Not many people of a certain disposition, to put it delicately, ended up in positions of power. The Lestrange girl knew this quite well.
Many others felt the need to mention it to her, but she was well aware of it. After all, every other day, someone would mistake her for a lost Muggle and gently offer to show her the way out (or occasionally, call the Obliviator squad on her). Witnesses and suspects alike stopped mid-confession to gawk at her, or to jeer at her and ask for a proper Auror to handle their case. Coworkers watched her with suspicion and often asked to conduct investigations separately while on the field. "Suit yourself," she would respond. "Let's see who catches the perp first." Not to brag, but she usually won.
She knew she was different, and that she was alone. None of the other female Aurors looked like her, no matter how similar they insisted they looked after suntanning at Cote Azure. The difference between them and her did not lie in their complexions, but rather their work ethic; other Aurors might be outstanding, but Leta was impeccable. They were content to show up to work on time, Pepperup Potion in hand; Leta would be waiting for them, having already completed all her preliminary paperwork, and asking Silverskin about the day's mission. Ten steps ahead, at all times, always.
Of course, there were a few other success stories. The esteemed Minister Evermonde, for example, who many were proud to say they voted for and had shared drinks with. Some still asked Leta if she was related to him, or if he had helped her to attain her position, to which she would reply that she passed all her O.W.L.s and NE.W.T.s and Training just like them...and if the person sticking their nose up in her business happened to be from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, she would mention her stint as a Beater for the Holyhead Harpies. Undoubtedly, this factoid never failed to distract the nosy person in question, at least long enough for her to escape any further small talk.
She'd been told that there were others like her. Perhaps they were all milling about the French Ministry of Magic, which had been recently flooded with complaints about the excess influx of foreign wizards and lack of support for local French Wizards. Or perhaps in America, where there was a new, booming culture based around music that made some wizards cover their ears and some lift their robes so they could hop about like pairs of frogs. But there had to be others, somewhere. Other wizards and witches who rarely passed as such, and even among Muggles were considered to be lower-class citizens. Who hid their talents, not out of respect for the International Statute of Magical Secrecy, but because of a strange, dark fear harbored towards them by their Muggle neighbors, a fear that her fairer coworkers no longer believed in. There had to be others. Back in Senegal, or Guadalupe, perhaps.
"Although," one witch drawled, poking at a boil on her nose, "They're not as good as us, you know. All their schools are too poor to properly train them, so the Ministry lets practically anyone work for them." Two weeks later, she was fired from Regulation of Magical Creatures as someone had mysteriously discovered and sent Silverskin a memo mentioning that the secret Chizpurfle nest in her desk was a safety hazard.
At any rate, it was abundantly clear to Leta that her kind was not necessary, not desirable, and not required. She was the exception. And in order to keep her job, it was imperative that she remain exceptional.
Which meant no playing hooky, no unnecessary tea breaks, no superficial complaints, no unnecessary grievances, and absolute adherence to the schedule.
It had taken them a few years to realize, but it was starting to work. Some of her coworkers had begun to pick up on her careful planning and pointed it out, in front of Silverskin no less. Unfortunately, he rarely seemed to be paying attention when they did.
"Lestrange," Wormwood said casually, "It's your third day overtime, isn't it? Aren't you pushing it a bit?"
"Not at all," Leta replied. "I am happy to receive additional assignments. Long downtimes hasten the loss of faculties."
Silverskin simply grunted and looked away, as if his pile of citations had suddenly become significantly more interesting.
Another time, Alvaro showed a rare moment of astute clarity, and asked Leta if maybe she would like to switch shifts since she had more experience with healing spells.
"I'm grateful for your offer," Leta smiled politely, "But I would rather perceive it as an opportunity to overcome my own shortcomings. It would be beneficial to me to practice my healing skills."
Silverskin ignored this too. The only reaction it earned her was a laugh from Theseus, whose gaze Leta habitually avoided. To say that he knew too much would be an uncomfortable understatement. It was best to pay him no mind, even if his presence troubled her greatly.
Despite Silverskin's apparent indifference, Leta continued to put out good faith efforts and quality professionalism, everything she could think of that warranted promotion (and perhaps...the coveted position of Head Auror, which she knew she was too greedy for lusting after, but desperately wanted).
And it was working. It had to be. Sure, she was stuck in the same position for years, but so far, it had worked up until now...hadn't it?
She counted off her fingers the nights since she started working at the Auror Department. With pride, of course. Bitterness was the first step before job dissatisfaction, which leads to poor performance and unprofessionalism, which she was not about to indulge in. As she quietly rolled over in her small, rickety flat that was roughly the size and shape of a closet, she reminded herself that far cleverer and smarter women than her had ended up on the streets, and of how many young witches would kill for her position. Aurors, while extremely difficult to train properly, are nonetheless replaceable and constantly at threat of competition. There was no plateauing or retiring for her - she would simply work until she was fired or deemed unable to pass annual evals and lost her various licenses. Now was not the time to start doubting.
And yet, some nagging voice in the back of her head insisted that no matter how many years she put in between, how hard she worked or how far she ran, she was still in the same position as the bedraggled, rain-soaked girl who escaped Hogwarts.
I am not behind, Leta reminded herself firmly. If anything, I am exactly where I should be.