and a drawling sense of humour. 

It’s a little odd to think of Smith as a father. Something about his personality and swagger strikes Terence as being sort of still a kid, himself. Though, being young at heart never made for a bad parent. Quite the opposite, usually. Terence smiles at the opportunity to speak about Avery. It’s always a highlight of his day. Somewhere in the back of his mind there’s a voice asking him what that says about him, if it’s a sign his life is lacking in some way, but he ignores it. “Avery. They’re in third year. Ravenclaw. How about yours?”

Well, he has to hand it to Smith, he makes a good point regarding the fair. Not that Terence had ever been inclined to be fully supportive of the state of their Ministry at the moment. It was just a...sticky situation to be in, given his position, his support of the Technomagical Initiative and then his... wariness regarding Granger-Weasley’s governing. 

He sighs a little as they walk, a hand lifting from his pocket to rub at his chin. “No, I agree with you there. It is hypocritical. I’ll be candid, I’m... a bit between a rock and a hard place myself. I work in the Department of Mysteries and I’ve been reassigned to the Technomagical Initiative—which is fine. It’s an intensely fascinating area of study, and I think regardless of political viewpoint, it’s an important one. No matter how we move forward in the coming years... better understanding not only muggle technology, but also how magic interacts with it, is crucial. That said... I can’t deny I... take issue with the plenty of the WRP’s actions, especially recently.”

Ministry of Magic | Lisa Turpin & Terence Higgs November 15th, 2020 Closed starter for@terence-higgs​

It was late. Lisa wasn’t sure about the exact time, but it was late. Losing track of time wasn’t uncommon for her, not at all, not lately, but it still made her hold back a sigh. If this stupid cold that had to have lasted for over a month now didn’t kill her, then maybe this upcoming trial would; it was a sign of how exhausted she was that she genuinely let out a snort at her own morbid joke.

It was good, though, to have a distraction from the quietness. The Ministry was never this quiet, this… dead, and even though she knew, logically, that she couldn’t have been the only person still here, it didn’t make the silent halls any less eerie. The click of her heels was a distraction enough, or at least the closest she was going to get to one, and so she let herself focus on the steady rhythm of it. She’d count them, even.

Click, click. One, two. Click, click. Three, four.

She made it all the way to forty-three before somebody appeared out of nowhere, coming around the corner she’d been about to round herself, and Lisa’s wand was in her hand before she could second-guess herself. Still, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but notice that her reaction time hadn’t been great and her movements had been sluggish at best; she really did need to sleep.

“God,” she lowered her wand, raising a hand to her chest instead; Terence Higgs, despite not being someone she knew all that well, was hardly an enemy. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and you spooked me– just, sorry.” She shoved her wand back in her bag a little too aggressively; she was embarrassed and she was angry about being embarrassed. None of this was Terence’s fault, though, and Lisa forced herself to throw him half a smile. “Working late?”

.

To be honest, in the Department of Mysteries, time sort of... ceases to exist. Especially ironic, he supposes, if you’re working in Time Chamber, which Terence had been for the better part of his career with the Ministry. But the reason he feels that way has little, if anything, to do with magic and is simply due to the fact that for a building so busy, so consistently bustling, the Department of Mysteries is always oddly, or eerily, quiet. As if it was somehow not just far below the surface of the city, but on a whole separate plane even from the Ministry itself. In a department where discretion is everything, Terence supposes that makes sense—hell, maybe there is some magic behind its sense of isolation, even. 

Nevertheless, the endless piles of work—especially since his transfer to the Technomagical Initiative—and the corridor after corridor of dark, windowless rooms, tend to make one oblivious to the world around them, and as such, to time passing. 

He’d had to recast his time charm twice after those first set of floating numbers had shown him it was nearly half-three in the morning, just to be sure. But it was no trick of the light or slip of his hand—he definitely needed to get out of here. He’d always believed there was only so much progress you could make in a day, anyway. At a certain point, you reach a level of capacity and/or exhaustion that leaves you simply.... going in circles for the remaining hours, like a dog chasing its tail. He had a suspicion this was the case for at least his last few hours tonight.

