[french ministry] un jour tu t’en voudras [chantal]

november 2001

Émilie hated this time of year: the days were shorter, the nights were colder, and more and more people wanted hot beverages from her. The morning rush was finally dying down, but if the day turned out like any of the previous ones, the lull before the mid-morning rush would only be about twenty minutes long. The woman was never one to clean up as she went; as the last customer scuttled away with their correct-on-the-second-try cappuccino, Émilie let out a long sigh as she surveyed the mess she had made in the process of getting everyone their coffees. There were milk froth splatters in places there shouldn’t be, a sprinkle of cinnamon had turned into an explosion along the small counter, and she had been careless enough to wear a white blouse that showed every little espresso misstep.

Her blouse was the most important thing, and she tended to that first, holding the tip of her wand to each little stain in turn. It wasn’t until she was pointing her wand at a particularly unsightly stain on her chest that she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up as she swallowed hard, a puzzled look on her face as she considered how it must look to the new customer to have her wand pointed at her right breast. “Oops,” she said cheerily enough, brushing it off in an instant as she vanished the stain, stowed her wand, and smoothed down her apron.

The woman wasn’t someone she was familiar with, though it seemed like she ought to be. Tall, blonde, pretty. Basically she seemed like the sort of person one had to remember. But as usual, the former Papillonlisse was good with faces and not names and she shrugged it off as she ordered a Turkish coffee, no milk, no sugar. Émilie took her order and payment with a smile, though she was inwardly panicking. Turkish coffee was a rather new offering, one her manager had insisted on advertising and discounting as the cart had just been supplied with the implements to make said coffee. However, that didn’t mean that the cart was supplied with the employee to make it.

She turned to the special Turkish coffee pot with a grimace and promise that it would be ready in a flash. Of course, the first batch boiled over and she had to start all over again, muttering an apology as she went. It went better the second time, until she poured milk over the finished product. But the third try was perfect, or so she assumed, and after what felt like an eternity, she handed the small paper cup over.

But as she set the coffee down on the counter for the customer, she suddenly remembered the name to pair with the face: Chantal Garnier. To say they weren’t friends would be an understatement, and Émilie was more than thankful for her temporary lack of recognition. She always seemed to screw up orders more when she was trying not to draw attention from former classmates to the fact that she worked at the coffee cart in the lobby.

“Turkish coffee, no milk, no sugar,” she offered after a few seconds delay, the smile on her face rather forced.

@Chantal Garnier

Her first day back at the French Ministry barely even started and Chantal was already having an exaggerated amount of mixed feelings regarding the entire situation. Firstly, she had received a notice yesterday that today most of the Aurors from her new office would be either on different field missions, or in court, solving the last details of their cases. In addition to that, in the letter from her boss, the man had specified that they should meet out for breakfast instead of the office, since there wouldn’t be anyone there anyway and their schedule could afford an introduction briefing in a more comfortable spot. Now, that didn’t necessarily bother her, nonetheless, what was truly irritating was the fact that, despite this being her first day, it wasn’t her first day at all. Her actual first day at work would be when everyone would be present at the office, and not all over the Ministry, or all over France for that matter. It was simply a pain to think that she would have to go through the stress of a “first day” twice. Even worse, the mere thought that not everyone would be present tomorrow and that she had to introduce herself separately to each and every one of the Aurors in the office simply sickened her to her stomach.

The only good thing about today was that it was cold. She had dearly missed France’s late autumn's, beginning of winter, temperatures. Having lived in Portugal for the past two years, this was a change that was more than welcomed. Furthermore, it was as if France herself was welcoming Chantal back, giving her a cool embrace to soothe the burning stress and anxiety that consumed her to the core.

Her breakfast meeting with her new superior had been nice enough. He had given her several copies of the major cases their department has been working on in the past two months, in addition to a list of the names of all her new colleagues. The displeasing part was that she had just found out she was the youngest in that specific office, which obviously would make her the one who had to work the most in order for people to not hold her accountable due to her still young age. Having arrived at the Ministry, her superior told her that he had to get to a meeting with a different department head, and only afterwards he would be able to show her around the office. Before Chantal could even ask for the keys of the office, for her to wait there, the man had simply disappeared out of her sight. She was definitely not ready for yet another incompetent boss. Hopefully, just hopefully, this nauseating feeling in her stomach and her nervousness were just the emotions of being back, and not some sort of premonition that her job would be a living Hell again.

