Clarisse Bouchard was on a mission. Mission, that would seem completely ridiculous to every single person who'd learn about it, but she was deadly serious about carrying it out in the most perfect manner. She simply couldn't stand spending her days in that hole filled with depressive thoughts and guilt. The Auror had never been the one to sulk and whine about her own terrible life, but everything that had happened lately affected her more than she would care to admit.

Hurting Jacques had never been an option. She expected him to open his eyes at one point and walk out on her, not the other way around. It seemed almost impossible to experience this much pain and disappointment over your own actions. Riss was falling asleep with guilt eating up her heart and she woke up with reluctance; she didn't really want to face another day, knowing that she would have to do it completely alone.

Clarisse had always resented the idea of being someone else, just because she didn't quite fit into the society's expectations. What felt even worse, was the fact that she had found herself wanting to change something. She didn't believe in miracles; she highly doubted that getting rid of all her flaws was even possible. But maybe there was a way to become someone better, no matter how ridiculous it sounded?

The fact that she even thought about it made her want to scowl and rip her hair off. She sounded like a sodden fool and she hated it. Clarisse had to force herself to stay rooted to her spot in the elevator, because every fibre of her being screamed that she was acting completely bonkers. But she really was on a mission. Because getting a hang of her own emotions couldn't be described as anything else, at least not for her. And just like every other mission, it needed to be taken seriously.

She found Herbert sitting at one of the desks in a room right next to the lab. The entire wooden surface of the furniture was covered with various files and documents, probably concerning some other cases assigned to the Auror Bureau. Clarisse walked up to his station and slammed her hands on the table. Herbert jumped up and spilled his coffee all over himself, looking positively frightened.

Great start, she had thought to herself, watching as he tried to decide whether to clean his clothes first, or maybe acknowledge her presence.

"Sorry," Riss muttered and smiled apologetically, which surprised the man so much, that he stopped doing anything whatsoever and simply stared at her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Cla-Clarisse? What... What are you doing here?" he stuttered in response and looked away, trying to clear out the mess he'd made.

The Auror took out her wand and cast a simple cleaning spell, surprising him once again.

"I'm here, because I need your help," she stated simply and sat at the edge of his desk, careful not to push any of his papers to the floor.

"Is this about your case? I'm afraid I don't have anything new."

"It is about a case... Kind of."

"I don't... I don't understand."

Clarisse scowled and looked around, trying to decipher how much attention had she drawn to herself by simply talking to Herbert. She almost rolled her eyes, as soon as she realised that no one seemed to be aware of her presence. All of the Forensic Experts were busy with their work. Good. She wouldn't have to humiliate herself in front of everybody.

"How can you be so... nice to people?" she asked and Herbert blinked a couple of times.

"Are you seriously asking me..."

"Yep." She didn't let him finish, scratching her head with embarrassment. "I know it sounds stupid, but... Well, let's just say that I can't exactly continue to offend people every time I open my mouth."

"That's not what you do, Clarisse," Herbert said and frowned. "If that was the case, I would have never started to like you in the first place."

Oh. So he didn't consider her to be the greatest bitch ever? Even after their not-date? She certainly didn't expect that.

"You're probably the most sarcastic person I've ever met, but all of the Aurors kind of are. I think it's the coping mechanism you've all developed to stay sane. You witness tragedy after tragedy and there is simply no way to endure all of it without distancing yourself somehow." Herbert smiled at her baffled expression and shifted on his chair. "It's not your sarcasm that scares people away, though. Your snarky remarks are actually hilarious, most of the time."

"So what does scare them away then?"

"Talking to you can feel... Well, depressing. You don't care about the person standing next to you. You treat everyone exactly the same, no matter who they are and what they do. And people don't like being treated like thin air. Just as you are proud of your skills, most people are proud of theirs. Hardly anyone can stand spending time in the presence of someone, who makes them feel little. You make everyone get the impression that they aren't good enough for you, which ultimately means that it's actually the other way around."

Clarisse blinked a couple of times, trying to determine, whether Herbert's words made any sense at all. She must have looked incredibly stupid, because the man offered her an amused smile.

