knock on wood [quinn]

friday 8 august 2003

She had really chosen the worst possible timing to start in an office dedicated to stamping out underage magic. The summer holidays were in full swing and Mary was on the verge of owling Professor McGonagall herself to ask if they had forgotten to give out the mandatory end of term notice this year – until Maurice had assured Mary they had these ‘small breaches’ every summer. (And. if it came down to it, Mary was still too intimidated by her former Head of House (now Headmistress) to owl her anything remotely accusatory.)

Mary crossed the Atrium, deciding whether she could sneak into the cafeteria for a proper breakfast (bacon, eggs, beans – the works, it was her birthday after all) and have it still fit into the time allowed for being ‘in the field’ (they really knew how to make their job sound a lot more grandiose than it was). Since Kingsley’s reforms the Office had elected to try and use home visits for first-time offenders, which Mary thought was poppycock because she’d received a letter back when she was thirteen and it had frightened her onto the straight and narrow (sort of).

She was halfway to waving at Cute Brian on the Security Desk when she recognised the person in line to submit her wand for inspection – or refusing to, or something. Mary let out an audible “Ugh,” and rolled her eyes. Of all the days for Quinn Regan to appear in Mary’s domain— Although, a little bubble of glee rose up in her chest when she remembered reading – and subsequently interrogating Caitlin – about Quinn’s breakup with Sam. Unable to control herself, Mary inched closer – she’d work out her breakfast later.

She caught ”Don’t you know who I am?” and scoffed, which drew Quinn’s attention. Oops. Mary shrugged. “It’s alright Brian, she’s not a threat,” she said with a sneer, “unless she’s here to try and bribe Cadwallader.” She arched a sceptical brow at her former classmate – wouldn’t put it past her. “Not going to Level Seven are you?”


@Quinn Regan

Quinn didn’t have an appointment, didn’t think she needed one, considering. She just needed to walk in, pay her (absolutely unwarranted) fine, and walk out. How could she be fined for unsportsmanlike conduct after the match was over? Someone had it out for her, clearly. Like this security wizard, with his stupid Griffins badge--did this place not have a dress code?--and the very obvious I-failed-out-of-Auror-training air about him.

“I’ve never had to turn in my wand,” she repeated. Again. Not that she could (or was willing to) remember, anyway. She didn’t want to have to ask but desperate times-- “Don’t you know who I am?” She had leaned in and dropped the volume of her voice but she was a loud talker to begin with (because she had to be, being a public figure and all).

There was a scoff from the sidelines--it had to be directed at her because everything was these days--and Quinn turned on her heel to tell her off because excuse me. Her eyes went wide for a split second before she fixed her expression to match the disdain on Mary’s face. Of course it’d be Mary. Quinn thought she remembered Alex saying something about her ‘taking some time’ away from the aurors but she hadn’t paid much attention to the why because frankly, Mary didn’t interest her (and she had some other stuff going on with losing the Final and breaking up with her boyfriend, etc.).

Quinn rolled her eyes at Mary’s word and her expression and the insinuation; she turned back to Brian--she glanced at his name badge and sure enough, his name was Brian; should she be worried Mary was on a first name basis with him?--and smiled. “I’m not here to bribe anyone.” She turned back to Mary, glancing once at the witch in line behind her, trying to discreetly watch what was going on, before looking back to her former classmate. “I’m not.”

Then it was Quinn’s turn to scoff; Mary had deduced that she, professional quidditch player, was going to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. She must have learned those sleuthing skills in her wasted Auror training. “How’d you guess?” She rolled her eyes again.

She turned back to Brian, said, “Thanks,” and proceeded to walk away, assuming Mary’s ‘not a threat’ would be good enough. Mary fell into step beside her--or, rather, she was taking larger steps than Quinn and somehow made her play catch up--and Quinn huffed quietly. “So are you a professional escort now?” She meant that more like ‘are you escorting me to Level 7?’ but she wouldn’t have minded if she took it the wrong way.