Since this nauseating feeling wouldn’t go away, Chantal thought that perhaps something bitter could aid her. She had time until her boss’ meeting would end anyway, so she could afford getting a coffee and enjoying a cigarette or two, or three, or four, or maybe an entire pack just to calm her down a bit.

There was only one person waiting in line for coffee in front of her, yet it was going slow. Maybe he ordered coffee for the entire department. Not being the extremely patient type, Chantal lit her cigarette and took a deep drag before realizing the person had taken their coffee and left. The person in charge seemed to be busy – and the entire place a bit of a mess, from what she could see from the angle she was standing. Must’ve been one Hell of a morning for that poor little employee. The girl in charge was seemingly more focused on cleaning though, rather than focusing on her costumer. Chantal took another deep drag of her cigarette, and exhaled loudly, at the same time clearing her throat with an equal intensity. At the very least, despite being late, that coffee maker had the decency to clean her blouse before coming to serve her. So, there were people with manners still left in the Ministry. Shocking.

“Turkish. No milk. No sugar.” Chantal placed her payment on the counter and looked away from the girl in charge, trying to see if she could notice someone familiar around. If she were to wait, it would be nice if she could perhaps catch up with one of her closer acquaintances from the Ministry. Her former dormitory mates were also working there, one at the Department of Mysteries and another at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Perhaps she had been too lost in her thoughts to notice that her coffee was taking a bit too much. She could’ve realized it by the fact that she was already on her third cigarette, but Chantal’s mind was by far too clouded at that point to even keep track of time, especially when her break would be until her boss would come to pick her up.

She was brought back to reality by the coffee girl, which seemed to be slightly irritated, considering the awkward smile on her face. “Thanks.” Chantal said, only now taking a better look at the other girl’s face. After taking another drag, she found herself asking. “You new here?” She arched her eyebrow, only now noticing that it was a different blonde girl serving coffee in the lobby. Well, different from the one from two years ago. Or, perhaps, it was her own mistake and it was that very girl from two years ago and she has simply fixed some things around her face. Either way, her appearance was definitely a slight improvement from what Chantal remembered.

Since there was nobody else behind her waiting in line for coffee, Chantal took out of her pocket some extra cash, a bit more than what she had paid for the coffee. She placed it on the counter, slowly pushing it towards the girl. “Listen. Did you happen to see Roche and Diaz around? They’re around my age, always together, one redhead and the other blonde.” It would be really great if the girl would collaborate; actually, Chantal had no doubt she will. In the end, such generous tips weren’t to be encountered that often. And it would really save her the trouble of having to go look for her dormitory mates around herself.

With her other hand, Chantal picked up the coffee, but had yet to taste it, since she was waiting for the coffee girl’s answer.

Émilie shook her head quickly as the question was posed to her. “No, are you?” she asked quickly, immediately regretting her decision to ask her own question and invite her to spend any more time at the cart. Considerate customers take their coffee and leave. Or they take their coffee and stay, but they are usually nice about it. This was neither of those things, though. But, she realized a second too late, if she was asking about her being new, maybe she just didn’t recognize her?

She didn’t know whether to be pleased or downright offended.

But she didn’t have the time to figure out how she felt, as Chantal was passing money across the counter, more money than anyone one person had ever thought to tip her, especially before they had tasted their coffee. Émilie was a practical woman, however, and reached out a tentative hand to help the money clear the rest of its journey toward her. Her hand stopped midair, fingers inches from the money, as Chantal spoke again and Émilie froze.

She could only assume that Roche and Diaz were people, but Émilie was terrible with names. Not that anyone at the coffee cart ever introduced themselves to her and it wasn’t like she was really friends with anyone who shopped there. She knew faces and which coffee orders matched those faces. Even as Chantal described their faces, Émilie had to shrug and offer a not-intended-to-be-helpful “Maybe if you know what they drink? Otherwise, not really.” She shrugged again and wondered if she ought to withdraw her hand.