"Think about it. You've been calling me 'Harold', because you didn't care to remember my name. You even said it yourself," he reminded her. "The only people who had managed to get close to you, are, at the same time, the ones who had managed to impress you. Your boss, Auror Fabré... Auror Colbert."

The woman averted her gaze and scowled at the mention of Jacques' name. Herbert must have noticed her sudden discomfort, because he fell silent and shifted on his chair again.

"Is this about him?"

How did he know that? Was it really this obvious, or was he reading her mind? Clarisse decided that it didn't really matter; she wasn't going to tell him about her other problems. They weren't his business anyway.

"My boss wants me to infiltrate a Muggle club. Apparently, my social skills aren't suitable for that kind of a job," she said and Herbert sighed quietly. He didn't buy her story, although it was true. Deschamps really wanted her to do that, but his solution to her obvious lack of necessary tools to mingle with people, was fairly simple. He just ordered her to stop acting like Clarisse.

"Well, you're talking to me right now, aren't you?" Herbert smiled warmly and shrugged. "It's not that you don't know how to do it. You just choose not to. Being nice is not a weakness. Caring is not a weakness."

Right. Because worrying about other people didn't sound like a waste of time, at all. Did he really think that she would have been so good at her job, if she was running around, asking everyone about their feelings? Shit... Maybe she really was incapable of understanding basic human relations? Maybe she was too fucked up to change?

"Caring was that one thing that turned you and Jacques into such great partners," Herbert said with a smile and Clarisse frowned. "You've said that fighting together changed things and that's true. But you wouldn't have done it, if you didn't care. Throwing yourself in front of someone else's body goes against our primal instinct of survival."

"I know that. It was stupid. What good would it do, if we had both died?" She rolled her eyes and Herbert sighed once again.

"No, Clarisse. It isn't stupid. It's what partners do. I may not know much about your work, but I'm sure as hell you wouldn't be so effective, if you didn't understand each other. And you wouldn't have understood each other, if you hadn't spent time trying to achieve that. If you hadn't cared," he explained, shaking his head. "Caring about people doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger, because it allows you to see things that would normally escape your attention. Because it drives you to be extraordinary."

Clarisse fiddled with her fingers, thinking about his words. Something about them felt familiar, but she couldn't tell what it was. The warmth spreading throughout her body proved to soothe her earlier annoyance and she spent a minute to actually ponder on Herbert's theory.

"Caring leads to hurt," she finally muttered and frowned. "If you care about someone, then everything that person does affects you. It makes you vulnerable."

"I guess it does, in a way. But it also feels exhilarating to know that there's someone, who could crush you, but chooses not to do it. Because it works both ways, Clarisse. It's not just you who's vulnerable. The other person might hold your heart in their grasp, but you hold theirs as well. That's what trust is all about."

"But some people choose to crush you," she protested and clenched her fists. "They make you care and open yourself up, just so they could leave you. Others simply use you to fulfil their own fantasies and they claim to do it in the name of said feelings. How can that be exhilarating?"

She met Herbert's gaze and found him smiling with sadness. He looked like he knew something that had managed to escape her attention. A big secret that should have been clear to her, but wasn't.

"I think we've just arrived at the bottom of the problem, Clarisse," he said. "People aren't perfect. You know it better than anyone else, seeing that you chase killers and psychos on daily basis. But they are called the deviants for a reason. Most people are normal. They try to be the best versions of themselves, for those around them. It doesn't always work. We hurt each other, we cry, we fight and then we laugh again. Being hurt allows you to grow. Even if the pain seems unbearable, we've been designed to push through it and keep on living."

"Tell that to all of those people suffering from depression, or those abused, or..."

"Or to someone, who's been hurt so much that they prefer to simply ignore emotions whatsoever?" He smiled and Clarisse closed her eyes angrily. "There's no perfect way to do this, Clarie. And you're right, we shouldn't strive for perfection just because others tell us to. We should do it, because living always was and always will be the biggest challenge out of them all. And feelings are just a part of it. They don't make you week. They just make you human."


"Remind me, where exactly are you here with me and why was I forced to wear a dress?" Clarisse asked Finley and heard him chuckle in response.