She wasn’t here to bribe anyone -- and a Nundu was just a big pussycat. Mary rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

Quinn scoffed and Mary scowled before correcting her expression to something more superior. “I deduced, there’s a difference. Maybe you’d know if you’d finished school.” Jocks, honestly.

Her former classmate (up until sixth year, obviously) strode past Brian and the security stand, into the Ministry proper. Mary flashed him an apologetic glance, as if her knowing the Quidditch player in any capacity made her liable -- the last thing she needed was to be put on suspension like Perdita. Mary followed after Quinn, just to be sure the other woman didn’t get upto anything that could somehow come back to her.

Mary opened her mouth to bite back before the double entendre became clear and she clamped her mouth shut with another scowl. “No, but someone needs to keep an eye on wayward trollops in the Ministry.” Mary stepped ahead of Quinn to push the button, calling the elevator to the lobby. “For all I know you’re here to seek revenge on the League organisers after your spectacular loss. Really quite dreadful, that last game.” She turned to face the Professional Trollop, pulling a faux-sympathetic face.

The lift dinged and Mary stepped inside, then pushed the button for level seven. The cage doors closed with another ding and only the two of them inside. “Is that why he dumped you?”

Wayward trollop. Quinn rolled her eyes, not concerned with Mary seeing her do it. It was almost funny; was she seriously still hung up on the Yule Ball? That was almost a decade ago. (And yet, Quinn still felt a little superior about it.) She was close to asking if Mary had moved to the Department for Trollops—she knew Mary wasn’t with the Aurors but she’d stopped listening to the story before she’d found out why or where she’d gone—but Mary moved ahead of her toward the lift and said something that was far more offensive.

Quinn narrowed her eyes and offered Mary a small, not-happy smile. She breathed out through her nose, her nostrils flaring a touch; she’d been working on this, not getting worked up, not letting the game affect her because ‘she couldn’t change the outcome of it now’ (because the Ministry hadn’t been the only one to give her a talking to after her post-final outbursts). This was the last errand she needed to do before she left for Spain to meditate on the loss some more and Merlin help her if she let Mary ruin the mood now. “Next season will be better,” she said through partially gritted teeth before she tried to take another calming breath.

She stepped into the lift and leaned against the wall, pointedly not looking at Mary, not feeling obligated to thank her for hitting the button for the correct floor. “What--?” She straightened up, swallowing hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She knew she should have stayed in the public eye after her breakup instead of taking herself on holiday; she knew it looked like she was sulking (and she was a little but the whole thing had been for the best). She’d been handling it better than the loss, but if Mary didn’t just back off—

The lift dinged—they were only going one floor up—and she stepped off before Mary could say anything else, not bothering to say any parting words. But Mary followed her off and Quinn stopped, turning around and looking up to meet Mary’s eye. “I’m not a wayward trollop if I know where I’m going.” She should have owled Emma before coming all the way here; at least then she could have had some sort of buffer zone around her.

Mary didn’t bother asking will it? She didn’t care enough about Quidditch to know how Quinn’s team had done in the rest of the season, in fact the only reason she knew about the Final loss at all was because it had been to Harlan’s team and she did keep tabs on him.

The tall witch looked down and out of the corner of her eye at Quinn, then turned to face her properly with a smug smile on her lips. “Don’t I?” She didn’t, in all honesty, know anything about the breakup other than it had happened (which had been cause to celebrate enough, really). Caitlin didn’t have any details--or any she was willing to divulge to Mary--and Mary, for once, didn’t press for more, it was more fun to come up with her own scenario in her head.

She followed Quinn out of the elevator and heard the door close behind her. “Oh, that’s not what I heard,” Mary smiled again, facetiously, and fell into step beside the other witch, “best if you’re not left unsupervised, anyway, who knows what you might get up to.” And it was another excuse for Mary to avoid her work for a little longer.

Either Quinn actually did know where she was going, or she was good at pretending, because she didn’t falter as she led them through the bullpen. Curiosity was getting the better of her. “What does bring you to the Ministry?”