He packed up his things as sensibly as he could, feeling sluggish, trying not to forget anything pertinent. He’d be right back here in less than ten hours, he felt sure, but he’d need his wallet, his wand... 

He rubbed his face for the umpteenth time as he wound his way through the upper corridors of the Ministry, heading for the exit on automatic pilot. And to be honest, he was just as startled as Lisa was when they crossed paths—which seemed absurd, in hindsight, because he’d subconsciously heard the clack of her heels and thought little of it—though it wasn’t until she was lowering her wand that his tired mind caught up with his nerves and provided a name for the face. 

Ironically, if he’d not already known who she was, having seen her about the Ministry plenty over the years, he may have foolishly considered the possibility of her being an apparition of his exhaustion. She’d always been one of the most strikingly beautiful people he’d ever seen, and though the passing information Terence was aware of assured she wasn’t of Veela descent, he remained...skeptical. 

His chuckle was breathy and tired, but he shook his head as he tried to get a handle on his heart rate. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry I spooked you. But yes, I seem to have... lost track of myself.” 

There’s no such thing as luck. Terry knows this well, luck is a dividend of when preparation meets opportunity. Still, sometimes the wheels of fate turn in inexplicable ways to produce answers and solutions where there previously were none. Like magic. But the task that lay before the members of the Technomagical Initiative is far away from magic as possible. It’s mechanical and electric, and it changes and adapts every second to escape their grasp. He’s not the naïve idealistic boy he once was, Terry knows this effort will take time to yield the appropriate results – and they’ve only just started, as Lisa had reminded him. But there is something bubbling in him deep beneath the surface, a hope cultivated out of the impatient nature of a pureblood wizard who’s used to fixing problems with a flick and a swish of his wand. A hope that Terrence Higgs and the many other Unspeakables working away are on to something. “Well, what’s so complicated? Perhaps two heads are better that yielding results than one.” 

Even as part of Talos, Terry’s no expert in muggle technology but he does have a better grasp when it comes to understanding it than most wix. Terry’s occupation demands him to be well-read and well-informed; that means reading one or two books of muggle literate too to understand what they’re dealing with. Terry glances over Terrence’s desk and recognises one of the covers stacked underneath some parchment, “I’ve read that one.” Terry says pointing at the book with a light green cover, “Insightful stuff. Too bad it was published five to six years ago, with muggle technology updating and upgrading every other day its hard to keep up.” he comments stepping over towards the other side of Terence’s desk where his pile of muggle publications lay, “May I?” 

Terry shrugs with a small smile, “Just a progress update.” Terry specialises in answering questions with as less detail as possible. In truth, the update was that there had been no progress thus far. Between the stolen muggle technology in the wind, and the Muggleborns United protest stealing the spotlight – the Technomagical Initiative was already off to a rocky start. “I remember spotting you at the Techno-Fair,” Terry remarks, “– my apologises for not greeting you there, it was a busy day.” It would be insightful to know what someone working in the department itself felt about all the political furore around it, “How did you find it?”

.

Terry offers his help, which Terence decides to take as generosity, despite the petty Slytherin in him telling him its condescension. He knows that it’s not—at least, he’d like to believe that it isn’t, perhaps in part because there’s something about Boot that Terence has always liked (and he staunchly denies it has anything to do with them having the same name: he’s not that arrogant)—but there is a part of his pride that tends to get on the defence about his work. As an Unspeakable, he’s found that getting respect for what you do is actually harder than some might think. People aren’t impressed by things they get to know nothing about. 

Not that this is at all the case with Terry, of course—but perhaps Terence cares a great deal more about what the man thinks than he cares to admit. But that’s just sensible, isn’t it? To care that a man as politically connected and as high up in the Ministry as Terry Boot has a good impression of the work that you do, and your ability to do it well? Especially considering how much he’d campaigned for the technomagical initiative.

He sighs a little at the inquiry—not at Terry, but at the effort of trying to find a succinct way to answer him. “I suppose it’s... one thing to try to follow the science of it, but another thing entirely to riddle out how to make ourselves invulnerable to it. It’s... messy.” 

Terry spots the muggle texts, but doesn’t seem perturbed by it, which is a relief, despite Terence knowing he’d been over-thinking the whole thing in the first place. Apparently Terry puts him on edge. Or perhaps Terence’s ninth cup of tea is to blame for that.

