When one considered a head auror, they no doubt envisioned a smart and military style wizard, clean cut and serious. They imagined someone obsessed with their job, unwilling to compromise for work and living their job. They imagined someone akin to Edward Pratt’s predecessor. They most certainly did not imagine Edward Pratt with scruffy blond hair a creased shirt, and tie hanging loosely from an unbuttoned collar.
He didn’t look like a head auror.
He didn’t feel like a head auror.
He didn’t want to be a head auror.

The customary chat to Carstairs’ assistant was skipped when Pratt made his way through to the office of the Department Head. He was on a mission.
“I need a word…Sir.” It still felt alien calling a wizard who’d been his subordinate for months before his promotion.

Solomon Carstairs peered seriously through his thick-frame spectacles as he sat in his office, to all the world looking like he might be perusing a copy of Witch Weekly with a little too much interest. His quill was partway through sketching a magnificent moustache on a photograph of himself, with flourish, when his head auror appeared in the doorway looking uncharacteristically determined.
   
    He did not like expressly like Ed Pratt. It still surprised him to be reminded that somewhere in the wide world there was a witch who must have felt the exact opposite - to the extent of marrying the waspish bastard.
   
    It took all sorts, one supposed. Solomon laid down his ‘work’, making a bit of a show out of considering this statement.
   
    “Auror Pratt,” he smiled with decided humour. "A word, as in someone keeps nicking the staffroom biscuits or…. a word word?” Quill lowered, Solomon made a swift gesture and the door closed shut behind Pratt. “Sit, please."

A faked smile graced Pratt’s lips at Carstairs’ condescending response. Begrudgingly he moved further into the room where he’d once threatened a head of department in rage. He’d spent hours over the weekend discussing how to approach this with his wife, yet while sat here now about to demote himself, Ed found himself searching for the words.

It seemed easier to jump straight to it.
“I’m resigning from the post of Head Auror.”

If this abrupt conveyance gave Solomon a bit of a start, he didn’t quite show it - although a wrinkle formed across his brow and gave his smiling countenance a quizzical sort of quality. Anyone might be forgiven for mishearing Pratt on account of that ruddy accent but he there had been nothing indistinct about this.
   
    This wasn’t the right time. Not the exact moment, of course. Simply that the department was already swamped with work.
   
    “You’re…” he trailed off and removed his spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose. The paperwork alone was going to be a pain in Salazar’s arse. “I beg your pardon, if I’ve missed a beat. You’re resigning?”
   
    Solomon’s smile dwindled into something more cynical. “You’ll have to list your reasons on paper, eventually, but might I ask why?” he forgot for a moment how much he disliked Pratt. “Or why now?"

“I ‘ent obliged to list my reasons but…this job ‘ent me.” He shrugged as he stood and dipped his hand into his trouser pocket. From it he removed an envelope and passed it to his boss. “That’s my formal resignation. I’ll keep on the post until ye find a replacement.”

Solomon hesitated before begrudgingly accepting the envelope, leaving it unopened next to his desecrated copy of Witch Weekly. A man of few words, his soon-to-be former Head Auror. His wife called it a chronic disease in the male gender. She was usually right about these things.
   
   
    “Isn’t you?” he didn’t repress the skeptical tone. “Is this a serious career change or are you having a quarter life crisis, Pratt?”

Ed’s brow rose at the question. Carstairs wasn’t happy. Ed didn’t care.
“I’m an auror, not a quill pusher.”

Quill pusher. Solomon’s lips twitched, torn between amusement and annoyance. Whether or not Pratt intended it, there was a derisive implication that his own position was very much a desk job.
   
“You’re also a husband. And a father,” he leaned back in the chair and interlocked fingers over his stomach. Thoughtful. “Some may suggest that quill pushing is a safer - better - alternative for a wizard in your circumstances.”

“Some may.” Ed’s expression was plain and he crossed his arms, sat back in the seat. After a moment’s consideration, the wizard decided to take a different approach.

“What’s the real issue here, Solomon? That ye’re losing me as a Head Auror,” He knew that wasn’t it, “or the inconvenience of a changeover?”

It came as somewhat of a relief to be addressed more frankly, and Solomon couldn’t help smiling dryly at the accusation - that he might actually regret the loss of Ed Pratt as head auror. Merlin help them. Times were bad enough for such fears.
   
    “You’re not absolutely incompetent,” he conceded quietly and fixed the other wizard with a sombre, worried look. “We have a growing list of crimes with nobody to pin them on. The public isn’t our biggest fan -“ certainly not Solomon’s at any rate, “- and I have half the Ministry breathing down my neck every time anything goes wrong, regardless of whether or not we could have prevented it from happening in the first place.”
   
    For their own sanity, he had to assume this sad state of affairs was not for lack of trying.
   
    “And then my Head Auror steps down.” Solomon grimaced. “You’ve chosen a bloody brilliant time for an… inconvenience of a changeover.”
   
Ed smiled sadly and nodded. The honest turn of conversation was welcome between two men that struggled to conceal their dislike for one another.
“I get that. But I can’t be as good at what I do if I’m sat behind a desk givin’ orders. There’s other men in that office that can be. I’ll give ye names, I’ll help interviewin’ them. I ‘ent jumping ship. I’m just better at being a regular auror.”
A thought came to mind and Ed’s lips twisted into a smile.
“Demote me if ye feel it’ll answer questions from above. My lack of sucking up to bastard superiors caused ye too much angst.”

If Pratt thought that coming up with such a diplomatic solution further exhibited how unsuitable he was as Head Auror…
   
    But there was no point to this song and dance. Solomon could bring an Abraxan to water but he had neither the inclination nor energy to make it drink. And there was little game in sitting around, sparring wits with an unwilling partner. He picked up the envelope on his desk, tapped the sharp corner of it thoughtfully.
   
    “A better wizard would decline your charity,” he observed by way of welcoming it. “I accept your resignation. Demotion, as it is. Word on the floor being that I forced your hand?” Solomon raised an eyebrow.
   
    Already, he was trying to think of who might be better in the position. Somebody with less of a death wish - tricky to find on level two.

“Demotion means Senior Auror, right?” He’d already be taking a monumental pay drop.

Solomon smirked, picking up his quill once more - this time to make a quick note on one of the little bits of parchments stuck to the desk. It would seem most ungrateful of him to shove the poor man down to regular Auror, he supposed.
   
    “Senior Auror Pratt,” he muttered as he wrote it down as a reminder to get the paperwork going later. If Elliot might be relied upon. “Already eyeing up cases, then?” Solomon’s gaze flicked to meet with Pratt’s, curious.

Perhaps Solomon Carstairs wasn’t as much of a moron as Pratt had originally thought. Even if he was happy to ‘demote’ the auror.
“I want Musgrave.” With that, Ed stood and left the office.