They were walking down the street, getting closer and closer to their destination, which certainly did nothing to ease Bouchard's nerves. Being forced to go undercover could be stressful on its own, but her company and current appearance only made things worse. She wished they could have just Apparated straight into the club, but it wasn't an option. All these Muggles inside kind of made sure of that.

"Potter is too recognizable and Ashworth's still with his wife. Besides, he's too old to go clubbing."

"What about Fabré? He's not that old and he's a great dancer!"

"Oh, you're right," Finley admitted and grinned. "He didn't go with you, because I volunteered first."

For fuck's sake, she should have known he would do something like this. Clarisse had no idea what had happened to their hateful relations, but apparently they evolved into the weirdest partnership ever. It consisted mostly of pissing each other off and making the other one miserable, but she found herself unable to think about killing him in more than hundred different ways. It used to be a thousand.

"Why would you do that?" she muttered and offered him a sharp look. "For all I know, delicacy is going to be my strong asset during this mission."

To her surprise, he laughed out loud, catching the attention of the nearby group of girls. They all giggled, looking him over, which made Clarisse furious. Couldn't they see that Finley was busy?!

"I almost forgot that I used to dislike you for being a woman," he said and smiled mockingly. "If it wasn't for that dress, I'd probably even forget about you being a woman at all."

Did she say that she could think of only a hundred ways to kill him? He was certainly trying to get back to a thousand.

"Thanks, Finley. You can be such a sweetheart, when you decide to pull your head out of your ass," she spat and sped up, trying not to kill herself in her ridiculously high heels. "Such a pity that it never happens."

"Oh, come on! I've just told you that you look very nice!" He laughed and flung his arm over her shoulders, slowing her down considerably.

"No, you've just told me..."

"I was kidding, pumpkin," he interrupted and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "I'd have to be gay not to appreciate your looks."

Another part of their weird partnership, was the fact that Finley found it hilarious that she had no idea how to act when he tried to flirt with her. Her standard procedure in those situations, was to look at him murderously and mumble something incoherent. Then, she proceeded to offend him, completely ignoring his amused expression.

Truth to be told, Clarisse didn't really know how to feel about him. The beginning of their relationship hadn't been... pleasant. Actually, she was pretty sure she hated him, but after what happened between them... Even she didn't have it in her to treat him exactly the same, after he had held her and wiped her tears away. The thought of their relations changing so rapidly made her anxious and she tried to distance herself from him as much as possible, but, of course, Aedan Finley had no intentions of allowing that to happen.

"That's very shallow," she said, pushing aside her thoughts. "You should appreciate my skills, rather than my looks."

"Fine. Your Stunner is pretty mean," Aedan laughed in response and raised his brows. "What else can you do?"

Shove your stupid comments so far up your arse that they'd come out of your mouth again, she thought, but chose not to share that particular comment with him. Clarisse really needed to focus on the job, instead of those stupid quarrels.

"Well, you're about to see," she answered and stopped, facing the club across the street.

Even from such a distance, she could tell that it probably looked like every other dance club. The music was so loud that it escaped to the outside, making Clarisse want to scowl. She really didn't understand how Muggles could enjoy having their ears raped over and over by those aggressive beats. Her theory was that it had something to do with the state of inebriation, but, unfortunately, she couldn't exactly test that theory. No drinking on the job, that was the rule.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Finley's quiet voice gained her attention and she looked at him with surprise. The man seemed concerned, although he tried to hide it behind the façade of a smirk, but she couldn't be so easily fooled.

"I don't have a choice, Aedan. He targets Oracles and I'm... Well, it's safe to say that I'm our best bet." She scowled and averted her gaze, facing the club again. "I'll be okay. I've been assigned to this team for a reason, you know."

Aedan must have decided that he wasn't going to get a better confirmation out of her, because he chuckled and said:

"Try not to stun everyone. And I don't mean only with a spell. Your ass seems equally dangerous."

He winked at her and crossed the street, not wanting to blow her cover of a lonely girl, looking for excitement. Clarisse knew that she had to follow him, but his comment got her, once again, completely baffled.

Damn you, Aedan Finley, she thought and started walking towards the club, swaying her dangerous ass from side to side. It was time to put on a show.