“By all means,” he replies swiftly, when Boot asks to take a look. Terence’s gesture is a little tired, but his tone is earnest nonetheless. “But I know. A couple of them are all but useless, now. I’ve ordered a few new ones by Owl, but unfortunately it’s taking a lot longer than I’d like for them to arrive. In other circumstances, I might just pop in to a few shops myself...  but obviously that’s not in the cards, at the moment.” He tries his best to keep the weary resentment from his tone, and he does alright—but his ‘best’ when he’s this tired isn’t quite as convincing as it might be otherwise. 

I remember spotting you at the Techno-Fair. Terry’s language is professional, polite, as always, as is his smile. But something in Terence hesitates as Boot catches his gaze. Looking the man in the eyes properly is... he won’t go so far as to say intimidating, because he doesn’t think that’s really the case—but Terence finds himself casting about for a word that’s less implicating than ‘hypnotizing’. He has little success. 

“Oh, nothing to apologize for.” He shakes his head, breaking the eye contact. His gaze falls instead to Terry’s long fingers casually carding through the pages of one of the books. “I suspect you had your hands quite full.” And, as though his comment made him suddenly aware of his gaze, he looks back up. “But it was... I mean, quite earnestly, I think it was valuable. Given the controversial nature of the whole thing, I believe it was executed as... equitably as it could have been. Give or take a few... speed bumps out of Ministry control.” 

Higgs has never really been on his radar; different year, different house, and, to be fair, with the spotlight always shining on Potter and Co., people like himself and Higgs tended to fade into the background. The most he knows about the man now is that he shows up at the Three Broomsticks every not and then – Zacharias isn’t nearly as invested in his job to remember his order, however – and that he has a brat at Hogwarts too. It’s not much, barely even anything at all, but it’s not as though Zacharias is looking for a new best friend anyway.

“Eh, it’s all just special effects and shit.” He waves a hand, unimpressed. Of course, it’s easy to do that when he’s missed most of it and what he doesn’t mention is how some horror films have given him nightmares for days, ‘just special effects and shit’ or not. He looks over at Higgs, considering, but he can’t for the life of him remember if he’s a pureblood or not – honestly, Zacharias isn’t sure he even knows. “Have you seen other films before? ‘Cause if that was your introduction, tough luck. You’d be better off watching Star Wars; now that’s the good shit.”

He finally pushes himself up from the seat, stretching a bit in an attempt to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. He glances around once again before deciding he might as well see what Higgs’ deal is. “Oh, yeah, it’s been a rollercoaster of excitement,” he snorts, tone dry. “Fuck’s sake, somehow they managed to turn something semi-interesting into a trip to the museum. Is being dull as shit part of the qualifications for working at the Ministry?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Zacharias also really might be onto something here. Nearly every Ministry worker he’s met so far has the personality of a piece of parchment, with Boot perhaps being one of the few exceptions. “What’d you think? ‘Bout the fair.”

.

Special effects and shit. It makes Terence grin a little. It sounds a little funny coming from him—from any Wix, really. Like the words are foreign to him and he’s mimicking something he’d heard about a few times, but didn’t really know anything about. Not that Terence is any exception. Yes, he had more exposure to muggle culture than many purebloods might’ve, but he’s never felt particularly connected to it. For all his mother’s muggle influences as he was growing up, their household did always feel very Wixen. And when he’d gotten older, he’d understood that that had been a deliberate choice of his parents.

Sometimes, especially during times of political distress like these,  he wondered what those conversations must have been like. Had it been an easy decision? Had there been arguments? Had they both felt it was the best thing for their children, or had politics dictated that they believe as such? Did mother feel good about that choice, or did she maintain any sense of loss or regret about the pieces of her live she’d left behind? He also had to wonder if the fact that his father was now the one sequestering himself to the muggle world with mother, was a sign that yes, maybe there were some residual regrets to which the children had never been privy.

“No, it wasn’t my first. Mother was a fan so, growing up I saw a few. Perhaps I should have stuck with something a little more familiar. But... I took a gamble,” he finishes with a shrug and a slight grin. 