Hesitating a second, Émilie let her fingers graze the edge of the money, careful not to brush Chantal’s fingertips with her own. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, really.” She smiled sweetly, hoping that was a clear enough send off.

The reply to her question was definitely a surprise. The thought of someone asking if she were new hadn’t even passed through Chantal’s mind. In the end, the Auror had been technically working at the Ministry of Magic ever since she had graduated from Beauxbatons. Perhaps though that this person was indeed new, as her intuition told her, and didn’t know of Chantal. Generally, the Aurors were known by most people within the Ministry, but due to her training and her time spent specialising abroad perhaps she wasn’t the most popular Auror around. However, she was the one Auror who got to specialise abroad, so Chantal did think of herself as particularly special; therefore the coffee girl’s remark was especially incommodious.

“Chantal Garnier. Auror. International Law Enforcement Department. Four years now. Almost.” She presented herself, in a both serious, yet slight condescending tone. While Chantal could both understand and not why that girl didn’t know her, her ego still felt damaged. In the end, even if other Aurors within the Ministry didn’t personally know her yet, they did know of her. The simple fact that she’d done the whole paperwork for her previous superior had definitely made her known, aside from her newer intellectual and professional accomplishments. The fact that this girl didn’t know of her particularly bothered Chantal, the reason being that working in the lobby, serving everyone in the building, always being around people, it simply made it impossible for the worker not to know of her. Chantal refused to believe that she would be that unpopular in her workplace that the person who probably gossiped most didn’t know her.

And that new girl was definitely quite something. She obviously wanted more money out of Chantal for such an insignificant piece of information. While Chantal did want to see her friends and know if they were around and not particularly busy that day, the coffee girl’s guts were simply unbelievable. Honestly, the former Ombrelune had found out actual important pieces of information by paying people considerably less. The Auror sighed deeply as she removed her hand from the money, allowing the girl to take it. Let that be her only satisfaction for the day, that she got a tiny amount of money to probably buy herself something pitiful that would help her be more pitiful than she already was as a pitiful coffee maker.

‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help, really.’ The Auror repeated in her mind, flabbergasted by those words.

Chantal blinked twice as her gaze fell upon the female’s figure. Her blue eyes were revealing her state of dissatisfaction and if looks could kill, then the server would definitely have had some serious issues. In the end, now that she was thinking about it, that girl was openly accepting a bribe in front of an Auror, within the very heart of the French Ministry. That was quite something. These people were the worst kind of vermin; to be open to corruption in such a place was definitely bringing a new meaning to the term “shameless”. That girl represented everything what was worst in the French society.

“Mocha and cappuccino. That’s what they drink.” She straightened her back, making her posture more imposing as she took one last drag of her already third cigarette. Her annoyance with this person didn’t actually improve Chantal’s previous nauseating state, but actually made it worse. Her stress level was already high beyond her handling, and now the former Ombrelune had a nasty feeling all over her oesophagus. The coffee cup in her hand didn’t feel as burning hot as moments ago, and Chantal decided that it was best for her to drink that bitter fluid, in the hopes of getting her back on her feet before she would officially start her first day back at the French Ministry. Not being an overly large amount, Chantal drank it all in one shot, afterwards placing the cup back on the counter.

She immediately retrieved her hand with the intention of pulling out another cigarette but, before the girl could actually do that, Chantal could feel tears running on her face, her eyes being completely flooded to the point that she couldn’t see well. An awful sensation came to her suddenly, feeling worse than initially; her tongue was burning and her throat was just in pure pain, as if someone just set it on fire. Her legs started shaking and Chantal immediately placed one hand on the counter, to keep herself balanced, and the other over her mouth, to avoid any sort of unpleasant events.

