He knew that it was odd that the minister was regularly having meetings with an obliviator—so now Mihai was being careful. He wasn’t meeting her when he thought others were around, and when he did, he made sure the meetings weren’t too long. He was Persepolis’ go-to obliviator for certain jobs, and with his career history, he understood why.  Being an obliviator was quite a step down from what he used to do, but it was a nice retirement. He didn’t need the money, no. He was someone who needed to do something meaningful with his time. Zamperia had never been one for idleness, and a true retirement was his worst nightmare. Persepolis giving him extra to do? Well, that was icing on the cake.

At first, he had been wary. Previous folk he had worked for had insisted that he also alter his own memories, a practice that Mihai was trying to wean himself off of. He found that, years later after he had practiced it when it applied to his personal life, that it wasn’t worth it. The holes in his memories were not due to him being in his forties—and he knew that the work he did on himself was not as flawless as the work he had done on others.
Mihai walked briskly to the minister’s office, as he did wherever he went. People no longer assumed he was in a hurry for anything special, as he was in a hurry for everything.

He knocked on the door briefly and let himself in.

“Good afternoon.” Mihai said politely, bowing his head slightly in greeting. “I just wanted to update you—everything is fine. There have been no changes, and I don’t think you—or anybody else-- need to worry about the last case.” He kept things vague, just in case others could hear. “Is there anybody else that needs my services?” If not, then he could relax just a little bit. Over the last few meetings, he had slowly started showing Persepolis the smiling side of him that was laid back and humorous—not all the time, obviously. But bits and pieces were starting to shine through.

Mihai.

Obliviator Zamperia, that is.  This late in the afternoon, interruptions with new business were met with tired eyes from the Minister of Magic.  But the appearance of her favorite Obliviator always seemed to calm her.  Perhaps it was the nature of his expertise, the way in which he served the Ministry.  Or maybe it was the calmness about him that set her at ease.  Whatever it was, she had a quiet smile for him, in spite of herself.

She was in an armchair in a portion of the office set with a small tea table.  Her outer robes were shed and she'd taken off her hat.  It was a very rare state for her to be in in front of regular company, but Mihai had seen her in this more casual manner many times now.  Her chin-length dreadlocked hair was resting on her shoulders, her billowing white sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.  She had on normal reading glasses.

As he came in, she set down the papers she had been going over with a quill, marking up a speech for the upcoming Order of Merlin ceremony.  She listened as he reported in as he always did, on the latest errand.  There was no paperwork to file, save a private notation in a little book she kept stowed away, and so it was all that needed done. 

But to his question, she responded, "There is.  Something urgent."

She nodded to the stuffed chair opposite the little rug from her.  "I was just...  thinking." 

He sat down in the chair—in the past, he would have sat down in it rather stiffly. Now? He was much more comfortable in the minister’s presence. He could sit down with her without  feeling like he needed to leap out of his seat at any given moment. Zamperia had grown fond of their little meetings, even when they had a more serious undertone.

Mihai leaned back in the chair and rested a foot upon his knee. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, waiting for her to complete her thought. He wasn’t one to interrupt when people were thinking. Besides, he was comfortable with silence—from himself or from others.  He was curious—what was the current issue? What was the next little job going to be? If it was urgent, perhaps something went wrong?

No, Zamperia did not make mistakes—it only took a few when he was much younger to learn. If a mistake was big enough, one was foolish not to learn from it. Making mistakes in this sort of work could easily end his life-- whether it was through the death of his body or his mind made no difference to him if he was no longer the same.

So he waited, ears, eyes, and mind open to whatever it was the minister had to say.

He was tuned into her intently, in that quiet way of his that did not pierce but nor did it waver.  Urgent or not, Mihai never seemed surprised to hear what she needed from him.  He was young.  Like she was.  Or perhaps old, if you counted from the other direction, but she felt that they were close, the two of them.  Walked the earth for most of the same days.

"Mihai," she used his first name.

"I'm bored."

She didn't say it like a child in summer, or a spoilt youth at Le Masquerade.  Her tone carried that gravity that absolutely surely her ennui was a matter of urgency for her.  A threat that could begin to crack at her foundations.  But 'bored' was only part of it.

"I'm busy, certainly.  And the days are filled from dawn until dusk and I have never yet regretted what I have been chosen to do.  I am Minister..."

She seemed to relax in saying that, still humbled and proud at that truth.  But it was not everything.  She was lonely.  All that there was was work.  And when their wasn't work, she pattered around quietly in the fine apartments provided for her here in London. 

"But I am... I fear to even admit it, even to my most worthy secret-keeper, but I long for something to wake me up."

She looked at Mihai and wondered if she looked as tired or pathetic as she felt, admitting such a thing.  She was Minister! And even worse for her she was a witch.  Expressing vulnerability was a bad mark in nearly every context. 

He was absolutely sure that this was going to be serious, strictly (or mostly strictly) business.

Mihai was pleasantly surprised, though he tried his best not to show it. His dark eyebrows were raised slightly and he tilted his head down. The oblivator’s eyes were fixed on Persepolis’ face.

“That sounds like a personal problem to me.” He said flatly, barely holding back a grin. Zamperia’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Buuut—“ he faked resignation and sighed, “Perhaps I can help.” He leaned forward and rested his hands in his lap. “You need to try… Something different.” Whenever he felt bored or out of sorts, he made a point to go out. Try something new, whether it was a new restaurant or meeting strange people at a tattoo shop or bar. Whether it was meeting beautiful women, or learning a few more songs on harmonica.

