11:59 AM


It was not customary for the Head of the Auror Office to go to an interviewee. Usually, the individual in question would be waiting for her in her office. It had a more dramatic effect that way. When it came to prospective trainees, the Auror Corps was not beyond childish theatrics. It was part of the initiation process.

 From the aptitude tests, the drilling and interrogation, and the (pointless) meeting with the department shrink… and then finally a fate deciding appointment with the Head Auror. It had not been a practice shared by all of her predecessors, but Raynor found it a crucial requirement. No one entered the program until they had a one-on-one encounter. The entire process was grueling and took months and was very effective at weaning out the ones that did not have the necessary dedication.

Therefore, it was with great regret that Tamis Raynor made her way to the forefront of the office, just shy of noon and the designated meeting time. The enhanced security measures Ministry-wide, on Level Two especially, was suffocating but necessary. If one was not an Auror, it was literally impossible to get past the Auror Office lobby.

Even the Minister of Magic had to check his wand in with the receptionist before being granted access. Every individual, Auror or civilian, was tested for the imperious curse and anyone with security clearance had to correctly answer a personal question as a precaution against polyjuice impersonation.

And every civilian had to have an escort.

The receptionist was a dainty looking witch who wore too much make-up. Young, pretty, and blonde, she gave the impression of a ditzy, somewhat stuttering imbecile – and yet could inform you of every individual that walked through those doors, from name, to physical description, even to whether or not they had clean finger nails. It was favorably deceptive. But while the young woman was quite sharp, she was still a young and beautiful woman not immune to male charm. And she seemed quite taken with the prospective trainee.

At the sound of Raynor clearing her throat, the receptionist jumped eyes wide as a child with her hand in the cookie jar. When she saw who the offense noise-maker was, her eyes widened farther (if possible) and she sank back in her chair as if hoping it would in turn sink into the floor.

Mentally shaking her head, the Auror redirected her attention to her true objective.

“Colburn,” she greeted indiscriminately, gray eyes giving the man a very quick head-to-toe once over, evaluating as much as possible in that brief second. Professional Hazard.

Christian recognized the tell tale signs instantly.  The quill holder, inter-office memo landing strip, and ink wishing-well on the receptionist's desk all had that distinctive combination of traits: perfection, shininess, sickening charm and yet quite clearly cheap.  The undeniable calling card of a Colburn Collectible - it seemed everywhere Chris turned, he was coming face to face with some piece of cheap crap from his father's owl-order company.  Almost every fireplace in Wizarding Britain had some shiny figurine of a hippogriff - or a unicorn - or a dragon - or a house elf in a red, white and green tea towel (special item for the holidays) scampering across its mantel. 

They'd been his plague since his first year at Hogwarts - especially after Christmas when there was a distinct increase in the abundance of Colburn merchandise in the school's halls.  And - clearly - even here in the Ministry, they were unavoidable.  But, as soon as Chris recognized the Deluxe Business Desk Set - Ministry Edition (because of the paper airplane landing strip), he knew this could very well work in his favor.

"Christian Colburn.  I'm here to see Auror Raynor," Chris offered, with a subtle nod to the woman behind the desk.  Initially, habit kicked in and the woman pulled a schedule towards her and surveyed the listings.  Chris had counted - one, two, three, four seconds.  Peggy's eyebrows lifted.  Her eyes darted from the schedule to the landing strip and Chris could almost feel her resisting the temptation to pick it up and glance at the label on the underside of the runway.  Maybe it was the blond.  Maybe she really was such a ditz.  Maybe the temptation was just too great.  But, out of the corner of his eye, Chris caught a glimpse of Peggy taking a quick glance at the label once Chris turned to take a seat. 

It was clearly only then, after she'd confirmed the name, that she spoke up.  "Are you..."  Her voice only reinforced her general image - the questioning lift to the pitch of her already high and shrill voice didn't help her case any.

