[DoMGaS] one more time, with feeling {Hefin}

“For the love of—!”

The rest of the exasperated outburst was muffled by an incomprehensible mumbling. Emma was working on memos for the upcoming week, and for at least the thirtieth time that afternoon she’d mistakenly written ‘2001’ instead of ‘2002’. The twenty-one-year old picked up her wand from her desk, blew a very quiet raspberry, and with a small flick of her wrist – she was going to have some serious tendinitis by the end of this – made the correction.
The brunette knew full well, of course, that she could simply to it all by magic to begin with: but the truth was that it actually took her longer the magical way. Emma wasn’t particularly good at articulating what she wanted to say on the spot; writing things down by her own hand (instead of just speaking them aloud or directing a quill to do it) helped her to better piece together her train of thought. It was inconvenient, but hopefully would improve with time. Plus, she didn’t particularly feel like reading back through the memos to check for errors and ensure her that her charm had, in fact, worked adequately.

Finishing the last one and setting it aside, Emma let out a soft sigh of relief and pushed back slightly from her desk, glancing at the clock. She could afford to take a short break before getting started on the next thing on her list. Swiveling in her chair, she started to ask the intern if he wanted anything from the coffee cart – only to remember he had called out sick halfway through the day. Privately, Emma thought he was more likely to be hungover from what she’d overheard indirectly via the department’s more notorious gossips, but frankly she couldn’t really be bothered with the drama. The kid was eighteen; he’d figure out soon enough, once he made enough mistakes.

Tilting her head back to relieve the crick in her neck, still marveling at how much shorter her hair was now in comparison to how long it had been for most of her life (despite the fact that she’d gotten it cut months ago), she was debating on whether or not to stick her head into Fletcher’s office and see if the Senior Assistant wanted anything from the cart when the soft click of the main door opening met her ears. She glanced up automatically, and it took her a few heartbeats before the recognition set in and her face lit up.

“Hefin! Hi!”

Emma always enjoyed running into former schoolmates, no matter how well (or little) they had been acquainted. She and Hefin Howell were admittedly more on the ‘little’ end of that spectrum, having had the most interaction on the Quidditch Pitch despite being Yearmates, but they had certainly been friendly. He was, alas, just as attractive as she’d remembered – though with decidedly more facial hair. The Slytherin alumna was willing to bet his ego had also grown, to match.
Belatedly, it occurred to her that she probably should have addressed him as ‘Mr. Howell,’ in keeping with professionalism and all that jazz. She was the Junior Assistant to Jonathan Gardner himself, after all. But she and Hefin were peers, and she had certainly known him as just ‘Hefin’ before he’d gone pro.
Whatever – Hefin, it was.

“And what brings you to Headquarters?” she asked with a grin.
It wasn’t often that the League players themselves made an appearance; usually they sent along an assistant or something of the sort if they needed something from the Department. Quinn had been the exception last month – she recalled with inward amusement – when the Falmouth Seeker all but barreled into the office to protest her flying restriction and nearly taken Emma out (literally) with said heavily-pregnant belly.

While his time in London was short and limited, it seemed that the Australian Ministry wasn’t joking when it came about official notifications. Earlier that day, during breakfast, Hefin received a statement that an official letter arrived for him at the British Ministry of Magic, and that he was invited to personally pick it up from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. In all honesty, the last thing he wanted was to go to the Ministry that day. And the letter was surely going to be just some mere statistics regarding the Australian National’s performance during the World Cup, accompanied by some news regarding the captain or something of the sort. Nothing he didn’t know, however, there he was, forced to go pick up the bloody piece of parchment, and for news Hefin wasn’t keen on receiving.

In addition to it all, having his uncle as the Head of the Department of Mysteries also implied that he would have to properly groom himself before going to the Ministry. Naturally, aside from that, being an Australian representative also added to the pressure of having to look at his best. Eventually, Hefin decided for some dark grey robes, with black finishing, along with some dragon leather gloves. London, while warmer than Wales, it was definitely way colder than Melbourne, and Hefin had yet to still adjust to the difference in the temperatures. Making sure that his hair was flawlessly arranged, in a loose braid to the side, he Apparated to the Ministry’s visitors’ entrance and made his way towards the Magical Games and Sports Department.