“Us humans, we can’t survive if our lives are all about business. If we focus on work, work, work, then we get burned out.” This was something he had learned early in his career. “Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t yet?”

Persepolis chirruped a sharp laugh.  It was a personal problem. That was, indeed, the point.  She's always sensed that behind his quiet professionalism that Mihai Zamperia was carefully concealing a sharp tongue.  Daring man to show her now. 

They were progressing by inches, slowly testing the boundaries. 

She slid three rings off her fingers and set them on a tray on the nearby table, then popped her knuckles as she considered her next answer with a light smile.  Her eyes moved away from Mihai to look look up and to the left, searching for the best way to put it.  The well-titled witch wondered if he'd understand.

"I have always wanted," she began as if about to describe the most delicious dessert from Gregor Ramsley's, "to do... nothing."

She smiled very wide and her eyes crinkled at the last word.  As if the last word was some forbidden sin.  She searched Mihai's face and then dared.

"To do nothing, with someone."

Because all her life, she'd been so focused on activism, career, esteem, reputation, accomplishment, that now in her forties she found herself quite busy and quite solitary.

Ah.

Many a time he had wanted to do nothing with someone. It wasn’t difficult for Mihai to find people willing to do nothing with him. Whenever Juni had stayed with him or visisted, they often ended up doing many things—and then nothing. There was something comforting about spending time with someone, not worried about whether or not they were bored of you.  He was at ease in silence. He was comfortable reading the paper while Juni read whatever it was kids these days read.

He did the same whenever his family visited, or whenever he spent time with old friends. Absolutely nothing.
“Do you have friends?” Well, way to be blunt about it Mihai. “I could… Also do nothing with you. If you’d like.”  Juni was at school. He wouldn't see her until the Spring break, and that was only if she wanted to spend the break with him.

Oh, and there it was.  Persepolis realized that she must look pathetic, indeed.  Lonely old dowager confiding in a wizard whose job it was to be confided in.  She winced in apology, hoping dearly to alleviate any embarrassment she might have caused him by showing proper contrition.

"Oh, Mihai, I've got scads of friends.  They hang from the rafters," she laughed without mirth.  "I'm forever lifting the rug and discovering more."

She cracked her knuckles again.  "You're a good man, Mihai.  You don't have to do this.  Like you said.  Personal problem. How is your daughter?"

And in this graceful (graceless?) total reverse, Persepolis felt a pang of regret.  For a half a second, she would have loved to spent time doing nothing with a man like Mihai.  He was quick. He was quiet. He was - well, it didn't really matter now.  It had been a mistake.  An endearing mistake.  It was an abuse of power to have insisted. Put him in that position.  My word, she'd even done it in this office of all places.

He furrowed his brow.

“Well, If you change your mind—you can owl me or… Use your patronus.” He shrugged. When Mihai wasn’t working, his time was flexible. As long as she wasn’t too commanding or demanding about it, he wasn’t offended.
At the mention of his daughter, his face lit up. His cheeks got a rosy tint to it—he loved talking about Juni, whenever he could.

“Juni is wonderful. She’s—handling the werewolf situation regarding her mother with… Like an adult, really.” It made it harder for him to treat her like a child. “She’s growing up, and she’s becoming much more of her own person.” Mihai’s eyes twinkled, “She’s… A bit too much like me for my liking.” But the vain, selfish part of him loved seeing the qualities the two of them shared. She had always been a bit more like him, than like her mother.

“She’s obsessed about this boy? This Connor?” He shrugged, “They went to the Yule Ball together. She seemed to have fun. But I think the crush may be wearing off. She’s not speaking of him much now.”   Instead her letters now were focused on her studies and on how uncomfortable she was around the student werewolves.  Not that he could blame her—she had never been tolerant of them in the first place. “She’ll be living with me now. I’m.. Not used to the idea of being a full-time father.”

Then he froze.

He was confiding too much, getting too personal. Zamperia's body stiffened and he nodded his head.

He was going too far, and he needed to see how this was welcomed, before continuing.

A man whose job it was to keep secrets big and small, and he seemed an open book with his casual shrugs and neutral expressions.  Persepolis narrowed her eyes at him, curious.  Was he really all he seemed or was this all walls?

But no there it was - his face lit up in a smile and he was all at once and completely a proud papa bragging about his daughter.  Persepolis couldn't help but smile along with him as he described the goings on of his sparkling, freckled teenage daughter.  He seemed to open up as he spoke about her resilience, her school girl crush on a boy named Connor.  And then, this revelation that Mihai was going to be playing the part of father?

It occurred to Persepolis she knew absolutely nothing about this man before her.  And he had just closed up like a clam.

"We should leave," she said with a decisive nod.  "This room.  We can't talk here."

She raised her eyebrows in an expression of both pain and empathy.  Whatever they might want to talk about, this room was shutting them up.  Cramping them in.  Muffling their voices. 

"Let's go to Hogsmeade."

The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon would be too crowded.  But Hogsmeade was a tiny quiet town and the tourists were gone by this hour.  They'd be noticed but not bothered, she was sure of it. 

He agreed, they needed to get out of here.

This place—it was too official. He came here for business, and when here, all he could think about was her position versus his. Mihai was not used to viewing Persepolis in any sort of casual manner, but the frequency with which they saw each other made familiarity inevitable. She wasn’t as… Overwhelming as his previous higher-ups. For one, she didn’t require him to alter his memory constantly. Mihai appreciated that more than anyone could know.

“It looks like we’re going to Hogsmeade.” He grinned, standing up. “Would you like to floo or…?”