30 March 2014
10:15 am
Level Two

There was always more paperwork.  Niobe Thursby had been arrested and charged more than 3 months ago and had finished her community service four weeks since and still there was paperwork.  The Daily Prophet reporter was leaned against the counter clipboard and totally useless quill in hand filling out form 112B sub 7 otherwise known as the Confirmation of Confirmation of Criminal Fines Receipts. 

"You need my Gringotts account number again," she asked the clerk, who nodded automatically.  Niobe sighed and filled in the boxes with what was probably the bluntest nib she'd ever seen.

"Here."  She handed it over.  And in return, the clerk handed her another form.  "Now this one."

Niobe grit her teeth.  "I've done this one already." 

"That for another office.  We need one on file as well."

"This is sadistic."  With a growling sigh, she pushed away from the counter to take her clipboard and form to a bench nearby.  As she was settling in to continue, she saw a light at the end of a tunnel.  Or rather, a red head with a limp.

"Jonas!" She called his name brightly and left her form on the bench.  "Merlin's backside, you have to save us.  I'm absolutely dying.  Dead. Gone. How're you?"

"Still amongst the living, thanks," he replied bemusedly, one brow arched at all of the dire proclamations.

It hadn't been a quiet month.  Jonas Trevelyan was the sort that showed the strain; the creases in his forehead always seemed slightly deeper, his limp slightly more pronounced, even when he maintained an air of perpetually mild good humor. 

The Daily Prophet had been buzzing with news of the latest furor to curse the Auror Office.  The Dementor attacks that had started a month ago were still raging, with new reports every few days.  Minister Zephyr may have been extraordinarily proactive with proclamations, promises, and plans of attack, but someone along the line had forgotten to tell the Dementors.  Even when Level Two managed to get wind of an attack in progress, they could do little but drive the creatures away; the constant patrols and overtime watches had done nothing to curtail the danger.

Jonas regarded Niobe with a sort of tired amusement, his gaze drifting back to the desk that she'd left.  He hadn't seen much of the reporter since their encounter with the Runespoor[1] back in January.  That particular adventure had resulted in a mountain of paperwork, but at least it had taken place in a solely magical space; Jonas half suspected that if he had another run-in in a Muggle-inhabited neighborhood of London that Edwin Glass would have his head.

"What should I list as cause of death?" he asked, flashing a crooked smile at Niobe.  "Denial of access?  Raynor-izing?  If there's a giant snake about, I'd be happy to try and cook him again; I'm just about to nip a bite for lunch."

1.	The Tree of Knowledge Bears No Fruit

He didn't look as alive as he claimed, but Niobe just stored that observation in the back of her mind for later.  She always expected him to look bedraggled, but she also couldn't take it for surprise.  The two of them both had occupations that occupied them constantly.  There were no off hours for a reporter no more than there were for Aurors.  Especially not during this particular state of emergency, the sort of the Dementing variety.

"Thursby, Niobe.  Death by the pen.  She died as she lived."  Niobe placed a solemn hand over her heart for her own eulogy. 

It was an early lunch for normals, but Niobe wasn't picky.  "Lunch, it is.  Or breakfast.  Tea.  Whichever.  I've been up since five."

She had been.  The Daily Prophet was busier than normal, chaos around every cubicle, Cuffe was a catastrophe incarnate.  With his wild curly hair he stormed through the headquarters and drafts and copy fled from his footfalls.  "They won't miss me.  I'm supposedly in Swansea."

Jonas would know the reference.  There'd been a death in Swansea the night before.  An old wizard found stone cold, a husk of a person left after a Dementor's deadliest kiss. 

The Auror arched a brow, but didn't provide comment.  It said something that Thursby would rather be in the Ministry than off tromping through the back roads of Wales; the rash of Dementor attacks showed no sign of either of abatement or of any possibility for proactive prevention.  Even stepped-up patrols were doing little to stem the flow.  The Aurors simply couldn't be everywhere, and wherever they weren't, the Dementors seemed to appear.

"Well, then?"  He gave her a nod and turned back to the hallway, limping slightly as he started down the long corridor toward the lifts.  Level Two was a bustle of activity today.  Purple paper aeroplanes zoomed overhead, threatening to take the eye of anyone tall and unsuspecting, and Ministry employees hurried in all directions, only seeming to pay attention to their fellows when at risk of impending collision. 

"So what's the Prophet's line on the last night's attack?"  Jonas kept a cautious eye out while trying to look like he wasn't; his voice was perfectly even and cheerful as he gave Niobe the opportunity to match his pace.  "Ministry incompetence?  Lack of preparedness?"

As they set off, Niobe let the clipboard clatter on the desk where it had been handed to her.  They could hold onto it for her, or suck an egg.  She was done with paperwork for now.  At least until she had a sit down and some food.

Jonas set the pace, but Niobe was bounding with energy today.  It wasn't at all politically correct to be on such a rush at the expense of public disaster, but she was busy and she liked it.  So her gait had a bit of a bounce to it, and her arms shifted from being crossed to in her pockets to adjusting her hair as they walked. 

"Oh very clever, Trevelyan.  Listen to that - a scathing critique of the periodical's slant! Edgy."  She grinned at him, feeling cheery.

"You know me better than that, I hope.  But you're half-right.  Cuffe's riding that line.  He needs to be in good with the powers that be so we're under orders to play fair with the Departments.  Same time what readers like is conflict.  They want both sides of the story even if there's only one.  Or three."

At times, Niobe felt above it all.  She did what she always had done - sought the truth and did her best to get it to print unmarred. She wasn't always good at identifying her personal bias, but she was a true Gryffindor at heart.

"What about you all? Teamwork? Interdepartmental love?"  She knew that's what the Minster was constantly parading as her new administration's primary virtue.