they want more [percy]

mid january 2002

Muggle participants in a bar brawl required obliviation due to wizard’s use of both the jelly-legs jinx and his fists. Wizard required treatment to stop laughing, not our Department.

Edith reread the description in the middle of the form for the tenth or eleventh time. She had inherited the paperwork from a coworker who had just left on maternity leave, so she hadn’t participated in this particular obliviation. She just got to read about it and do all the tedious work about it. And read about it again. She had, rather recently, been in a similar situation. Of course, Edith had only used her fists (she clenched and unclenched her right hand subconsciously as she read), didn’t even have her wand on her. Only the muggle police officers were concerned with her, and the muggles involved weren’t really any worse for wear. Anyone that was familiar with Edith’s lack of upper body strength could see just how little damage she could do.

She reread the sentence again before setting the parchment back on her desk and sliding it away from her, drumming her fingers to fill the silence. It wasn’t silent though, not really. It was considerably more quiet in the office than it had been in December, the month long Christmas prank party extravaganza having been wrapped up after the holidays, but Edith’s mind was filled to the brim with thoughts as she jumped from one to the next. Twenty muggles in that pub. Edith sighed again. Patsy just loooved when she got to obliviate large groups of muggles; Edith could hardly believe she would take maternity leave and miss more opportunities to do so.

This case would have been one of those that Edith might have ‘conveniently’ not concentrated hard enough on her obliviation. Of course, she was always precise enough to only mess with the magical memories in question, but for some of the more harmless cases, she left in one or two details, nothing more than the residue of a really fantastic daydream.

Those muggles in the pub probably lost their memories of the football match they had been watching. Patsy was careless like that, had no respect for the things that happened on the edge of the magic, those things that people might want to hold onto.

The fact that she, or anyone in the department, had any control over which memories to take, which to replace, which to leave… it was too much.

As Edith stood up from her desk, she realized this wasn’t a new idea. It had been sitting there in the back of her mind for a while, at least since returning for the Dome, but probably since the first day she had obliviated a muggle. She had been accused of stealing magic (by people that had sat in this very building), yet wanted nothing more to fit into both worlds. Still, she was part of the problem, the hypocrite muggleborn that couldn’t leave the minds of muggles alone.

She glanced down at her watch. Quarter to four. He should be in his office. Even if not, she’d just leave a note. If she didn’t do this now, surely she never would. She didn’t look at any faces as she passed cubicles and desks, knowing that if she caught the wrong look she might turn around and get back to work.

Coming to a stop at her Department Head’s open office door, Edith gave a knock out of protocol more than any concerns of invading privacy. As ever, he looked busy, but she took a step into the office anyway, though she didn’t stray too far from the doorway, her hands stuck awkwardly into her pockets. “Hey, er,” she started, pausing to clear her throat. “So, I quit.”

@Percival Ignatius Weasley

When he was working, Percy took his watch off and kept it in the drawer beside his desk. The clock in his office was opaque and only showed the time when a wand was pointed at it. The redhead was exceptionally good at keeping the time without one and he'd found that visible clocks gave him a strange sense of duality; like time was simultaneously moving more slowly but running out more quickly. He glanced at the time now, before tucking his wand away again. Three fourty-six. He'd told Penelope he was going to be home by six tonight - so naturally he'd come to work an hour earlier than usual and skipped lunch - but he still wasn't completely sure he'd make it. Damn it.

Percy dipped his quill into a pot of ink beside his papers and started making notes. He'd put aside exactly fifteen minutes to go through the feedback notes he'd requested regarding the remaining surplus his department had - somehow - managed to accumulate. He was proud of the way he'd handled the budget in the former financial year. Percy had arranged for bonuses for certain highly performing employees, but there had still been money left over that he needed to get rid of. He sighed to himself. It had been a simple enough question, hadn't it? How can we improve our department?

He'd personally written, duplicated and charmed anonymous pieces of paper to find everyone's desks and then return neatly to a box in his office once filled out. Naturally, knowing it was anonymous, there had been many joke answers. Mr Weasley could smile more, had been one of the answers. Seven day weekends, had been another. Well, fine. His ideas had been something along the lines of his former department's colourful lounge or perhaps a Valentine's day mass dinner or replacement vending machines that vended things like cup noodles or roasted potatoes but if his department wasn't mature enough to work with him then they'd just get what they were given.

Percy continued to stare at the paper in front of him for a whole five seconds after the knock sounded before calling for her to come in. "Edith?" he asked, glancing up from his papers, deep blue eyes surveying her over his glasses. The man silently urged her to hurry up. Time was money, after all. They might have a small surplus, but Percy poured himself into this job. Ten hour days were a minimum for him and the surplus definitely didn't cover his time. When she finally spoke again, Percy's brows knit together into a frown and he sat up a little straighter. "What?" he asked, staring at her for a moment to make sure she wasn't pulling one of her god-awful pranks on him. Percy wouldn't put it above Kendrick Silverman, for example, to orchestrate something like this.

When he was sure that she was serious, Percy put down his quill. "Come in," he said wearily. The man slid his glasses up onto his curly hair and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He readjusted them, motioning to the seat opposite his desk. "Talk to me," he said.

Was she supposed to answer that question? She had been fairly clear, had kept her words short and easy to follow. She needed to save her big words and long-winded explanations for Elias -- she shook her head to keep her thoughts from steering in his direction, already feeling the disappointment she was about to cause him. Edith shrugged in Percy’s direction, willing him to say something along the lines of ‘That’s great, see you later, have a nice life’ so she could get the hell out of there.