But, Chris smiled pleasantly - embarrassedly, even - when he turned towards the blonde, scootching forward to the edge of his seat.  "'Fraid so.  Though, my father's the original.  Here's hoping I don't have to follow the family business."  He surveyed her desk - letting his eyes linger long enough on the Colburn Collectible trinkets - and the receptionist - to, hopefully, give the impression that was the source of his curiosity and interest.  Much like a brainless, hyper yellow lab, Peggy seemed to flourish in the attention.  "You didn't hear it from me, but there's going to be new accessories to the set this holiday season," he said, his voice dropped to a whisper.  "A parchment roller and a desk top troll who'll eat your old notes.  You know, for those notes you want to makes sure no one fishes out of -" 

A throat cleared and Peggy straightened up.  Chris pushed himself to his feet and turned to extend a hand to the woman, unfortunately having to belatedly drop it a little lower when he'd seen her.  Chris had been expecting the woman's diminutive stature - there was no end to the jokes and jabs Cinaed made on that subject.  Which Chris desperately forced from his mind as the woman surveyed him.  The last thing he needed was to even fight back a laugh while he pictured Cinaed musing about how many robe shops had banned her on account of her scaring all the first years from the close racks. 

"Auror Raynor," Chris offered in return greeting, nodding his head.  Granted, she was impressive, despite her size but after his extended associations with a brute like Cinaed, it was hard to find her assessment of him really that intimidating.  "I'm grateful you were able to find time to meet with me."

In that brief analysis, the Auror gleaned a few details about the potential new recruit. He had one of those faces that could easily blend in with a crowd and become familiar – a good trait, in this line of work – with nothing exceptionally outstanding about his height, build, or physical characteristics. She sensed a certain reservation in nature but did not mistake it for timidity or meekness. There was a subtle strength there that learned more toward a humble confidence, an opinion that was reaffirmed as the younger man met her gaze and extended a hand. And a sense of humor. Though he tried to control it, his left lip got an inexplicable spasm when he had to readjust the offered hand.

That left her with an uncomfortable predicament. Physical contact, as a rule, was a measure to be avoided in her business dealings. It was arbitrary and far too personal to share with her associates. The Aurors were different and many had been subjected to an encouraging clasp on the arm or, in more hostile situations, a vengeful tug of the ear. This young man was not an Auror, however. Whether he would have the opportunity to attempt to become one would still remain to be seen.

“I am sure you are,” she replied simply, giving a return nod of her head, but feigned oblivion to his still extended hand.  In the end, she could sacrifice proper etiquette for overall effect. “The window is, however, short. If you would follow me…” she trailed off, turned to head back through the doors she had just previously entered.

”Ahem.”

It was a clear and distinct sound, almost a perfect replica of the one the Head Auror herself had produced.

Masking her surprise and curiosity, Raynor paused before her hand reached the smooth metal handles, one eyebrow arching back at the blonde haired receptionist. The would-be flake of a woman seemed to reconsider the motion she had made but then stroked her backbone and squared her shoulders. Though, for the record, her tone at least pretended to be polite. ”My apologizes, Auror Raynor, but the security phrase… it is protocol.”

Yes. It was. But the new security requirements only addressed those entering the Auror Office who appeared to be authorized personal, it did not state the need to also question those who had entered from headquarters and thus, logically, would have already passed the safety measures. The woman was either being extraordinarily cautious or she was seeking revenge for the obviously snub against her in the presence of the current male. Something told Raynor that it was not the former.

“Bunny slippers,” she replied without hesitation and a straight face. It was the one for the week for Tamis Raynor and would change in three days.

Not ignorant of the self-righteousness now clouding the receptionists’ aura – or the small wink she offered to the potential recruit, the Head Auror nevertheless did not react, but simply made a mental note to have a little talk with the employee later.  Hand finally completing its journey, she pulled open the doors and began leading the way through the various cubicles of Aurors.

The offered hand went unshaken - regardless of the relative position of Chris' own digits.  It was impossible to tell whether the woman's refusal was simply a matter of professional principle or if there was a personal element to it.  Of course, there was no way to be sure.  But, one thing was for certain: taking the gesture at all personally wasn't going to help his chances with landing the job.  With a grin and a casual nod, Chris let his hand drop. 

"I know things are a little crazy around here," Chris admitted as he turned to follow Tamis.  Sure, he'd just been serving the Ministry as a lowly errand boy but it didn't take much to recognize the sign of an overworked Ministry.  He was certain his work history was there in his record and application and, no doubt, Tamis knew every detail in those papers.  He saw nothing wrong with admitting he was observant of the current state of the Ministry - and the cause for it.  A casual interest in Robards murder seemed safe and logical - as long as he made it evident he wasn't expecting - or wanting - any classified, pertinent information divulged.  "I hope they apprehend the bastard, soon."  There was no question to his voice and no expectation for an answer. 

