Did he just make a face? Come on, Fig! She'd hoped he would take the bait, but he wasn't even trying to remember. It was like he didn't want to help himself and she had no idea how to explain that he was digging a hole. He was acting like such a teenager, thought twenty-year-old Fauna, except he was even worse than her younger step brother.

Fauna scowled, opening the door and casting a warning glance behind her as he fidgeted like a puppy.

She stopped short at the sight of the crowd in front of the window. Oh god, there was more than there had been earlier and were they snacking?

"Follow me, Fig," Fauna said flatly, turning on her heel and weaving down the corridors to the department's toilets.

She passed Abby in the hall, who took one look at Fauna's flushed, unhappy face and settled for a nod in greeting.

"There you go. The loo," she pointed at the men's toilets. Fauna leaned against the wall near the door and crossed her arms.

Next stop - a conference room, like she'd stupidly promised, a sandwich, and a piece of parchment if he wanted to tell someone where his life had gone wrong.

Solomon Carstairs zipped up the fly of his suit trousers just as the lavatory doors creaked up, causing him to glance over his shoulder with the wary manner of a man not used to turning his back to an entrance. A familiar face had joined him in here - and for a moment he was confused by its presence. Then he remembered: the burglary case. Small time crime.

Not something to which Sol normally paid attention but he'd gotten wind about Pratt yelling at the Almasy girl over unprofessional conduct not long ago.

"Mister Sellaphix," he greeted dryly as he moved over to the sinks to wash his hands. "Having a go at you in the interrogation rooms, are they?"

The sound of water rushing from the taps. Solomon eyed the young wizard in the reflection of the mirror before him.

Yeah, there it was. A look he'd more often seen on Cuffe or Harper or Matthews; a look he'd never seen on Fauna. That didn't sit well, but whatever. She could leave whenever she wanted to, and wasn't being escorted to the bathroom like a first year.

Their path led them by a half dozen staring Aurors and Trainees. The only face he recognized was the smug stare of Raine Almasy. As if she'd willed it, Figaro stopped looking where he was going, caught his shoe on a rug, and stumbled into a filing cabinet. He righted himself and chanced a look at her again, a look of some sort of straggling herd animal under the gaze of a relaxing lioness.

---

Fauna deposited him at the bathroom and he went in and stopped short. Shit. It was Solomon &#@% Carstairs. Figaro didn't actually need to pee in the first place and now he really didn't.

"Yes, sir. Um, yeah..." Fig didn't take his eyes off the impeccably dressed, impeccably calm Head of the Department with whom Figaro had made a rather daring first impression. 

There was no way Figaro was going to piss in front of him. But standing for a bit of small talk didn't seem that fun either.

He finished washing his hands and reached into the breast pocket of his formal robes to retrieve a handkerchief.

The boy was out of it. Either they'd done a number on him - unlikely if Blake was in charge - or he just wasn't dealing well with being taken into custody. Probably wouldn't fare well in a holding cell. Not a lot of people liked being forced into four walls, much less being watched by the red robed vanguard.

Or by the department head when you wanted to empty your bladder.

"So." Sol turned around, leaning against the sink while he wiped his hands. "Did you do it?" he smiled at Figaro and the eyes behind his spectacles glimmered with humour.

"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir." Shit.

Why was he smiling? Was there any possibility at all this was a good sign? Fig quickly crunched the numbers. Not. Probable. He crossed his arms, scratched his neck, uncrossed them again.

"Um." He had to guess if he stayed too long, they'd come looking for him. But he didn't think he could pull off a one-eighty-nevermind in front of Carstairs.

"I'll just. How are you doing?" NO! Dumbass.

            "Yes, sir."

Solomon raised an eyebrow, arching quizzically over the rim of his dark frames.

            "I mean, no, sir."

They were clearly dealing with a mastermind of sorts. He pocketed his handkerchief, shaking his head wearily at the young man. "That's a good fellow. Think before you open your mouth, won't you?" Sol ignored the polite inquiry into his well being and patted Figaro's shoulder sympathetically on his way out of the lavatory.

"Just remember," he added, because he didn't really think Sellaphix had done it, "if you haven't done anything wrong then you have nothing to hide. Simple as that."

With a final pat, Solomon left the bathrooms. He spotted an irritable looking Fauna in the corridor just outside and felt as badly for her as he had for her charge. "Alright, Blake?" his tone was light but knowing. "I hope you intend on putting Sellaphix out of his misery."

As the seconds ticked by, Fauna's stance against the wall softened, shoulders hunching, knees bending a bit. She stared miserably at an old coffee stain marring the tiles. Why was this going so badly? What was she doing wrong?

Fauna shifted the folder to one arm and rested a hand on her cheek, trying to cool down her face. But her hand was shaky and warm, and she resorted to lifting her hair off her neck. She sighed, ducking her head down.

Then Solomon Effing Carstairs walked out of the loo. Fauna started, and straightened her back, fumbling with the folder and notebook she held.

"Sir," she managed a nod, face flushing brilliantly again.

Oh no, did he know? He couldn't know. Well, he couldn't know everything about the questioning if he were just in the loo, could he, though he'd find out, she was sure.

"Yes," she nodded. "I, uh, I'm working on that," she managed to smile and wince at the same time. As Carstairs walked away, she let out a breath.