She didn’t want to go in. Maybe if she stood motionless in the doorway long enough he would just accept her resignation and get back to work. She thought it might be working for about fifteen seconds as Percy fidgeted, but he recovered and beckoned her into his office once again. Her feet were moving before she had time to reconsider. She sat on the edge of the chair she was directed toward, back straight, attempting to look as serious as she possibly could. Maybe she should do what he had just done with his glasses, appear like she had given this immense thought, but maybe he wouldn’t appreciate being mimicked at the present moment.

Edith bit her lip. She hadn’t prepared a speech or a long list of reasons why this was the best decision for her. Ten minutes ago she had been thinking about what the rest of the work week held in store for her, how much paperwork she could save and finish at five ‘til five on Friday. “Er, well,” she started, glancing at the clock on the wall more out of habit than for any timekeeping reasons, before bringing her gaze round to Percy. “There’s really nothing to talk about,” she finished with a shrug, though now she had started speaking she realized she did have something to talk about.

“I just can’t do this anymore, y’know?” No, of course he didn’t know. They had considerably different upbringings, experiences, career goals. “I mean,” she started again, trying to get back on the right track. “I don’t expect you to understand and I didn’t tell you so you could talk me out of it.” She was speaking quickly, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible. This may have been an impulse decision, but now that she had made it she was clinging to it like her life depended on it. “Just thought my telling you in person was preferable to a note.” Preferable, yes, but certainly not easier. She would definitely just be leaving a note whenever she quit her next job.

Percy tried to keep track of his staff, he really did. Sometimes he was here in fourteen hour blocks, combing over paperwork and trying to create the most productive work environment for his people. Some of his measures were quite progressive, actually; Percy tried not to take an authoritarian line wherever he could. Some of them were bound to slip through the cracks, though, and Edith was obviously one of them. He tried not to let his perfectionist streak take it personally. He'd have to reframe it somehow, glean some kind of new understanding or learn about a new fault - either his own or his department's (which sort of felt like his own, however unhealthy that may be). He'd have to find something to improve to make the loss worth it. Not the loss of Edith, of course, in terms of their department she was a fairly small cog to be fair, but the loss of something unexpected and impractical happening that he hadn't forseen or prepared for.

Secretly, Percy was glad he hadn't chosen her for the raise. Imagine what it would look like if he started paying someone more just before they suddenly quit. Horrific. It would look like he didn't know what he was doing with his department. With a frown, Percy wondered if it already sort of looked like that. Edith was an unstable component. "Okay," Percy replied diplomatically. Mentally, he was combing through the other employees he had with similar skills to her. He planned how he might distribute her current workload. "Well, I mean your contract does state you need to give four weeks notice," he reminded her gently. Percy picked up his wand and waved it at a plain-looking filing cabinet. An unassuming folder floated over lazily from its depths. "Though I do remember the days you had off after last February, perhaps we could do something with that..." The man trailed off, flicking through the contract she'd signed when she'd been given her job. Percy could release her from the binds of her contract with a good reason. He supposed he could write mental distress as a reason for doing so?

"How many cases are you assigned to at the moment?" he asked, turning a page over. Percy was a pragmatist, he'd already started shuffling things around to allow for this. There were other people - thank Merlin - in between him and Edith in terms of levels of authority, so he'd be able to delegate certain tasks to other people... "And, Edith, honestly I just want to ask you why," he said, placing the papers back down on his desk and leaning forward a little, pressing his fingertips in front of him. "It's fine if you don't want to be talked out of it," he added, raising his palms to reassure her, "but... You know I'm always trying to improve our workplace. I'm managing a lot of people here, and I'm constantly looking for ways to improve the way things work. If there's a problem..." He trailed off, prompting her.

Okay. Was that it? Was she free to go? There was no way it could be that simple, and she waited impatiently for him to continue, her hands folded in her lap, doing her best not to fidget. She raised both eyebrows as he mentioned her contract; of course he had memorized them all, the paperwork she had thought was between her and human resources. She shifted in her seat, almost as if to get a better look at the folder he was holding away from her.

She hadn’t forgotten about the four weeks notice, per se, but she certainly hadn’t remembered that was a thing. Did that mean she wasn’t quitting today? Was he seriously expecting her to go back out there and work for four more weeks after this conversation? Could she just take a four week holiday instead?

But then he mentioned her days off last year, those one-week-turned-into-six period after the dome, in which she had a very brief mental and emotional breakdown -- that she hadn’t mentioned to anyone except the one witness to it -- and she suddenly wondered if he knew anything more than he was letting on. She had gone to a couple of those group therapy sessions that the Ministry had offered, but they had said those were confidential. She shifted again, this time uncomfortably.

“Is that the contract I signed before or after the Muggleborn Registration Commission?” There had been two, though the only obvious difference between them (besides the start date) was that extra week of holiday time thrown in, as if that would make up for her whole ordeal. She didn’t actually think he would have the earlier version, but she didn’t think it would hurt to ask, all the same. Just to hint at any other reason she might have to want to uncouple herself from the Ministry.

But he was moving on to asking about her workload, hopefully to redistribute it rather than try to lessen it in a last ditch effort to make her stay. “Four,” she said quickly, adding, “Three are only paperwork and one still has an outstanding hearing but it was really by the book, older bloke using magic to win his village flower show. I don’t think I’d have to actually testify.” She swallowed, hoping that was more than enough information to get everything taken care of.

“Honestly?” Was there a problem? Yes, of course. Was the problem something that he could fix? She highly doubted it, but she’d like to see him try. But was it something she wanted to talk about with him? Absolutely not. Edith straightened up in her chair, making eye contact with the Department Head for the first time since entering his office. “Honestly, I don’t know how to fix it. If you can fix it. Taking memories from muggles. Nothing says we have to replace the memories with something -- I know a lot of people just take them and get on with their lives. I can’t do it anymore.” She was speaking much quieter now, and she added a shrug to indicate that she was done.