He decided to go directly to the Department Head’s office, as the assistants there would most likely provide him with the letter directly, no need for overcomplicating things. However, it was naturally expected of him to greet Jonathan Gardner, bringing also a present for the Department Head: a bottle of the finest Tasmanian firewhiskey, elegantly covered in a layer of dark red silk. Surely, the man will appreciate it, as a Christmas present and nothing else. Hefin would have felt simply too weird not to bring anything, particularly since he was bothering the man’s department with his affairs. Opening the door, the quidditch player made his way in one of the the antechamber, the one in which generally the junior assistants resided.

As soon as he stepped in, Hefin was surprised to hear his name being called out. Not because he had been recognised immediately, for surely all employees in the certain department knew all quidditch players by heart, but because the voice had felt strangely familiar. As the door closed behind him, Hefin’s eyes widened a bit in disbelief, his gaze falling on no-one other than Emma Hennings, a former fellow year mate. While they hadn’t been the closest of year mates, he and Emma had been always friendly to each other, generally being cordial when they met either in common classes, or during their quidditch games back at Hogwarts. She particularly caught his attention during their seventh year, however, Hefin had been more focused on his Hufflepuff captaincy back then rather than anything else.

“G'day, Em!” He replied, his voice being equally friendly, perfectly matching her previous tone; his Australian accent was most likely a novelty, however it was now beyond the point of him bothering to even switch to his Welsh one. A smile appeared on his face, as Hef started making his way towards her desk. “I didn’t know you worked here, quite the nice job you have, mate.” Reaching her, the quidditch player leaned in, to greet her properly, gently kissing her on both cheeks. It wasn’t the most professional greeting, but they were former Hogwarts mates, which mattered more than a meaningless cordiality.

Straightening his back, Hefin started analysing her more, a slight nostalgic feeling coming upon him. While her figure obviously hadn’t changed to the point of him not recognising her, he couldn’t not notice the fact that her hair was much shorter now; that, of course, if he recalled well. Hefin would have definitely commented on that, on her appearance, on her cleavage looking particularly nice that day; however, he was there on business, hence why the quidditch player decided against acting like his usual self and be a bit on the charming and chivalrous side. The kisses were more than enough for now.

Instead, he cleared his throat, deciding to answer her question. “I was informed there’s a letter for me, from your Australian equivalent. Not sure why it hadn’t been delivered to me directly, but...” Hefin shrugged, deciding not to openly comment on the ridiculousness of bureaucracy in the middle of a Ministry. He did not have that kind of death wish. “Oh, and is Mr. Gardner in? I’d fancy quickly greeting him if he’s around.”

Had she not physically laid eyes on him, Emma might not have recognized him by voice alone right away, as he seemed to have swapped his Welsh accent for an Australian one. She supposed she couldn’t be too surprised: he had family in Australia, after all, and had been playing for said family’s team – the Roos – since graduation.
Not to mention, compared to Welsh, Australian accents seemed to have a more profound effect on the (especially female) fan-base. Her cheeks dimpled slightly with amusement: if even half of what she’d read in the gossip columns and rubbish tabloids about him and his various exploits over the past few years was true, it would further support this hypothesis.

She felt a ripple of mild surprise at his mode of casual greeting, but accepted the gesture with another grin.

“Thanks – just crawling my way up in the world,” she laughed with a casual wave of her hand. “Started interning during the summer before Sixth Year… though obviously not during the next.” Her expression darkened briefly at this, remembering. As a Ministry employee, her dad was privy to the pervasive growing discord and had forbidden her to be anywhere near the Ministry during the summer of 1997: sure enough, by August, the Ministry had fallen. And then the year from hell had begun.
Emma unceremoniously shoved those thoughts aside and continued as though her train of thought hadn’t been interrupted.
“But then the department offered me a job right after graduation – well, after I took my N.E.W.T.s… and here I am.” She lifted one shoulder casually.

The Slytherin alumna felt his eyes on her, and for a fleeting moment she felt suddenly self-conscious. She allowed her own gaze to quickly pass over him. He’d certainly gotten taller in the nearly-four years since they’d graduated (and his hair even longer), and seemed to have picked up a nice sense of style. But his eyes, of course, were the same: a warm brown, with a bit of a mischievous glint. His convivial demeanor clearly hadn’t changed, either.