‘Bitter.’  It was the only thing that could come through her mind at that point. She could feel her tears slowly falling over her hand, to the point that Chantal couldn’t control herself. Coughing, the girl’s body acted on its own, feeling like she couldn’t handle the absurd level of bitterness of the coffee. “Water.” She murmured between her coughs, her tears now starting to unite around her chin. “Give. Me. Water.” Chantal emphasised louder between coughs, not being able to endure that awful feeling anymore. Her legs felt even less powerful than before, and the young Auror leaned against the counter, truly hoping her nasty sensation and manifestation wouldn’t worsen.

For the briefest of seconds Émilie tried to place a blonde with a mocha order and a redhead with a cappuccino before remembering that she didn’t sincerely want to help Chantal in her quest. She was sure if she actually thought through things, she would be able to figure it out with no issue but she was quite keen to see this customer on her way. She still hadn’t had any of her coffee, either, and it was always so nerve wracking for people to taste their drinks while still within shouting distance of the coffee cart as there was almost always something wrong with the order.

She glanced around, almost willing any passersby in the lobby to stop at the cart, to want some coffee, to usher Chantal on her way. Or, excuse her: usher Chantal Garnier, Auror, International Law Enforcement Department, four years now, almost, on her way. Émilie nearly rolled her eyes at the absurdity that had been her introduction as it replayed through her mind.

She threw the coffee back like a shot of alcohol and Émilie watched with an arched (and well manicured, she would like to point out) eyebrow. She had never had Turkish coffee, couldn’t remember ever watching someone drink Turkish coffee in front of her, and was near evenly torn on if this was a normal reaction to the drink or not.

But then she was crying. Émilie couldn’t help from rolling her eyes then; she knew she might not have been the best barista, per se, but she certainly wasn’t so bad that it warranted tears. She quickly pocketed the money in her apron before glancing around again, thinking it might not be the most considerate thing to watch someone have such an adverse reaction to something she had literally just crafted.

Émilie’s eyes flicked back up, distracted by the movement, as Chantal’s hand went up to cover her mouth. If she were to get sick in the immediate area, Émilie would be responsible for cleaning it up and that was most assuredly one thing she didn’t want to be doing today. It was bad enough to be in this pseudo conversation with Chantal, but to have to clean up after her? No way in hell would she responsible for that.

She did her best to look apologetic as she received the criticism on the coffee but Émilie was still overly focused on not having to do any cleaning up after anyone who wasn’t herself. “Oh,” she said, somewhat surprised. No one ever asked for a glass of water; it seemed that everyone was capable enough to use that spell they had learned in their first or second year of school to make their own.

It was all probably some sort of elaborate ploy to see if Émilie had that capability. She fumed as much as she could while still wearing her customer service smile, caught off guard again by Chantal’s second request for water. Maybe she really did need the water, was somehow choking, sincerely needing help.

The possibilities were endless here.

Émilie grabbed a coffee mug and her wand, though she didn’t rush. If she had to sacrifice some reputation for being quick with a wand, so be it. Émilie clearly recalled being told by the woman in front of her that she gave blondes a bad name so she knew she would probably never be in her good graces again, especially not after her coffee nearly killed her.

A few more coughs left Chantal before Émilie handed over a mug full of water, her smile ever present, albeit a bit more genuine than it had been before. She relaxed her grin after a second, though she was afraid that it had already been seen and taken the wrong (right) way. “Everything alright?” She asked rather unhelpfully, finally starting to enjoy the interaction.

As soon as the server handed her the mug of water, Chantal took small sips and deep breaths in between, trying as much as she could to stop her coughing crisis. Fortunately enough, she hadn’t gotten to the point where her stomach couldn’t handle the entire situation, however, the girl could feel acidity all over her oesophagus still, the extraordinarily bitter taste of the Turkish coffee being something that her organism still refused to handle. Still leaning against the counter, Chantal did feel as if her face began to colour itself again to its normal shade, however she still needed a moment or two to catch her breath and recover herself properly before functioning like a normal human being once again.