He watched patiently as Peggy put Tamis through the formalities, giving no indication he'd even noticed the small exchange.  He was careful to commit the code to memory, though.  Whether it'd be of any use, he didn't know.  He doubted it - to use it would blow his cover immediately.  And, who knew how long they lasted - probably only a day or two.  Actually, now that Chris thought about it, he might want to reconsider passing it on.  The most it'd likely achieve is an endless stream of Tamis and bunny slippers-themed jokes. 

But, he did risk countering the woman's wink with a subtle grin and a nod.  There was no telling the advantages to be had from getting on that woman's good side.  Hoping that either the Head Auror wouldn't see or seeing wouldn't work too much against him, Chris dropped a slip of paper with his address on the paper airplane landing strip before following Tamis through the doorway and between the line of cubicles. 

“That is the politically correct way to put it,” she replied, leading the taller man through the familiar weaving pattern between the assortments of cubicles.

Interdepartmental memos zoomed dangerously overhead, fluttering near the ceiling before plunging mercilessly into one of the workspaces to harass their intended victims. There was the normal chatter of conversation and the occasional laugh as heads popped over walls and back down and various wizards weaved similar paths. While the Office still maintained the informality common between the Aurors, it lacked the causality and calm one might have discovered back in April. Now, there was an underlying tension; a buzz of frustration and adrenalin.

It was almost difficult to believe that a mere seven months ago she did not have enough to keep her Aurors occupied with. Now she was overworking them, practically running the haggard men (and women) into the ground. There were still a few veterans among them that remembered service during the Wars. But their numbers were sparse. Many of the Aurors from the past decade had never faced true crisis, having served and been trained in an era or relative peace. As much as Raynor had tried to keep their skills refined, the harsh reality was that the Auror Office had not been prepared.

This was not something she was about to admit to a prospective trainee. But it did subconsciously make her more desperate for new recruits.

Giving a noncommittal grunt in response to his sentiment about Robards murder, she entered her office at the rear of Headquarters, the fireplace springing to life as soon as the doorknob began to turn, banishing even the suggestion of late October chill from lingering in the room. She motioned to the pair of chairs in front of desk as she took the one behind it, putting his file on her desk. She did not open it. As he might have surmised, she already knew what was in it.

 “What did you think of our shrink?” She asked, not a traditional way to start an interview. 

Candace Stevenson was an interesting creation, for sure.  Christian allowed a trace of an amused grin to settle on his features at the question, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers.  He had to be careful to avoid sounding like he knew more than he should.  He'd only been in the woman's presence once and that had been only for a very short period of time.  He was observant; he could surmise quite a bit from that interaction. 

But, much of his perspective was, of course, tainted by Cinaed and Manfred.  Especially, when those two were together, their verbal attacks on Stevenson were relentless.  Sometimes amusingly so.  Sometimes, admittedly, disturbingly so.  But, the same could be said about their comments towards the woman seated across from him. 

The Head of the Auror office had, no doubt, always been professional and smart enough to never actually reveal her perceptions of the Ministry Psychiatrist in front of a bunch of ex-cons like Cinaed and Mannie.  Cinaed would have labeled it the Ministry loyalty.  They may hate each other behind closed doors but, when it came to group ex-Azzie meetings, everyone seemed to be eachother's best friends.  They had no real first-hand confirmation of Raynor's personal perceptions but, when comparing the two men's notes on each individual woman, it was easy enough to guess.   

Still - he had to be careful to avoid letting on to knowing too many details.  He had to find a way to separate the impression he could have deduced from his brief meeting with the woman to the jokes and jabs swimming in his head.  Not an easy endeavor.

"She's - friendly," Chris said in a light voice that indicated it wasn't entirely meant as a compliment.  "Very optimistic.  But, to be honest - which I'm assuming you're intending me to be - she seemed ... hard to disappoint.  Which, I suppose, is a good trait in a psychiatrist.  If you like that sort of thing."  In other words, if Chris ever felt he needed to run to someone for some milk and cookies, he'd know where to go. 

A corner of his mouth quirked upwards and Chris chuckled slightly.  "Meeting her felt like it was a charming and enjoyable formality.  But, that's about it.  I suspect she'd recommend a house elf for the position."