Monday, 9^th of May @1:15pm

It wasn't called the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes for nothing.  Quill Som had worked here for a very long time. She knew what this was. She knew that her nights and days-to-days were all about reaction to and prevention of calamities and trying to foresee the unforeseen. What she was not overly keen on was when 'accidents' were avoidable if simple safety protocols were followed. Not fond of spending Department resources on unnecessary occurrences when she'd rather be focusing on grimmer duties, like the strange Dementor blight.

The two weekend on-call Obliviators had come to her this morning looking ragged.  After they filed their reports, she sent them home for a rest day.  Later on came a terse memo from the Muggle Worth Excuse Committee begging her pardon, ma'am, but could Quill possibly intervene? The last straw was a reporter from the Daily Prophet showing up in the Department lobby at lunch looking for a comment on what had nearly happened over the weekend.

It was time to have a word with a certain veteran beast handler. Hyperbolic figures of speech irritated Quill Som, but, if pressed, she wouldn't have objected to 'bull in a china shop'.

The young wizard at the front desk sent her around the corner to the bullpen.  The beast handler was not hard to spot. He was a great, tall man with wild hair and a loud voice.

"Mr. Oglesbee.  A word?"

"Which one? I'm particularly fond of 'mimblewimble'" said Art, a serious look on his face for just a millisecond before he burst into a too-loud belly laugh, looking a bit like a dirty, brown robed Santa Claus.  He never was very good at keeping a straight face.

Art seemed to find this joke much funnier than Ms. Som, she must be having a bad day for some reason.  Art felt a bit bad for her, she didn't seem to know how not to have a bad day.

His laughter subsided and he asked

"Having a bad day for some reason?"

Quill was the master of the blank stare. And this one was as blank as they came. She let a long beat pass before she spoke again.

"Not as bad as my two Obliviators," she answered.  "Fitz and Simmons are both going to need a vacation after what happened this weekend. Can we speak somewhere more private?"

Others had stopped their conversations to watch what they hoped would be a dramatic showdown.  Quill didn't mind being observed, but she thought Oglesbee would be easier to handle without an audience.

Art blushed a little.  He did think Ms. Som was attractive, in a 'you're in trouble with the angry librarian' way, but he never expected her to be this forward.  She was the head of another department after all.

"So sorry ta hear about yer oblivators havin' a bad weekend." he said sympathetically

"And I'm very flattered in yer interest and everythin', and I'd be lyin' if I said it'd ne'er crossed ma mind, but I'm not sure it's a guid idea, us workin' in tha same buildin' and everthing."

He put his meaty hand gently her arm just above the elbow and gave her a concerned look.  He was letting her down as gently as he could.

It took her a moment. Then her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes went wide and she took a step back.

"That is not what I was doing," she hissed.  "I am not making and advance, Mr. Oglesbee. I have a serious matter I need to address with you!"

From a safe distance, Quill made a firm gesture that they should move towards the hallway where it would be quieter. On the way over, she did her best to shrug off the alarm.  Oglesbee needed to have his course corrected, but his incongruous assumption about her motives had her brain turned about.

She took a deep breath and composed herself. Blank stare returned.

"Mr. Oglesbee, your movements on Sunday afternoon in Derby demonstrated a series of breaches of safety and secrecy protocols," she said with only a tiny trace that she was off her game. "Moving forward, it's going to be imperative you adhere more consistently to these protocols. Do you understand?"