While generally coffee always made her feel better when she was nauseous, this time round the level of bitterness was something even the former Ombrelune couldn’t handle, despite her basically living on Turkish coffee instead of proper food or water. The coffee at the Ministry had always been particularly good, which had pleased Chantal ever since she’d been an Auror-in-training, however, today that definitely wasn’t the case. While Turkish coffee was indeed bitter if one didn’t add milk or sugar, it shouldn’t be bitter to that extent. She doubted the manager had changed the receipt, despite the fact that it certainly was a possibility that they did, and decided that the server had purposely made her coffee that way. In the end, now that she was properly thinking about it, it had taken the girl three cigarettes’ time for her to finish a small cup of coffee.

Chantal cleared her throat and pulled out a handkerchief out of her robe’s pocket, to wipe off the tears off her face. Her eyes were still wet and tearing, even if not as much as before; the gesture was something beyond Chantal’s control, but at least she regained some strength in her legs. Her gaze fell upon the coffee girl’s figure and after one more cough, the Auror arched her eyebrow suspiciously, before starting her sentence. “Why would you make it so bit- “ The girl suddenly paused, her icy blue eyes widening in shock.

She would have never thought that in her mind, at any point in her life, the voice of Friends’ character Janice would pop in, carelessly yelling her trademark line. ‘Oh. My. God.’

The server was nobody else than walking human disaster, Émilie Côté. The blonde who brought shame and embarrassment to blondes all over France, all over Europe, all over the planet. Of course that the former Papillonlisse would want to embarrass Chantal or, even worse, poison her to death. They never had a pleasant encounter, however, this one was definitely the worst so far. In the end, a stupid person’ evil nature had no limits, for they did not have the capacity to understand how far they were going when doing evil deeds. For example, if her stomach would have come up with an ulcer because of this coffee, Émilie definitely wouldn't have realised or completely understood the consequences of her actions. Or, at least, that was how the Auror perceived her.

But before she could even think of that in more depth, Chantal’s shock turned into amusement. The snobbish, ridiculously popular, extravagant and annoying to the point of wanting to turn her into a snail, Émilie Côté was a coffee girl. Honestly, Chantal never thought Émilie would go far in life, but she had always assumed the other would become a child-making machine housewife, and definitely not a server. Particularly not a server in the Ministry of Magic, where everyone could see how a former Quidditch captain’s only true potential was hopefully not messing up coffee orders.

“Émilie Côté.” She said out loud, on a cold tone, almost mechanical, still not being completely able to believe her eyes.

Émilie tapped her fingers lightly on the counter, unsure if she was supposed to offer any more help than she already had. It technically wasn’t her problem if the customer had issues with basic human functions like drinking properly or remembering to breathe. She grabbed her cleaning rag and made circles with it along the counter, standing there rather awkwardly as Chantal lost a lung.

She only brought her gaze up when the other woman spoke, ready to offer another shrug and a smile and try to shoo her along. But something looked like it dawned on her face then, and Émilie lifted her chin, standing up as straight as she could to give herself as much added height as possible. It was a shame, really, that the coffee hadn’t seriously harmed her. She couldn’t possibly be responsible for coffee being too hot or made wrong or not tasting great -- coffee tasted horrible in the first place, anyway -- but she was almost upset she hadn’t made it worse on purpose. Especially because that third attempt had been perfectly fine and Chantal was surely just finding things to nitpick, as usual, but that was a thought for another time. Émilie couldn’t handle too many of those at once and she needed to focus.

The past year working at the coffee cart had given Émilie plenty of opportunities to be embarrassed when recognized by former classmates who had gone on to do actual things with their lives, but she had never felt as ashamed to be standing behind a till until her name left Chantal’s lips. What traces of a smile were left on Émilie’s lips were gone in an instant as she tried her best to match the icy stare she was receiving.

“Chantal Garnier.” There was only a touch of her usual sweetness left in her voice; it was impossible to get rid of it completely, as hard as she tried. It wasn’t some great feat to say someone’s name. A few quiet seconds went by as Émilie wondered if it was safe to blink or breathe or anything to set her off. She really wasn’t in the mood to be insulted today -- disrespected, maybe, but that was life in the service industry.