He cleared his throat to answer her, and she blinked.

“Ooh yeah, I’ve got it here, just a sec… came in yesterday, about an hour before I went home.” Unlocking one of her desk drawers with a tap of her wand she eased it open, flicking through a few papers before emerging with the sealed letter. She’d completely forgotten about it over the course of the day. With a quick last glance to confirm the addressee, she handed it over, lips pursed slightly in consideration.
“I’ve no idea, either. Don’t you famous people have little minions to run around and do such bidding as this?” she teased playfully.

Leaning down slightly to lock the drawer again, she glanced up at his question.
“Mmm, he’s actually out for the day – conference, I think. Might be back before the end of the day, if you’ll still be in the area – otherwise, happy to take a message.” She reached for her favorite quill and her stack of memo parchment, eyebrow raised in question.

“I hear you’ve made quite a niche for yourself, too,” the brunette continued with a wink. “That’s really excellent. How’ve you been? Outside of your professional life since, y’know, part of my job is to be up-to-the-minute on all of the Quidditch Leagues’ goings-on.” With a knowing smile, she tilted her head to indicate the sheaf of papers neatly stacked on the left side of her desk, which contained the highlights from each of the matches played that week in each of the international leagues.

Hefin let out a soft, yet cynical laugh at Emma’s remark. If he recalled well, her father was also in the Ministry, so that would add more pressure to her job, rather than facilitate her advancement. In the end, even if she had quite the nice job, the heaviness that came along was also revealed by the choice of her wording. She’d used ‘crawling’, rather than ‘climbing’. Hefin couldn’t really say anything; he knew exactly how that had felt, ‘crawling’ one’s way up in the world. His profession was obviously quite different, however, if he hadn’t excelled at playing quidditch, his own family wouldn’t have accepted him on their team. He was a good investment, and that was the sole reason Hefin was basically given this path.

“Interning? That’s pretty awesome.” He remarked, deciding not to comment on the latter part of her reply. In the end, while he wasn’t a pureblood supremacist, his family was, from both sides. And particularly the Welsh side of his family had a lot to gain during the war, as many had ended up in high-ranked positions, which they still held up to this day. It wasn’t to say that they weren’t competent officials, but just that the war has little-said facilitated their advancement. That year had been a great one for the Howells, and Hefin couldn’t bring it to himself to state anything on the matter, as he wouldn’t be anything but hypocritical. “And here you are.” Hefin repeated after Emma, sketching a polite smile, as charming as always.

As soon as he mentioned the letter, Emma knew exactly what the quidditch player was referring to. No wonder she’d been offered a job at the Ministry, since she seemed to have her act together, compared to many other officials who were rather easily distracted, especially when in the presence of a celebrity. Hefin took the letter as Emma handed it over to him, and glanced over the envelope. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, and the lack of flamboyance disappointed him ever slightly. In the end, the Australian Ministry could’ve easily waited for him to pick up the letter once he’d be back in Melbourne. He hid his disappointment perfectly well though, as, in the end, Hefin was in the presence of a ministry official, so he didn’t want to step on any toes here.

The former Hufflepuff arched his right eyebrow at her playful tone. “Minions?” He inquired, letting out a laughter. “Well, it’s not a letter I can let anyone else pick up.” Or so said the notification from the Australian Ministry. Hefin shrugged, and didn’t comment further, the silence confirming that he, indeed, would’ve easily sent someone to pick up the letter for him, should the notice hadn’t been so strict. He was also the type of person that liked sticking to the protocol, so it wasn’t like Hefin to let anyone pick up his official documents, unless the rules allowed it.

“Conference?” The Victorian found himself surprised to hear that Gardner wasn’t around, especially because the silence of the office would denote differently. However, it was also a busy time of the year, with the quidditch leagues starting soon. Even if they’d want to take a break while the Department Head was away, the officials couldn’t really afford it. Still, he’d brought a bottle of the best Tasmanian firewhiskey and Gardner wasn’t there to receive it. Hefin sighed, and placed the package on Emma’s desk, gently pushing it in her direction. “Then this is for you.” He winked playfully in the former Slytherin’s direction, later on nodding in disapproval, that there was no need to take a message. If Gardner wasn’t there, it was his loss.