He laughs at Smith’s jab at the ministry, wincing a little, but it’s in good humour. “Ah—my kid would probably argue that it is, to be straight with you.” He isn’t offended—he can’t be. He’s well aware he’s not the most thrilling personality. At least not from the perspective of someone like Smith. Well, to be fair, he knows little about him, but it doesn’t take much to decipher they’re of a very different sort.

“But I think...” He sighs a little, as they walk leisurely down the path, the crowds slow and thinning, but still milling about casually. What did he think of it? He was more on the fence about it than he’d expected. “I think that it’s an admirable cause. I support the initiative of it. And the pursuit of understanding. This is quite the mess we’ve found ourselves in and shoving our heads in the sand isn’t going to serve us any better. But maybe you’re right, the fair has been a little... tame.” 

Haneda’s Beauty Potions’ customer demographic looks a lot like this: middle-aged witches who come in because they are looking for a potent anti-aging spell, awkward teenagers with common skin problems such as acne and pimples, new mothers who just desperately need the company’s pick-me-up potions after many a sleepless night tending to their newborns, people buying last minute birthday or Christmas gifts for their family and friends, and the occasional Wix who are actually interested in skincare and are here to splurge.

Stepping into the store at the behest of their kid is definitely a new category. Not unwelcome, just completely new. Yurika must admit that even the notion that a father can take interest in their child’s interests is a completely new territory for her. Not that she has daddy issues of course, her father is very much present in her life thank you very much. He just never gives a damn about her hobbies and likes, preferring to only know her as heir to his company rather than an actual child with actual wants and needs that he can’t throw money and expensive items at all the time. In short, he’s a cool dad who lets her do whatever she wants. In long, he’s a lousy dad who wishes problems away with Galleons and Sickles. When she was younger, she would wish for her father to be uncool.

“There are benefits to being uncool,” Yurika offers, her smile turning more genuine because inside, Yurika Haneda is a sappy human being who loves the picture of a perfect happy family, “You can only level up from being uncool, right? You can only get cool.”

She then nods at the row of products in front of them. “And I can help you get familiar with our products. I assume you’re looking to buy your child something? If you know what they might like, I can show and explain the potions to you.”

.

Terence lets out a surprised, warm laugh—and he’s surprised by her comment (both charming and a little bold) and by the very laugh itself. Sometimes it’s in the little, humble moments like these that he remembers his tendency to think he can predict everyone and everything is a detriment: and just plain wrong. Because he’d not anticipated this response from the woman. He’ll admit that he’d apparently already made a snap judgement about her cheery demeanour—not that it was malicious at all, but that it was artificial, whether she intended it to be or not. 

But something about her comment—or perhaps it’s the look in her eyes—strikes him almost offensively genuine. The kind of person who’d make friends with a stranger at a train station. The kind of person Terence simultaneously didn’t understand, and yet quietly admired from afar. Celeste had been that kind of person—and he thinks that maybe it was both the reason he loved her, and the reason they didn’t work out. But of all the things Avery could have inherited from their mother, Terence was glad to see that was one of them—in their own, calculated and quiet way, they were as authentic and affectionate as Celeste had been. Is, he supposes. 

CLOSED STARTER FOR @terence-higgs​

Date: 12th of November, 2020

Setting: Terry often visits the Department of Mysteries to review the progress of the Technomagical Initiative and meet with fellow Talos member Padma Patil. After his meeting with the head of the initiative, Terry has a tendency of poking his nose where it doesn’t belong (kind of). 

The lines on his face grow deeper each day, so much so he’s started to notice. Terry is a man concerned with appearances. The Ministry of Magic’s, the Technomagical Initiative’s, just not his own. And that was very much the topic of conversation of his earlier meeting with Padma. The Techno-Fair had been quite the spectacle, but not the kind it was designed to be. The Muggleborns United protest had taken away the limelight from Terry’s efforts on this beloved project, it’s potential for the wizarding world and it put his own party under fire - not that it wasn’t already embroiled in scandals and bad press. What irked Terry was this was an opportunity for some good press. And then things went from bad to worse with the shocking report that hit the Daily Prophet: MUGGLE TECHNOLOGY STOLEN. When Terry read yesterday’s headline his heart sank, and it’s still sinking today. Terry had worked too hard and too long to get this department up and running, and while he wasn’t part of the research (even thought deep down he wants to be) he was instrumental in it’s creation and inauguration (legally). A blow to the department was a blow to him too. 

