For most, it was still early in the morning. The various levels of the Ministry of Magic beginning to fill with shuffling Inferi, clutching cups of coffee as they dropped into position behind their desks. For one Tamis Raynor, she was four cups of tea in and a small section of her desk already freed from the parchment that consumed it.

Her fifth cup sat abandoned and steaming on the liberated hardwood, the woman herself nowhere to be seen.

She was on the prowl, moving through the Auror Headquarters proper with purpose in her step. Several dark wizard hunters ducked their heads as she passed, grumpy bedheads hoping they were not her chosen victim.

There was very little that escaped the Head Auror’s notice. It may take her a while to catch it, but there was one truth; Tamis Raynor would find out. In this particular case, it had not taken any miraculous feat. When she placed an Auror on leave, it was never very surprising when they returned to work before the allotted time. The coping mechanism was drilled into them by their very training.  The tragedy of how this particular Auror had lost his wife was on the lips of many of the men and women on Level Two. They protected their own.

These situations had to be handled carefully. The men and women in her charge were not meant to be coddled.  Which made it all the more imperative to do something when word got back to her that, on his first day back, there had several displays of defensive shouting[1], tears, and coffee fatalities[2].

Her quarry in the designated cubicle was, in one word, Miserable.  His pallor was washed out, a pattern of blue and purple specked under his eyes. He looked unsteady and shaken, as if his cotton-filled head might explode at any moment. Raynor recognized the unmistakable visage of hangover[3] and grief. He was not the first Auror to stagger into work wearing it the next morning. He would not be the last. And the Head Auror would continue to reserve no sympathy.

Her analysis was quick, pointed, and lasted the span of a second as she catalogued Cooper Evans’ body language with a once-over and wrapped her knuckles on the threshold of his cubicle’s opening. Perhaps a hair louder than was necessary.

“Up.”

The command was firm and calm, and one hundred percent resolute. The immensely petite witch did not linger to make sure he followed it; she turned on her heel and began to lead. Past the other cubicles and her own office. Through a lesser used oak door and beyond ‘Artifact’s renovated closet. And right into the Dueling Arena[4].

She strode purposely several yards away from the moose of a man. Pulling gloves from her back pocket, she began to wiggle her fingers into them, drawing attention to the rest of her attire. Well-worn field boots, streamlined attire, her hair pulled back into a plait to keep it from becoming a nuisance. The wand holstered at her hip like a sore thumb. Her intentions became immaculately clear without yet having uttered them.

There was little preamble.

“Your personal life is, frankly, not my concern.” One hand sheathed and wrist strapped into place. “But your performance as an Auror is.” She did not mention his recently deceased wife or the trauma it had caused him. There was not a single hint of pity in her voice, however she might be able to empathize. “If you want to be here, I expect you to be here. Dead Aurors create a lot of paperwork.”

She finished with the second glove and gave him an appraising grey-eyed look, setting her chin and gesturing with open arms to the room encasing the pair.

“Disarm me. And that will be the end of it.”

1.	The Importance of Being Idle
2.	[Jan 20] Hot Coffee and Spilt Emotions
3.	[Jan 20] The Art of Drinking
4.	Blueprint of Level Two

Gremlins were using sledgehammers against his skull.

“Sodding hell,” Cooper Evans groaned into his forearm, body bent over his desk and face buried in the fold of his elbow. A steaming mug of coffee –his third, even though it was still early and the sun was just starting to paint a canvas across the sky across the mystery- rest untouched close to his nose, and the file he’d been attempting to work through was now wrinkled. Which he would be told off for, but he honestly did not matter at the moment. “Never again,” He growled, as he scrunched his eyes tightly against the pain, wishing somebody would turn off the lights in the Auror Headquarters so he could take a nap. If he were fair, his current state could be blamed on nobody but himself –even if he was certain that Pratt had bought at least some of the alcohol they’d indulged in the previous night. But he’d been aware of his schedule, and the fact that he’d not even been cautioned by the fact that he had to go into work before dawn proved how irresponsible he’d become. And that he was the only one who could be blamed. As Cooper groaned one final time and forced himself to sit up, fingers curling around the handle of the mug –a white porcelain one with no markings or magical properties-, he admitted that his hangover did have on positive aspect to it: the pain he felt as his skull was cracked open by healers who wished to see if grey matter held the answer to magical skills made it impossible to think about anything else. Including Bella.

The burning hot coffee burned a path down his throat, shocking him into alertness at the very least as his shoulders came to rest against the back of his chair and he let his head roll backwards, neck craning almost unnaturally and green eyes focusing on the ceiling above. Concentration, he could tell, as he shifted his legs and his knees bumped against each other, was going to be an issue today. His one and only desire was for a nap, and he wouldn’t be getting one for quite a large number of hours. Yesterday, the Auror had been eager to keep himself busy –now he could almost go for a bit of codling. With a sigh –and a groan as one particular gremlin hit bone a bit too hard-, Coop sat straight again and let his eyes fall on the file before on his desk. He no longer had any type of recollection of what the case dealt with. He could vaguely recall something regarding a missing limb, but without a bigger context his memory hardly made any bloody sense. Laying the mug back down on the surface, he made a pointed attempt of ignoring the pictures layered upon it of his family, and instead let his eyes fall on the parchment –uselessly, considering the words didn’t even break past his eyeballs.