“Ha.” The Australian let out, as soon as he heard her following remark. Hefin wasn’t sure if she referred to his quidditch career, or his popularity with the media, for the latter seemed to have taken a liking to him especially after graduation. The Roos captain was pretty sure he’d fed a lot of journalists’ entire extended families for years now, principally with all the exclusive articles going on about his private life. But before he could actually ask, Emma clarified the matter herself. She was definitely inquiring about his private life.

Hefin playfully bit his lower lip, as he let out a soft sigh. “Emma, sweetheart.” The former Hufflepuff started, straightening his back and he leaned against the edge of her desk. “If you want to find out if I’m single, you can ask in a less roundabout way.” He nodded in disapproval, quite amused by the way she had gone about it. Hefin then glanced to the desk, some random statistic catching his eye. He picked up the piece of parchment, being a bit intrigued by the detailed analysis of the Welsh National Team's development. Part of him wished for Wales to win the upcoming World Cup, and Merlin knew he'd cheer for them, but they had nothing on Bulgaria though. Nobody did.

“Why though? Are you interested?” The quidditch captain asked, on an equally teasing tone. “I don’t reveal my relationship status that easily, y’know.”

“Well, it’s not a letter I can let anyone else pick up.”
The tall brunette pressed her lips together briefly at his very matter-of-fact response. She’d meant the comment to be lighthearted – she wasn’t a complete twit, of course she’d received the instruction that the letter was for ‘Mr. Howell’s eyes only’ – and hadn’t anticipated he’d take it at face-value. Wit had never been her strong suit and, clearly, that was still the case.

Ever the professional (or at least trying her best), she brushed the incident aside and instead eyed the packaged he’d placed before her with a healthy degree of skepticism – mixed with strong curiosity. It was handsomely wrapped and rectangular in shape, perhaps as long as her forearm and just a bit wider than her hand. It was hers, now? Now that Gardner wasn’t here? What exactly was it?

Before she could decide whether or not to ask, he’d latched onto her next comment.

“Emma, sweetheart.”
The witch tensed in her seat, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. What was he on about, treating her like a goo-goo-eyed fangirl? She didn’t even want to think about how many times he’d utilized that and gotten swooning in response; privately, she suspected she might be the first woman to not viscerally react that way.

Her mouth promptly fell open at his next rejoinder, and it was all she could do to suppress an unprofessionally indignant snort. How had he come to that conclusion from her casual comment?! She felt a flush creeping up her neck, and desperately hoped it wouldn’t show. His tone was clearly teasing, but she felt a flash of annoyance all the same.
‘Because his ego is so enormous it’s a wonder he even fits in this bloody office,’ came a derisive voice from the recesses of her mind. ‘He probably thinks the entire world wants nothing more than to sleep with him.’

When had she gotten so cynical?
In any case, she was not going to play into fueling Hefin Howell’s ego. No way. He had more than enough fangirls and publicists to do that for him, judging by the massive amounts of fan mail she used to sift through up until the past year or so: a task she’d been all too happy to hand-off to the intern. She’d officially gotten over her star-struck-ness last summer, after she and Quinn had gotten stuck in a revolving door. Something about that incident had flipped a switch in her brain, and – as much as she dearly loved the sport – she had since come to acknowledge Quidditch players not as gods and goddesses, but simply as professionals in their own right.
Massive ego complexes had never sat well with her; and yet here she was, making a career out of working with them.

He took a moment to study the analyses she’d alluded to, giving her an opportunity to regain hold of her professionalism. Emma affected to look politely disinterested, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well, no, that wasn’t what I was asking – more along the lines of: ‘How was your weekend?’” She paused, a wry smile appearing on her lips. “But since you brought it up… it must be on your mind?”
Perhaps she hadn’t gotten quite as strong a grip as she was aiming for. Oops.

Now wasn’t that quite the reaction. His remark had been nonchalant and rather teasingly playful, but it was obvious it caught Emma off-guard. It was surprising; in the end, she knew his reputation. While not a flirtatious person per se, Hefin was bold and direct. At times, of course, he enjoyed taking people’s words and extracting their true meaning. Being followed by paparazzi since a fragile age had made him that cynical. Nonetheless, his intentions hadn’t gone past jokingly playful with Emma, so her jaw slightly dropping had been quite the surprise, even for him.