He exits Padma’s office quietly, closing the door lightly as not to disturb any of the Unspeakables working in the area. Terry had once considered becoming an Unspeakable himself in his early years; oh to be surrounded by research and knowledge, finding new discoveries, deciphering the undeciperable. A Ravenclaw’s dream come true? Possibly, he’d never know. Terry’s life’s path took him on another journey, not that he regrets it – all the decisions he’s ever made has led him here, and his curiosity will not go insatiated. 

He knows Terence Higgs in passing. The Ministry of Magic is a very big machine, Terry’s been mistaken for Terence numerous times, despite looking nothing alike. The curse of having the same namesake bonds them together, “Higgs.” Terry greets him with a wry smile, approaching the Unspeakable’s desk, “That looks complicated – -” Terry says hovering behind him looking on at his work, “- – any luck with it so far?”

.

It’s been excruciatingly hard to focus today, and he’s had one too many English Breakfasts, which has done decidedly little to help. If anything, it’s added a bit of a subtle tremble to his fingertips, and as his thoughts stray from the work in front of him to yesterday’s headline for the umpteenth time, he sighs and snatches his glass from beside him, taking a long swig of water. As he sets it down, he pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes. 

The voice startles him—Merlin, he really doesn’t have his wits about him today, and at the sight of the elusive Terry Boot over his shoulder, Terence shakes himself out of it, offering a weary smile—and a subtly nervous dart of his gaze to the books at his desk. Mostly ministry texts and lesser known publications he’d picked over the last few months from muggle-study sections of the bookstores. But there were a few muggle published ones as well, that he’d gotten from mother—after the no-contact regulations were put into place. 

Of course, the texts were proving helpful because what he’s noticed is that... there seem to be several places Wixen publications have reported erroneously on muggle facts, especially with regards technology. The contradictions are overwhelming at times, but by the same token, enlightening. From what he can tell so far, the mistakes are happening less because of poor original sources, and more because technology changes at an impossible rate. For a community of people who have followed the same traditions for hundreds, if not thousands of years, it’s no wonder Wix can never get their muggle facts straight—the minute the dust settles with one development, it’s replaced, as if overnight.

Most of the muggle publications on Terence’s desk, however, are stacked underneath the others, and he supposes it’s not that obvious either way. Besides, he could always say he’d gotten Avery to pick them up from his parents, if he had to. Technically with Granger’s adaptations to the guidelines, that would probably be passable. Or he could just say he already had them. Yes, that’s simpler—he’s definitely over complicating the issue. But can he really be blamed? It’s been a hell of a week... 

“Oh—hello, Terry,” he replies with a smile. “Well, I don’t know if ‘luck’ is a word I’d use for it but... complicated is in the mix, for sure.” His tone is a little drawling, but playfully so. “It’s coming along, though. Slowly. Fancy seeing you down here, though,” he offers. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Today has been a day in Yurika Haneda’s life. First off, she woke up on the wrong side of the bed and was immediately greeted by a grey owl tapping the rose-tinted glass window of her bedroom. An unusual scenery for the woman as barely anyone ever sends her owls. They know that it’s better to reach her through a note given to her assistant as she tends to leave letters laying around her place rather than reading them right away. The appearance of an owl usually means that there’s an emergency, and sure enough, there was.

A wrong shipment of potion ingredients from one of the company’s new vendors and about ten cauldrons full of would-be Sun Glow Skin Potion had been contaminated due to an error of judgement made by an intern. This means that her company has just lost about two months’ worth of work and a shit ton of Galleons. Yurika had pretty much bolted out the door of her house the second she finished getting ready.

And then the second incident happened, the floo network at the company’s office was apparently under maintenance so she had to floo to their flagship store in Diagon Alley first and then walk the rest of the way to the office. She did not mind but it was an inconvenience in times of emergency.