The sound of steps clacking against the floor, their stride and pitch somehow instantly familiar, had the werewolf narrowing his eyes and lifting his head. Cooper was caught between complaining that the noise was too loud, and ducking below his desk incase Tamis Raynor was heading towards him. Some people just had a way of walking, a determination and swiftness to their steps, that, if you heard it often enough, it became as much of identifier as a tone of voice or body language –and the Head of the Corps was one of them. Coop would rather be thought to have come in to the office late, than to have to speak with Raynor at the moment –especially as it’d taken the sound of her prowling the Headquarters for him to realize that his appearance must be entirely inappropriate this morning. He could feel his hair curled unruly and smell the lingering tang of alcohol on his breath –he’d showered, brushed his teeth and bathed in cologne, but a slight hint was still there and the Dragon Lady was observant enough to notice it.

For an instant, the Auror was pulled from his thoughts by the belief that something had just exploded within the Ministry, as a certain sound echoed through his skull and bounced off his brain. Startling, he glanced up –and discovered that an explosion would have been far more pleasant than the sight that welcomed him, for Tamis had indeed come for him. Cooper assumed it made sense, considering there was no doubt she’d heard of the incidents on his first day back, but he couldn’t help but shrinking somewhat at the thought of following the woman into her office and being torn to shreds. The one person he wished would coddle him was the one least likely to do it. “Tamis,” He acknowledge her with a nod in form of greeting, but apparently his boss was in no mood for chitchat this morning –and Cooper’s prognostic was seeming less and less positive.

Up.

The Auror might not have wished to comply, but the single word Raynor directed at him was so firm that Coop found his legs bending and pulling him into a standing position of their own volition. Slightly confused to find himself no longer sitting, the werewolf decided his best chance now was to ball his eyes out and hope –although it was unlikely- that Tamis would send him home. But –not surprisingly in a life full of injustices- his emotions had apparently decided to take the day off, and his tear cells simply would not full. Such was the nature of grief and shock –it was uncontrollable, and would use your body in the ways it saw fit. Not the other way around. As his boss stalked off, Cooper quickly shot a hand out and grabbed his wand, placing it in the holster on his hip as he followed her, his steps long and determined –although determination was one of the few things he was lacking at the moment.

Cooper quickly realized that they were not headed for Tamis’ office for a lecture, as he’d suspected, but it took him a second longer to realize their destination: the dueling arena. The Auror was grateful the Dragon Lady was a few steps ahead, as a groan escaped his lips and he came to second realization of the morning: today, he was not in a crying or screaming mood –today he was set in groaning mode. Dragging a hand through his hair and narrowing his eyes so as to keep as much as the light away as possible, Coop entered the Dueling Arena a few strides behind Raynor, coming to a halt only a few paces past the threshold and with a few feet between himself and his boss. The werewolf placed a hand on his hip and tried to act as if his head did not feel as if it were about to explode as he watched her pull on a pair of gloves and listened to her words.

“Glad you’re aware,” He muttered, the words barely audible as they whistled past his lips. It was hardly a revelation that Tamis Raynor was cold hearted and tough –but that was what made her successful at her job. Still, the Auror found himself hoping some kind soul would decide to follow them inside and jump up in his defense –not that he needed it, and usually he wouldn’t have allowed his judgment to keep him from a direct order from Tamis. But today, he was hung-over. And wherever the hell this was all heading, Cooper was certain he had no desire to follow down the path. “I don’t plan on dying on you, Tamis,” The thirty year old cocked an eyebrow in her direction –and it only crawled higher at her next few words.

“Disarm you?” Despite the fact that he was facing his boss and he should be entirely respectful, Cooper found himself suddenly full of rage –an emotion that was suddenly evidenced in his eyes and in the straight set of his lips as he pulled his wand from its holster but kept it at his side. “My wife sodding drops dead and all of the sudden everyone thinks I’m incapable of doing my job,” The Auror rolled up his sleeves as he spoke, then dragged a hand through his hair to remove any strands from his eyes. He had lost control of his words and emotions once again –but this time, the consequences could be graver; it was not grief that was escaping, but pure and unadulterated anger. “I’m among the best in the office, Tamis –and you bloody well know it-, so please understand if I’m insulted by you treating me like I’m incapable of tying my shoes without a helping hand,” He picked up his arm and pointed it at the woman. “If you want to duel, let’s duel –just be sure to give me your best.”