It was obvious she was annoyed and, truth be told, he enjoyed it. While Hefin hadn’t moved at all, having caught Emma’s physical reaction only with the corner of his eye, now the quidditch player straightened his back as he rolled down the parchment he was holding even more. Gwenog Jones’ statistics were as impressive as always, and Hefin couldn’t help himself but admire one of his favourite quidditch players, even on paper. She was impressive, and he couldn’t but feel a tint of pride. His Welsh half was completely enamoured with her still, ever since he’d been a young boy.

Emma soon replied to his to his inquiry, and Hefin felt amused at the feigned disinterest. He didn’t raise his gaze, at least not until she’d returned the slight controversy – if he could even categorise a teasing remark in such a way – back towards him. “And what if it is?” Hefin replied instantly, his tone less playful than before, now more serious. He then let his eyes meet hers, and returned her ironic smile, his own being more on the playful side.

“Hm.” He tapped a finger on the parchment. “You say you asked it in the context of ‘how was my weekend’ but, if you think about it, such a question is posed to people one is close to. If not, it is a question asked to people one wants to be close to. Otherwise, protocol demands less intimate queries, such as the weather, or the news, pieces of information that are, of course, lacking of any kind of intimacy, regardless of how little it is. If you know what I did last weekend, it’s easy to track what kind of people I hang out with and the degree of my relationship with them. Doesn’t take a genius to understand the depth of such a question.”

Hefin shrugged one shoulder as he rolled the parchment and elegantly placed it back on his former year mate’s desk. “But surely you do know that, as you work with such protocol on a daily basis.” He straightened his posture, not leaning against the desk anymore, instead gently tapping his right hand’s fingers against its edge. “So, if anything, Emma, you purposely asked me such a question because you are interested in me. I don’t mind it, Merlin forbid, but I do enjoy leaving these deduction games for the pitch.” His fingers stopped.

“But it was on my mind, as much as it was on yours.” He let out a laugh, later on placing two fingers on the present, and pushing it in her direction, encouraging the witch to make it her own, as he previously suggested. “Tasmanian firewhiskey.”

“And what if it is?”

His eyes met hers, and she merely raised her eyebrows in response. Before she could say anything further, he’d launched into a dissertation of how an amiable question that she asked her co-workers every single Monday somehow translated to an intention to stalk his social goings-on. Which, quite frankly, wouldn’t be terribly difficult for really anyone who so wished to do, considering the Australian tended to make headlines rather easily.

Emma stared at him in disbelief for a moment as he concluded his rather verbose and detailed analysis, then slowly shook her head. Protocol for a simple, non-intrusive question that he was free to answer in as little detail as he so pleased? Not that she’d ever experienced. Was this what fame did to people? Made them intensely conscious of every little thing they did or said to ward off crazed fans and potential stalkers? Perhaps it was a blessing she hadn’t been talented enough to play professionally… that kind of lifestyle was enough to turn anyone mental. She sighed briefly in exasperation.

“Merlin, forget I even asked. I am most assuredly not interested in tracking your every move and mapping your social network, thank you very much. A simple ‘fine’ with or without a ‘thank you’ would certainly have sufficed, even if untrue.” Emma raised her eyebrows again.

“So, if anything, Emma, you purposely asked me such a question because you are interested in me. I don’t mind it, Merlin forbid, but I do enjoy leaving these deduction games for the pitch.”

Merlin, did everything revolve around him and his colossal ego?! Even if the comments were meant in teasing, it was getting to be a bit much. She barely suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes dramatically.
“The interest was rooted in social niceties, but suit yourself,” she shrugged nonchalantly. No point in bantering with him any further, since he was clearly going to convince himself of whatever he liked.

“But it was on my mind, as much as it was on yours.”

“So not at all, then,” she countered, though with a hint of an amused smile. And this time when he nudged the elegantly-wrapped bottle of Firewhiskey towards her, she didn’t protest. “Cheers,” she replied by way of thanks, stowing it safely in the large cabinet of her desk until she could bring it home with her later. She was certainly not interested in a professionalism concern for having a rather large bottle of spirits on-display at her workspace.

Emma nodded once at the letter in his hand. “Enjoy your fan mail,” she grinned.

[[ @Elena I'll post once more once you have Hefin leave then we can claim it! ]]