By the time she reached the office, one of the company’s team leaders had already sorted out half of the problem by calling their vendor about the wrong delivery. Leaving her to deal with the other half of the problem, firing the intern. It is always hard to fire interns. They’re bright young minds who are always curious and work extra hard to impress everyone. But in the end, spoiling potions and making them unsalvageable are huge offenses so the intern had to be let go.

After dealing with all of that and talking to her company’s team of financial analysts, they had finally managed to work around some Galleons so as to make sure that the loss would be manageable and she had decided to hang out at the Diagon Alley branch for the day. The Diagon Alley branch is one of their best performing shops and Yurika has always liked the store manager, Candace. The woman knows how to sell Haneda’s Beauty Potions products and she sells them well. Paying the store a visit should be fun and not stressful. She’s had enough stress for the day and staying inside her office never helps.

She floo’d over to the shop and is sitting near the cash register when a man enters the store, his face familiar and yet Yurika cannot put a name to the face. He looks slightly unfamiliar with the store’s environment though. She figures he must be a new customer which is just perfect as the company has just launched their second genderless line of skin-deep potions. Maybe she can go over there and promote the products to him.

Plastering on her most winning customer service smile, Yurika saunters over with a tiny shopping basket in hand, intent on making the man purchase a product or two.

“Welcome to Haneda’s Beauty Potions!” she greets chirpily, “Are you familiar with our products or do you need help navigating our catalogue?”

Terence would consider himself a rather friendly sort. Certainly a lot more so than plenty of those who’d been in his circle growing up, at least. In Slytherin, that was hardly a surprise. 

But this woman’s chirpiness is the kind Terence had never quite gotten accustomed to. He knows from experience that some people genuinely are just like that, but being that she’s already got a little shopping basket in hand, he’d say it’s fair to assume this is just part of the package deal or customer service. Still, he’ll give credit where credit is due—he couldn’t never enthuse quite that hard, he’s fairly certain. 

Not to say her warm welcome isn’t appreciated—it just reinforces Terence’s feeling of being rather blatantly out of his element. Nonetheless, he slides her an openly humble smile. “Not only am I terribly unfamiliar, I confess I also have no idea what I’m looking for. My kid is a huge fan though... I was in the area, thought I’d pop in and see what they were always going on about, at least.” He grins. “The efforts of a terribly uncool father,” he teases with a hand on his chest and a playful hook in his brow.

Zacharias doesn’t particularly want to be here, but he also figures that if shit goes down he might as well have a front-row seat to see it. This is pretty much the only reason he’s still at the fair at all, and it’s not like someone’s asked, but it’s the principle of the thing. He couldn’t care less about phones, and cameras, and computers, and what the fuck not – his mother always insisted he kept in touch with their Muggle heritage and, well, that coupled with the fact he has a kid who constantly asks questions about anything and everything means he’s more or less familiar with the majority of the items here. What’s the point of gaping at them from behind a glass like some Muggle at a zoo?

But films aren’t bad. Well, the one Brown dragged him to is, but in general, Zacharias would go as far as saying he likes films. Like Star Wars, for example. A fucking classic. Space, glowing swords, and Han Solo – what’s not to like? So really, it’s not at all surprising that he ends up mostly lingering around the outdoor cinema, catching different showings, trying to ignore his former classmates and all that good shit. But this Sweeney Todd somehow manages to lose his attention within the first fifteen minutes and Zacharias barely even realises he’s nodded off until he wakes up to the ending credits. Looking around, the seats are mostly empty, with people making their way back to the fair, but one person in particular seems to be hanging back.

“Yeah?” Zacharias raises an eyebrow at the comment even though it’s not necessarily directed to him. “Well, hope it got better than the first fifteen minutes ‘cause those were boring as shit.”

.

He hadn’t really noticed Zacharias before now, but the voice seems to pull him from his bewildered reverie and he blinks and looks over at the man still seated. There’s that familiar haze of sleep around his eyes that is all too telling, were his comment not enough. He’d clearly taken the opportunity to have a little nap—Terence can’t really blame him. 

