Author's Note: I am the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons. This is written for Round 13 of the QLFC. My prompt is: S2R10 / Crashing the Ministry - beast division (Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures) (must involve department by location or by the job that someone does there)
A Memory of a Prank
Minister Bagnold sat in her office with her eyes closed and feet propped up on the desk. It was a rare slow day, and she was taking advantage. The last six months had been a whirlwind of Death Eater trials and press conferences after You-Know-Who's defeat at Godric's Hollow. Some days, she felt like a rogue Bludger, blindly careening through life. Today, though, today was about kicking her feet up and getting a little well-earned shuteye. Breathing deep, she let it out slowly, willing her muscles to relax.
A knock sounded on her office door.
Bagnold opened one eye. "What is it?"
The door cracked open, her secretary poking her head in. "Um...Ma'am," she said, worry creasing her brow. She was a tall, thin woman with a penchant for nervousness. It wasn't a trait Bagnold preferred in her office staff, but the woman was organized and efficient—two things Bagnold held in high regard. Her secretary shifted to her left foot. "There's—there's a problem."
Muttering a few choice swear words under her breath, she pulled her feet off the desk and sat up. "Well?" She arched her eyebrows. "Out with it."
Her secretary chewed on her bottom lip. "Well—"
"Quit with the lip chewing business, Sally," Bagnold said, standing up and stepping around her desk. "It makes you look weak."
Face reddening, Sally glanced at the ground.
Bagnold tapped the other woman on the shoulder. "Chin up," she said.
Sally looked up, eyes wide and face pale. "Ma'am," she said, wringing her hands. "Someone's let loose a bunch of Doxies on level four."
"Level four—that's the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." She ran a hand through her short hair, cursing Merlin. Her nap had been interrupted for this? "And this is a problem, why?"
"Well—"
Turning, Bagnold returned to her desk. "If that sorry lot can't handle a few Doxies, then they should all be fired." Grabbing a length of parchment, she began to write herself a reminder to fire Handler on grounds of incompetence. She looked up when her secretary remained fidgeting in the doorway. "You may return to your desk, Sally."
"Ma'am, there are hundreds of them, and half the department has been bitten," she said. "They're requesting Auror back up."
Bagnold closed her eyes, bracing her hands on her desk. Well, there went her quiet afternoon.
oOo
It was an hour past the time Bagnold had planned on returning home when she stepped into the lift. Selecting Level 4, she shut her eyes and pretended she was on her way home where she would order in dinner—spaghetti from her favorite Italian place—and retire early—something she never did anymore. When the lift dinged, Bagnold opened her eyes and resolved herself to the task at hand. The doors opened to reveal a scene of destruction. Bits of parchment littered the hallway and chunks of stone and plaster had been blasted from the walls and ceiling. An acrid stench hung in the air. Carefully stepping through the mess, Bagnold turned left and hesitated just outside the first office. Closing her eyes, she steeled herself for what would likely be an infuriating conversation, and then walked into the office.
"Are you going to explain how an entire department can be overrun by Doxies?"
Evan Handler sat behind what had once been a desk—parchments, interoffice memos, and books covering every centimeter along with a half dozen empty tea cups. A few bottles of empty Doxycide were overturned, and several drops had dripped onto a stack of parchment.
He gave Bagnold a cursory glance. "Good evening to you too, my dear Bagnold." His Australian accent was thick and seemed to swallow her name.
Bagnold propped a hand on her hip. "Well?"
Handler had been the department head long before she had taken office. Born in Australia, his family had moved to the UK when he was a child. He and Bagnold had attended Hogwarts together where Handler took a liking to finding and pressing Bagnold's buttons. Decades later, she still found a rising lump of dread rising in her throat wherever Evan Handler was concerned.
Scratching his signature onto the parchments and sending them off to another department, Handler gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Have a seat." He shoved a few books off his desk and conjuring a cup of tea which he set down where the books had once been. "Have a cuppa. This will take a while."
She sat and eyed the cup of tea. "I have half a mind to fire you for incompetence." Glancing down, she pushed the books Handler had dumped on the floor to the side with her foot. "And disorder—your office is a disaster."
He opened a drawer and pulled out a small pitcher and placed it on his desk next to her cup of tea. A bowl of sugar cubes soon followed. "Cream and sugar for your tea?" A sandy-colored eyebrow arched high on his face.
Gritting her teeth together, Bagnold leaned in towards him. "I want an explanation." She watched as he rummaged around on his desk. He was stalling and, judged by the upturned corner of his mouth, enjoying it.
Handler passed her a folded parchment and stood from his desk. Holding the parchment in her hand but not reading it, she watched as he walked over to an old and blackened trunk sitting in the corner of his office. Several leather straps were belted around the chest. When he knelt to pick it up, Bagnold stood with a swiftness that spoke of her irritation.
"This is enough!" She crumpled the parchment in her hand. "You explain yourself right here, right now, or you can pack your things."
"We found this chest in an old and unused room earlier today." Looking up, he nodded at the balled up parchment. "Read the note," he said.
Lips pressed together, she glanced between Handler and the note. Her fingers began to unfold the parchment, her head shaking as she looked down to read the words written in a slanted handwriting.
APRIL FOOLS!
May mischief be never managed.
-JP and SB
Her eyes read the note over once and then again. It didn't make sense. It wasn't April first. Hell, it wasn't even April. And even worse, she knew those initials. It was their signature tag on all the pranks and jokes they pulled while working as Aurors during the war. Bagnold couldn't count the number of times she had cursed their names. And now one was dead at the hand of the other. A cold and dark anger rose in her.
Her fingers snapped shut around the parchment. "What is the meaning of this?" She held up her hand. "Is this your idea of a joke?"
Setting the trunk down on his desk, Handler picked up the cup of tea. "You're not going to drink this, then?"
Bagnold blinked, her mouth open.
"Right, then," he said, dropping in four lumps of sugar. After taking a long drink, he cleared his throat. "Like I said, we found this chest in an old office. Thought it was an old set of dragonhide gloves and boots." He laughed, the sound deep in his chest. "Imagine our surprise upon opening it. Doxies everywhere!" He took another sip of tea. "Never seen anything like it in all my days."
She glanced at her watch and sighed. The prospect of a relaxing evening had long gone out the window.
Handler tapped the chest. "Time delayed pranks," he said. "Of course, the spell was corrupted and it got, well, forgotten about." Setting his tea down, he brushed his hands against his pants. "Made quite a mess, though."
"A prank," Bagnold said, the word forming slowly on her lips.
Pouring more cream into his tea, Handler nodded. "That's right."
She pressed her fingers against her temples. "Time delayed."
"I think that's what they were going for," he said, sipping his tea. "Botched the spell though. Went all wonky and made more of a mess than I think they had been planning and at the wrong time." He chuckled. "At least, you'd think so. You never did know with those two."
She had had enough. Turning, she made for the door.
"Right, have a good night." He downed the rest of his tea. "We'll figure out what to do with the chest in the morning, then?"
Bagnold froze in the doorway. "The chest?"
"We weren't able to break the spell," he said. "If you open it, it's Doxies all over again."
Closing her eyes, she took three even breaths. Even in death, James Potter still found a way to disrupt her day.