Drabble || I don’t know what my expectations were
Prompt : “I don’t know what my expectations were...”
According to popular opinion, the break-in at the Ministry had been completely unexpected ; a shocking and unpredictable attack on what should have been the most secured place of the country. Bertram didn’t agree. With the war raging on outside the ministry’s walls, and the number of Law Enforcement members boasting about getting closer and closer to finding out actual names, it was only to be expected. Time and again, those Death Eaters had proven themseves to be worthy opponents. A direct attack that would destroy morales and evidence was the only logical development after the recent advances made on some crucial cases.
Of course, with the knowledge that an action of this extent was to be expected, came the certainty that it could have been prevented. More precisely that Bertram could and should have prevented it. But he hadn’t ; the newly appointed Unspeakable had let it happen right under his nose. Too busy making small talk with Amelia, he had let some masked evildoer get past all the defences, incuding his own, and steal top-secret data.
Bertram had to make up for his shameful lack of attention. Which is why two days after the break-in, he was standing in front of the Head of Unspeakables, asking for explanations. Explanations on why exactly he hadn’t been assigned to investigate on all that had been stolen forty-eight hours earlier, or even on the death of his colleague. The answer he got was everything but what he had expected, or wanted to hear. “We’ve already got enough people on it, Aubrey,” he’d been told. That was the reason why he’d been asked to sit still and keep focusing on the same unsolvable cases he’d been working on for weeks.
“Then how do you explain the fact that everyone upstairs is absolutely snowed under with work ? They don’t have enough men to deal with all the stolen data -- why aren’t you putting some of us on it, too ?” He would have never thought that those kind of words would ever escape his lips. Willingly asking to help out Aurors and do their work ? But something inside him -- probably his ego -- made him itch to move and do something about the chaos going on a few levels above their heads. Now a real Unspeakable, he was supposed to be able to do actual work, take initiatives. Go out there and make things move.
Instead his boss had just explained him, in great details, that it wasn’t his place to do that. That they were in the Department of Mysteries, and as much as they could probably help on the logistic part of the break-in, on how the intruders got in and out, it was all they were going to do. Of course the death of one of their own would force them to at least look into it. But it wasn’t their job to act on stolen files and reports or population protection. Their job was down there, safely tucked away in their department with the weird rooms and limited edition artefacts. “What did you expect ?,” the man asked him after that. He had an eyebrow quirked and a small smile tugging at the right corner of his lips. As if he knew very well the answer ; as if he knew that what Bertram had just heard was only the first of many disappointments the young man would come to face.
“I don’t know what my expectations were, but it sure as hell didn’t involve sitting around in the basement letting Aurors do all the actual work and investigating.” He didn’t know why exactly he was feeling as strongly as he did about the whole thing. All he could decipher was that he felt almost ashamed of his occupation at this very moment. He wanted to work, for Merlin’s sake, he wanted to use his abilities and solve things. Bring answers. Come to conclusions that would have everyone in the room take a deep breath of relief and bring light to old mysteries. But he had just been told that for all the praise they got, the Unspeakables didn’t actually mingle with top-priority, nation-endangering cases.
He got out of the office without adding anything, barely managing to keep himself from slamming the door on his way out. No matter if it forced him to work twice as many hours, at this very moment he decided that he wouldn’t be as useless as he was supposed to be. No matter how he felt about these actions or the war in itself. Deep down, he knew that he wasn’t going to catch who’d done this to protect anyone or bring justice -- he would do it entirely for his personal satisfaction. That was who he’d always wanted to be ; th eonly thing that had ever appealed to him. Solve enigmas, figure riddles out. And even though most of the time the riddles were down here, residing in the odd death of a muggle or a glowing journal, now it wasn’t anymore. Now his brains were needed upstairs, to solve bring much needed answers. And if said answers could save lives, then who was he not to help ?