“Do you?” Merlin, she hoped not. Quinn had made the (very) late connection that the Lynch Mary hung around with in school--after Quinn had ditched her, obviously--was Sam’s sister and inconveniently, Mary’s flatmate. Quinn might have talked to her own brother about her breakup but he wasn’t going to share any details with anyone; she didn’t think Sam would blab to his sister if he thought she’d be sharing things. She hoped. Either way, Mary just back right off with that.

“No such thing as bad press,” Quinn said automatically (though it had been told to her time and time again that there certainly was such a thing as bad press and she needed to be careful). Still, she rolled her eyes. She’d dated one man for six months; that was hardly trollop-like. “Sounds more like a job for an auror.” She hoped Mary was similar to her, that insults about her job (or lack thereof) would hurt more than any personal insults Quinn might come up with.

She scanned the room quickly for literally anyone else to talk to but she really wasn’t on speaking terms with anyone in this department save for Emma-- and where was she?

Quinn looked at Mary, a small smug smile playing on her lips. Mary didn’t know everything, apparently. She shrugged lightly. “I’ve got to pay a fine.” She shrugged again like it wasn’t a big deal; it was only fifty galleons and it was more annoying than anything. “Unsportsmanlike conduct,” she added, wanting to head Mary off before she could say she was trying to bribe someone again. That was probably the sort of bad press her publicist was trying to steer her away from.

Mary shrugged noncommittally, half a smile on her lips -- she didn’t know, but Quinn didn’t need to know that.

“Well that’s what someone with bad press says,” said Mary, as if she knew what it was like to have press at all. She had always been around people who made it onto the pages of The Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly, but never quite achieved it for herself -- and she liked to pretend it didn’t bother her, but maybe sometimes it did. She knew fame did not equal success--or vice versa--and that anonymity was preferable to notoriety, but oftentimes her successes were buried deep in the bowels of the Ministry, in classified manila folders.

As if Quinn had read her mind, she made a well-timed jab at Mary’s recent self-initiated demotion from Auror to glorified truant officer. Mary's eyes narrowed to slits. “I could be back in the Aurors tomorrow if I wanted,” she said haughtily. “It’s called a career break.”

She didn’t like the way Quinn was looking at her, didn’t like the way this conversation was going at all (namely, not in her favour). But, a fine. Mary opened her mouth to ponder aloud what the fine might be for--some trollop-related offence--Quinn beat her to it and Mary stopped walking for a moment as she laughed unkindly. That had cheered her up somewhat, at least -- a fine. “Can’t be your first fine for that offence.” Mary wouldn’t deny Quinn was a good sportswoman, but she was not nor never had been sportsmanlike.

They continued walking and reached the end of the bullpen, to the little corridor that led to the offices beyond. “Well, enjoy paying your fine,” Mary smirked. “Second office on the right, try not to get lost.” With that, she turned on her heel and strode back to the elevator.


[ out ]

That’s what someone with bad press says. Quinn rolled her eyes, figuring she could have predicted Mary saying that. (She hadn’t, but that wasn’t important now.) As if Mary knew anything about press anyway, good or bad. It wasn’t worth arguing about at this point.

Quinn mentioned the aurors and Mary reacted just how she hoped she would. “Well, until you want it, then…” She made a note to ask Alex if that was actually the case, see if he knew anything else, not because Quinn intended to talk to Mary about it again, but because she needed to still feel on top after this conversation that wasn’t exactly going her way. Still, Quinn looked her over as if to say you’re not an Auror now, and left it at that.

She sighed, annoyed. “If it’s my first fine, it probably says more about this department than me.” It was probably the wrong thing to say; it sounded like she was admitting to more unsportsmanlike conduct but whatever. It really was her first fine and she was still sure they were trying to make an example out of her. Mary wasn’t the right audience for hearing her conspiracy theories, though.

They reached the hall toward the rest of the offices and Quinn forced a smile. “I will, thanks.” She narrowed her eyes, not paying attention to Mary’s directions, not paying any more attention to her once she had walked away. Quinn had nothing else to say, breathing out through her nose to keep her temper in check because it wouldn’t do to be accused of something else while she was on the hook for something else she’d already done.

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