Fenwickâs Finest Moment
She forgets to put up the silencing spell.Â
Itâs all she can do to get herself to her desk, large heaving breaths leaving her as she wraps her fingers around the wood until she can see the strain in her knuckle.Â
Theyâd had fights before, so many countless, ceasing fights. almost twenty years of them. But Al had never looked at her like that, issued ultimatums like that, left her life like that. And she fucking deserved it. Every word he said, claim he madeâ it was all true. She was a coward who had looked a happy future in the face and told it to piss off. But even now, as she sits at her desk and pretends that she isnât crying, itâs all she can do to look at the picture of her and Al from his graduation and know that sheâs still made the right choice.  Â
She can never explain it to him in a way that he will understand, she knows this. But there is something in her, pleading for her to stay the course, even it it breaks her heart in this moment. She gives into it, her hears turning to sobs as she lays her head on her desk, wishing that she was anywhere else.Â
Benjy is working overnight, planning on catching two or three hours at his desk and changing in the loo before anyone else shows back up. Cleona was visiting her brother, and even if she hadnât been, theyâd been hitting...well it wasnât a rough patch, exactly. Benjy is still making up for Christmas. Thereâs a tension between them now-and if he had to work late, heâd gotten into the habit of just rescheduling with her rather than getting into it with her. Even then, all Benjy feels like heâs good at lately is letting Cleona down.
Heâs too caught up in his thoughts to even focus on the words on the report in his hands. Benjy sighs, annoyed, and lets the paper flutter to the desk. He hadnât been able to focus all day, worried about Cleona and still pissed off at being stuck at his desk. If heâd wanted to be a pencil pusher, heâd have applied somewhere else in the ministry. Somewhere heâd be out by five, get all the proper holidays off and not have the threat of massive bodily injury hanging over him every time he goes into work.
Maybe he should just quit, he thinks, pushing back in his chair and balancing on the two back legs. Whyâd he join up in the first place? To prove to everyone else that he was only scarred, not broken? To prove that himself? Well, point proven, he supposes. He isnât doing anyone any good stuck behind a desk-least of all his girlfriend. Benjy rubs his eyes, pushing too hard against the lids and making himself see spots. He knows its no use-that for all his bitching and loathing about desk duty, he canât see himself being anything else. Benjy had never thought about the âafterâ when it came to Quidditch, and now that he was living in it, all he knows is that he has to try to help people. He can pretend that this is about the glory-that his ego drove him to be here, that he needed the adrenaline rushes that the job provided, but Benjy knows that the show he put on for everyone around him wasnât authentic. He gets frustrated tethered to his desk because he feels useless-the routine filing of forms, of course, helping people in the long run but, ultimately, feeling like nothing but busy work.
Thatâs whats bothering him, he decides as he stands and makes his way out towards the break room coffee pot. Benjy needs action-and not even in the flashy, traditional sense, just action in terms of helping someone.
And an opportunity presents itself as he pours himself his fifteen cup in about as many hours, by way of the sound of sobbing drifting into the breakroom.
Benjyâs coffee cup is replaced by his wand almost instantly, his senses kicking into overdrive. Someone was hurt or this was an elaborate trick, but either way, he was sure he could help.
As he makes his way out towards the other bank of desks, Benjy sees something beyond imagination, even in a world with magic; Amelia Bones, crying.
âBo-Amelia?â Benjy says as softly as he can so he doesnât startle her. Instinctively he knows this is actually his colleague, but a quick and silent revealing charm proves him right. Benjy approaches her desk carefully, as if sheâs a wild animal, and resists the urge to put his hands up in peace.Â
Anger floods him when the pain on her face becomes even more apparent. Someone hurt her. Someone had to pay for that.
âWho-whatâs wrong? Are you hurt?âÂ
He doesnât see any obvious signs of injury, but hexes were tricky. Something tells Benjy that whatever caused what he sees in front of him wasnât caused by magic at all.
âWho did this to you? Was it Shacklebolt? Doesnât matter. Iâll fucking murder him.â