WHO: @scvrredhearts / Penelope Clearwater WHERE: Outside the Ministry of Magic, Parliament Street, Whitehall, London. WHEN: 7th October, 2008.
“Pen! Look at that, just who I wanted to see,” wasn’t precisely the truth of the matter, since the coincidence of their running into each other had been carefully orchestrated with Roger timing his ambush down to the second. Considering Penelope had developed something of a sixth sense for knowing when Roger was going to ask a favour of her that she wouldn’t want to do, he’d had to become wily about these things of late. Kicking off the brick wall hastily before she could take evasive manoeuvres to the next level he fell into step next to her, smile as broad and convincing as it ever had been as a wisp of smoke escaped his lips, “I need a touch of back up.”
Back up, in their line of work, could mean just about anything. It might mean midnight exorcisms or Witching Hour stake-outs. It might also mean copious amounts of research and trawling through ancient files in the records department or, worst of all, it could mean office politics. “There’s a meeting with Prickle,” he glanced down at his wrist, flicking ash from the tip of his cigarette with a grimace, “That starts in about ten minutes that could decide whether we get to keep our intern or not and Bob went down for his morning nap an hour ago, he closed his bloody door and everything. Anyway, Prickle seems to be under the impression we’re a bad influence on Creevey.”
If anything, Creevey was a bad influence upon himself. “And you know she’s always liked you best,” insomuch as Gethsemane Prickle ever really liked being reminded that the Spirit Department was still a functioning arm of the Ministry, let alone a part of her department. “So what do you say, Pen? Shall we put our best foot forward for the team?”
If all else failed, Penelope had a fantastically intimidating stare on her. It had taken Roger weeks to overcome its paralysing effects.