Where was Fig? Did he try to flush himself out of here? She glanced at the door, frowned a bit, and tapped her foot once.

He exited a few minutes later, looking flustered. Fauna gave a slight shake of her head, but said nothing. He'd just had to share a loo with the Department Head. She took a moment to thank the universe that she was female.

She led him down another long hallway to the rows of conference rooms, and opened the door to the room that smelled like burnt coffee. Silently, she set a piece of parchment and a quill on the table.

Fauna gave him the barest of glances as she turned to leave. "I'll be back in five with something for you to eat."

Don't go anywhere.

Figaro was little comforted by the Department Head's platitudes; comforted more by being left alone. After he came out, he followed Fauna around to a conference room. Big long table, too many chairs, unused fireplace. Fauna seemed to be done with it all, barely looking at him or speaking to him, which was about all the consideration he had for her. He walked past her into the room and set down at the quill and paper, like it was an exam.

If he'd found it hard to believe she was an Auror a few hours ago, it was sinking in now. She left him alone and he was set staring at a paper and quill. He picked up the quill and fiddled with it, remembering it was probably to owl someone. He tapped the nib on the paper a few times, making a spot of black freckles.

His mum? No, she'd kill him.
His work? No, Cuffe'd find out and kill him.
Lawyer? Didn't know who.
Kurby. Figaro lifted his eyebrows and considered it. He tried to imagine a scenario where Kurby didn't tell Zelda, like, immediately. He set the quill down and pushed the paper away.

With a sigh, he folded his arms on the table and laid down. Yeah, maybe Kurby. That'd be good. Just had to get his thoughts straight. He closed his eyes, and dozed off into a fuzzy half-sleep, unaware of how tired he'd really been.

Fauna was back in ten with a limp ham and cheese sandwich wrapped in paper and a random fizzy drink. She nudged the conference door open with her hip, her relief at finding Fig inside short-lived.

He dozed atop the parchment she'd given him. She stared down at his head of hat hair, weighing the food and drink in her hand. Fauna felt numb. Empty. She felt like she'd been in the office for 12 hours instead of a little over half a day.

She set down his stuff on the table. Cleared her throat. Her own stomach growled in accompaniment, longing for her own sad sandwich at her desk.

"Twenty minutes," she announced with little enthusiasm at the door, and turned to leave without checking to see if he'd heard her.

Figaro snapped his head up with a start when the bottle hit the table. Fauna was back, and had brought him something to eat. His stomach was empty but seeing the sandwich only made him less hungry somehow.

He mumbled a 'thanks' and sat up, reaching for the sandwich and sliding it towards him.

"Faun," he said louder at her back. "Messed this up pretty bad, you think?"

There was no penitence in his voice, just a kind of half-nervous acceptance. He wasn't sure what he wanted from her. He raised his eyebrows and cracked the barest smile.

Fauna paused, her hand on the doorknob. Carstairs' words were ringing in her head, his encouragement to do right by Figaro. She glanced back at her friend. Faun, he said. There was something in his tone that bothered her. Resignation? She met his very slight smile with a slight widening of her eyes, distantly surprised. She did not smile back.

"I don't know, Fig," she offered quietly, lacking the energy to reassure him. "That's still up to you."

She opened the door, and closed it behind her just as quietly. Twenty minutes to figure out how to salvage this. This case. Their friendship?

Hm. Fig was left alone with a ham sandwich.

Fauna's parting words rang about as hollow as Solomon Carstairs. They made it sound easy. That he should just answer any questions they asked and it would all be cleared up? He'd done that with Raine and it had gotten him arrested.

With disinterest, he opened the wrapper on the sandwich and lifted the lid to check its content. Ham and cheese. Fig picked a corner off the slice of cheese and put it in his mouth. It tasted like nothing.

Left alone with his thoughts (and a ham sandwich), he tried to think of something he could tell them that would convince them that he didn't do it. They wanted him to tell them everything and his mother wanted him to say nothing.

"What am I supposed to do with that," he said to himself. He slid the sandwich away, put his head down again and let himself fall asleep again.

Fauna ate her sandwich at her desk, guzzled coffee, and thought things over.

Should she let him stay in the conference room? Record their conversation the old fashioned way? Would it even make a difference, or would it make things worse, Fig lounging in the conference chair and calling her Faun. It would make things worse, she decided. She'd just have to haul him back to the interrogation room until he coughed up some answers.

Fauna rested her head in her hands. She needed to ask about the other spells he'd casted that night, if there were any, but he wouldn't even give her an answer about Specialis Revelio. She needed to bring up his three days of loafing about, find out who he'd seen and where he'd gone. After that? She'd have to bring up the stolen Sellaphix documents. He was going to hate her. She groaned into the palms of her hands.

After another moment of indulging in self pity, she checked her pocket watch. She rose, her mouth set in a grim line that betrayed her by wobbling. It would be different this time. Better! Maybe she wouldn't get upset and maybe he wouldn't panic.

She kept up her mental pep talk all the way to the conference room. Figaro must have finished eating lunch by now. He would have penned his plight to someone. He'd smile a little crookedly at her and they'd go.

Fauna opened the door, and got hit by deja vu. Deja F-U?

Fig was sleeping. Lunch ignored. Parchment ignored. Oh Merlin, why had he ignored his chance to owl someone again?! Figaro! Not-idiot-Figaro, come on!

"Wake up!" Fauna said.