09 September 2002
If Kendrick missed the Monday morning memo that had delivered itself to his desk about the rapidly deteriorating situation at the residence of the Dowager Marchioness of Cholmondeley, the Ministry of Magic had only itself to blame for two things: outdated plumbing and some evidently poor hiring decisions in the cafe. His wife had left early that morning, citing urgent business (a rather more common refrain than before, with her promotion), leaving Kendrick to take Bo out and then fend for himself when it came to breakfast. Unmotivated to confront household magic this early in the morning, and relieved from the more critical eye of his loving wife, Kendrick seized on the idea of grabbing a bite at the cafe before his shift. A bacon butty, yes, that was definitely the least healthy, most delicious solution. His taste buds and blissful smile agreed, and he was in good spirits as he sat down at his desk.
At least, until the cramps hit. It started with a rumbling, and then it was a shock of pain, and then it was an unexplained dash out of the office. Except Magical Maintenance had put up barriers over
all the toilets on their floor, each with a different cutesy little message over it with an angelic little reference to problems with the pipes. By then Kendrick was quite overwhelmed by problems with
his pipes, and furious besides. It had just been bacon, how could it have gone that off? Was it the butter? He squirmed uncomfortably in the lift down to level 4, giving a pained grimace instead of his usual smile to Harrison as he hurried out the door, only to find yet another set of barriers up. Cursing, he waddled back to the lift and down to level 5, where the blessed sight of an open stall greeted him.
After twenty minutes had gone by and he'd risked a peek at the surprisingly colorful results, he concluded that it could have been neither the bacon nor the butter but
someone who had put in something else entirely, because this was no normal bug. Either someone was trying to bring magical illness into the Ministry or was playing a horrible practical joke without the proper payoff. Kendrick loved chaos, but he also wanted everyone to be in on the laugh at the end of the joke, at least after the redness had gone out of their faces. Three times now he had thought it was all over, only for it to start again. He knew he could get it fixed at Mungo's, it had a magical cause, but it just wasn't
severe enough to go all the way to a Healer, and it was so embarrassing. Cait would never let him live it down if she heard about it, and hear about it she would, he was sure that the gossip there was just as bad as it was here. Surely it would let off soon.
By the time he emerged, looking rather worse for wear, he didn't have enough brain cells to do anything more than stare when a young woman he had never seen before marched up to him with an icy stare and grabbed his left arm, marching him toward a lift. "Of
course you would be slacking off. You've had people looking everywhere for you. Seems what Andrea told me about you was right."
Kendrick squinted. Did he have a reputation for that? Percy would have told him if he thought so, right? Percy did annual reviews, like a responsible Head. "Sorry, I wasn't aware we were responsible for Dining's mishaps," he said in a blend of cheekiness and uncertainty. He shook her off his arm, but kept following her out of bemusement, figuring anyone that was this insistent on being followed must have a good reason for it. Thankfully, she didn't grab on again. Those hands were like hawk talons, or something.
She snapped at him. "Excuses already? You should know, in your position, that there are some things that cannot just wait around when crucial personnel are absent..." Kendrick scratched his head. He was one of the more experienced people on the Squad--usually people did get promoted to non-shift positions in the department by the time they hit their thirties--but he had never been described as crucial personnel before. At least not to his face. Ken was actually close to working out a compliment from it all when she added, "
...Department Head," practically spitting out the words.
"I'm sorry,
Department Head? Are you sure you're not looking for someone shorter? 'Bout yea high?" Kendrick tapped the bottom of his chin with the top of his hand. "Very female?" He'd never been mistaken for his
wife before, but there was a first for everything...
"Oh, very funny. Just because half your department would have rather they picked Clarke as Head instead of you doesn't mean that wishes like that come true." They had exited the lift on the seventh floor, and he was hustled into a conference room, wondering whether some Muggles had spotted a pickup Quidditch match or something. "We finally located him, sir."
"Ah, Emerson, finally. We've gotten wind that Japan and Sweden may include sporting events in the agreement they're currently drafting. It's very important that we not alienate Japan in this despite the current...relationship thaw with Sweden. You'll recall that the Quidditch gala was just last week. They're an important partner..." One of Gardner's staff was talking at him, but Kendrick had caught on the word
Emerson. And the earlier mention of
Department Head. Had someone given Jon a
promotion? What bloody fools were in charge of staffing decisions in IMC? Also,
Sweden. The very word raised his blood pressure.
"Well, my professional opinion is that Sweden is a right basket of those Blast-Ended Skrewts and we'd be stupid to try and do anything they think is a good idea. Also, I'm not Jon Emerson, thank
Merlin especially if someone's given him this job, can I please go back to my real job before Percy Weasley gives me one of those I'm-not-mad-I'm-just-disappointed-and-tired looks?"