He’s crossed paths with Smith occasionally over the years, though perhaps not as often as some, considering how little Terence frequents the Three Broomsticks—but having kids at Hogwarts tends to put them in each other’s paths from time to time, as well. But other than serving Wizard’s Brew and having a son, there’s little Terence really knows about him. Graduated in Draco’s year, too, he thinks? Not that it matters. Previous Hufflepuff—not that it matters. Merlin, he’s too old to think about Hogwarts and their respective years and houses as much as he does and he knows it, but he blames having Avery for that particular idiosyncrasy. The only time Terence isn’t thinking about Avery, is when he’s thinking about work—how can he not have Hogwarts on the brain? 

He raises an amused brow the man, chuckling a little. “I don’t know if ‘better’ is the word I’d use. Maybe ‘eventful’?” He smirks. “Trust me, I think you’re better off. It was a lot to digest, even for me.” Even for a Halfblood—but the quip doesn’t have the same ring to it, with everything that’s going on. It puts a sour taste in his mouth, where it didn’t before, and so he swallows the word back, opting for ambiguity. Politically safer—and there are few days he can’t escape the weight of the current political mess. He’s not about to burden every perfectly pleasant conversation with it not two breaths in. 

Terence has come to realize that apparently thirteen is the age where a young person will rip through obsessions like a toddler with a magazine—sticky fingers turning and turning and turning, with no real rhyme, reason or purpose—but once they grab onto something, they hold. 

And most recently, Avery has gotten a hold on this idea of interning with Yurika Haneda. Nevermind that they are only in their third year, and that OWLs, let alone NEWTs are years away, the subject still comes up in literally every owl Avery sends. And it isn’t that Terence minds at all—quite the contrary, he could not be more proud of Avery’s constant, diverse enthusiasm, and their passion and skill for things like potions and healing and gender studies—and even Quidditch (oh, he is not too proud to admit that he may have cried a little when Avery made Keeper for the Slytherin team this fall). It’s just that as vibrant and energetic as Avery is, it’s sometimes hard for an old man to keep up. Nonetheless, he loves the way Avery challenges him everyday, and wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

So it’s with Avery’s not-so-subtle hints (see: pleads) in mind, that Terence pops inside the little shop in Diagon Alley, a charmed bell tinkling as he does. It’s sort of like stepping into a spa, he notices. Strong, soothing scents overwhelm him, but not unpleasantly so. The soles of his work shoes clack gently in the quiet space, somehow muffled beneath what sounds like a water feature of some sort—or if that his imagination?—and as he doesn’t see anyone right away, he loosens his scarf and casually starts perusing some of the first shelves he comes across. He picks up a small, sparkly vial, squinting at the label. 

He comes out of a showing of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, acutely regretting not having been able to ask his mother for her recommendations on which of the fair’s films to attend. Having grown up with a mother who was far too fond of muggle television and cinema to let it go entirely, this would not be the first time Terence has been exposed to ‘movies’. That said, his experience with it remains limited, as his childhood skewed pretty Wixen, regardless. Mila had kept her job as a nurse in muggle London, as her independence and career had been important to her, but largely, Terence’s parents had agreed to raise the children relatively traditionally—Wixen traditionally, that is. 

Which meant that she was open with them about her life, and shared some elements with them, like muggle board games and story books, but the technology she kept in the house for her work, she kept exclusively under lock and charm in the study. She never lied to the kids, or specifically tried to hide it from them, but she did want to limit their exposure, because children were curious by nature, and she knew quite well such curiosity could get them. 

In any case, though Terence knows more about muggle technology than many, he’d been most interested in perusing the artefacts showcase this afternoon, not only because it so closely pertained to the new direction of his work, but also because he had to admit—he found it infinitely fascinating. In some senses, his problem-solving mind always had, because Terence liked to know things, he liked to understand. Now though, his fascination was driven by something much more urgent. Now, the stakes of solving these mysteries were much, much higher.

He’d honestly surrendered to sitting down for a film because he’d been here hours already, and he’d definitely not worn the right shoes. It’d be a nice break. Or so he’d thought. But the longer he’d sat, the more he’d become... increasingly overwhelmed by the happenings on the screen in front of him. To say he’d not been prepared for what he’d walked into would be an understatement. 

“Well that was... a lot to unpack,” he mutters to himself as the audience disperses back into the market. He rubs his eyes, hands slipping into his pockets as he considers whether or not to call it a day, or head back into the market for another quick browse...