A proper lady would put aside any sort of school days drama they had, in favor of being cordial and being the bigger person. But Émilie had never, would never, claim to be a proper lady, or mature, or the bigger person, in any situation. She was better and just a touch blonder, however, and she broke the silence with three words: “You look tired.” She fully meant this as an insult, implying that Chantal had missed some very needed beauty rest.

And so it seemed that Émilie had recognised Chantal, despite having pretended not to. The Auror’s trail of thoughts directed her to believing that the other girl would have probably hidden her identity, should the former Ombrelune had not remembered her. A mixture of feelings came upon this young witch; on one hand, her entire time at Beauxbatons, Chantal had found herself frustrated with Émilie. While she didn’t have anything truly personal against the other girl, or in common, she had always felt like Émilie never truly deserved everything she had achieved. Despite having to repeat one year, she had been Quidditch captain – the mere thought that there had probably been someone actually competent and smart who would’ve deserved the position irked her, because Émilie had stolen it from someone truly worthy. Later on, rumour had it Émilie failed her exams yet again, which she deserved, and dropped out. Chantal had been somewhat pleased that karma had finally done its work.

On the other hand, seeing Émilie there, now, in a position she truly deserved, made Chantal think that there was some justice in this world after all. However, it was pitiful. She had been amused by the other’s desire to keep her identity secret, and the fact that even Émilie herself perhaps realised that she was exactly where she deserved to be was amazing in its own. It seemed that she was embarrassed with her life. Well, it wasn’t her fault per se – at Beauxbatons she had gotten a taste of a social class she had certainly not merited to be part of. Though, as Chantal recalled, wasn’t Émilie engaged, or even married yet. Her server position definitely revealed that, most likely, even her boyfriend probably got tired of her brainless existence.

Whilst she had been at a slight loss of words, Chantal’s gaze has been coldly intense this entire time. And just when she had wanted to let it go, as it was beneath her to even make comments regarding such a pitiful existence, it seemed that Émilie was still her snobbish, superficial as ever, self. It seemed that even her memory had gotten worse, as first thing she should’ve done, was apologise for basically trying to make Chantal’s stomach explode.

Because the former Ombrelune definitely wasn’t the type of person who’d be fake, even out of pity, a sarcastic smile appeared on the Auror’s face, as she let out a soft laugh. “Tired?” She repeated after the former Quidditch captain. “Well, you probably wouldn’t know, but us who use our grey matter to survive within the workforce, generally are by far more tired than those who do… physical work.” Chantal decided to end it elegantly, as she tossed a lock of her hair over her shoulder.

Before having the chance to add something else and further the random encounter, it seemed that her superior had returned. Having heard her name called out, Chantal smirked one last time in Émilie’s direction, with a slight allure of superiority, before turning around on her heel and heading towards her boss. She didn’t forget about the small tip she had given Émilie – hopefully, the other would realise that by far more humiliating than being spotted by Chantal, was the fact that she had actually voluntarily taken money from the Auror. Now that gave Chantal slight satisfaction; she had degraded Émilie Côté without even knowing it. It was definitely something that would make the most amusing story to tell her friends over lunch.

Émilie nodded as Chantal repeated her assessment. But she wasn’t looking for clarification, no, which became all the more evident as she kept speaking and doing what — insulting her? The tone certainly implied an insult, but Émilie hadn’t been able to follow along after the mention of grey matter. Sounded rather gross, actually. She had learned over the years to not say anything when she wasn’t really sure what had been said to her. It had been an adjustment, of course, not having a constant presence there to explain things to her, but she wasn’t about to let her mind stray to that now.

Still, she couldn’t let the opportunity to pass without saying something, maybe offer her a pastry because it looked like she could use one, Chantal was leaving. Already. After all of this, or all of nothing. She frowned, not because of Chantal’s look that somehow looked so smug in its simplicity, but because she hadn’t been able to get in the last word.

She knew for sure, though, that she would be getting that particular coffee order wrong, no matter what. She opened her mouth to let the silent, meant-to-be-mocking, words form: “more tired than those who do physical work.” Émilie rolled her eyes as dramatically as she possibly could as she grabbed her cleaning rag one more time, this time setting about to actually and not just look busy.