A small beautifully decorated box sat empty on the desk in one of the cubicles in the auror office. The box was already battered and well worn despite the fact it had only been in its owner’s possession for simply 2 weeks. The young boy who’d been given the box treasured the contents already, taking them out to play with everyday. He wouldn’t even share the contents with his younger sister. Girls broke toys or put them in dresses. He had never been able to shake the image of the Great Godric in a poofy wedding dress with a veil. The young boy would be most disappointed to find his box of treasures had been taken.

That however, was the way of the playground. Big boys took things belonging to smaller boys. And Edward Pratt and Archer Radley were 30 something big boys. They were behind the disappearance of the amazing box. Their only thought for the boy they’d taken the treasure from was “The lad’ll get it back when I get ‘ome tonight” And Noah Pratt, the young boy would be reunited with his much treasured and adored Christmas present when his father returned home. Not a moment sooner.

The contents of the box were fourteen small wooden figurines perched comfortably on miniature broomsticks. Seven were wearing bright orange Quidditch robes and Seven were in dark green and yellow. Also in the box had been one quaffle, one snitch and two bludgers. All miniature replications of the originals.

The reason the box that had once contained these miniatures was already so worn was due to the fact that the miniature Quidditch team and equipment had been enchanted. Each player gave the illusion of being alive, taking on the character and persona of the famous player they’d been crafted as.

There were main differences with this set now that the overage boys had freed them from their captivity. The first one was that the players no longer resembled a Quidditch celebrity. Instead they sported the face of an auror from level 2.

There were 2 team captains. Dean Bailey in green and Charlene Malone in orange. Each team had two beaters. For the orange team it was Malone and Martin. For green? Adon Eleor and Archer Radley. The orange team sported the faces of Tamis Raynor and Edward Pratt as chasers and the green team welcomed Zora Roh and Bailey. Now for the seekers? Well that was a fight between two senior aurors. Both as arrogant and irritating as the other. Samuel Harcroft on the oranges and Ackerley Fox for the greens. The keepers flying around were Chalmers Holt on the greens and flying the orange team was Dean Brison.

The second main difference was that these figurines were whizzing around the office breaking game rules and causing a commotion more than playing a good clean game of Quidditch. That was thanks to the two grown men that had enchanted them and released them on their colleagues. The men were convinced they knew how to have fun with these figures a lot more than any 10 year old boy. Right now they were proving this.

From his standing position, Edward Pratt watched Malone’s little figurine land on the top of her hair (no doubt a feat to escape from) and take out his little miniature wand, setting the small tuft of hair that had entrapped him on flame. Eddie’s stoic expression almost faltered before he dropped down into his seat. He then quickly grabbed the box, threw it under his desk and cast a concealment charm on it. The auror watched the box vanish before taking a large bite of his cheese and pickle sandwich. This was going to be a fun lunch hour.

“Ye better take a perch as well, mate. Medusa’ll turn ye to stone otherwise.” Ed remarked to Archer about his partner. They didn’t want to look too suspicious actually watching the commotion!


[Title courtesy of Jess]

Archer Radley had insisted that he and Eddie pretend nothing had happened, that they give themselves the back seat in this and while they were the masterminds, give the credit to someone else.  His initial target for blame was, of course, Bailey.  The ginger had been getting uppity recently, so he wished to put him in his place a little, show him who was still boss around here.  But, it could not be done without a bit of stealth and some creativity.  It also recalled some resources that they already had.

So, when Eddie mentioned a set of quidditch figurines, Archer’s interest immediately piqued.  It was the chance of a lifetime.  Several of the aurors in the corps played at Hogwarts while there were a few who probably only wished they had been able to muster the physical prowess it took to become a good quidditch player.  Whatever the case, a plan had been hatched, one that was set to reduce the stress of the holiday season (for them) and lighten up the ever darkening mood of the office. 

There had been one minor setback though, no hoops were included in the set – or at least they had not been brought into the office that morning, so the little figurines were getting creative.  It also seemed that getting rid of the identity of their famous celebrity profiles had erased any semblance of rules of the game.  As Archer stood from his chair, he was not surprised to see a bludger fly right in front of his eyes, a swirl of orange and green passing right by him.  The beater bat belonging to his own miniature was swinging and flung the ball right toward the mug that Brison was floating around – half-filled with cold coffee and sitting on Bailey’s desk. 

He was happy to see that the ball was deflected by Brison and flew upward, careening toward Bailey’s face and knocked him right in the lens of his glasses.  He looked so shocked that it almost betrayed Archer’s cover.  Instead, he turned away and shook his head – trying to find something else to concentrate on, and doing so easily as he heard several yaps and four frantic feet padding around the office. 

Craning his neck around the corner, Archer saw Rufus, the krup-lab mix he had been graced with for a Christmas present bouncing up and down after Ackerkly Fox’s miniature, who seemed to be as miserable as he had always been, spraying little red sparks out of that little wand at his side – only serving to intrigue the rapidly growing pup even more.  Now, Archer was not just bringing Rufus to the office for fun, quite the opposite, he spent a good part of his day that was not dedicated to case work, training Rufus to detect and alert for objects that were cursed or carried dark magic .

The Krup in him made him sensitive to magic and the lab really helped in the nose department.  He still didn’t have the heart to remove the extra tail either, so walking out of the cubicle and swatting the mini-figure away, amusingly enough, right through the door of Ray’s office, Archer leaned down and scooped up the puppy, his two tails wagging and thumping against his side as he moved back to his cubicle, his attention being grabbed by Eddie. 

The smirk on his face was certainly detectable and Archer shook his head, “Let me get my lunch,” he was reaffirmed by Rufus, who barked in consent and squirmed at the word lunch – apparently he was as fond of food as his owner was.  “Then I’ll join ya,” he added, ducking into the office to narrowly avoid Bailey’s smug, awful miniature face (it was just wretched seeing two of them around), and Rufus snapped at the mini-Ginger, earning a good natured and congratulatory rub on the head from Archer – he’d get a piece of sandwich for sure now.

Quickly ducking into his seat, he moved to the opening where he could clearly see into Eddie’s space, putting up an invisible barrier Rufus could not get past – a little jolt struck him every time he tried, finally content to chew on the rubber snake Archer had gotten for him recently – retired after a small practical joke on Tamis a few nights ago, content to be destroyed by the dog.  His tails wagging and the two cubicles momentarily quiet, though it appeared two figurines – from the sounds of it, Ackerly and Eleor screaming obscenities at one another.  “How’s work?” he asked idly, taking a bit of his roast beef sandwich, ripping off a small piece to chew to the now quiet dog. 

Ackerly should have expected something like this to happen. It had been far too quiet in the auror office as of late, and that rarely happened. With the extreme level of immaturity among the employees of level two, it was a good week if you had two or three days of peace. Ackerly had complained, multiple times, to Raynor. But since one of the biggest trouble makers was currently shagging the boss, then naturally it seemed nothing would be done. He respected the woman for the most part, but her inability to separate work from pleasure knocked her down a few pegs in his eyes. (And there was still that slight amount of agitation at not having been further promoted from his current position as a senior auror.)

He had been at his desk, going over some werewolf case files, and re-organizing his facts and data. Leads on the Greyfriar case weren't promising, and he had found himself with a few other werewolf related items on his to-do list. Not that he minded. They were a huge blemish on wizarding society that he intended to eradicate. Every time a werewolf went down, it had that same satisfactory feeling of popping a gigantic zit, too. Not that he would ever use that analogy out loud- he was far more mature than that.

Ackerly had been working on a list of places to investigate, when he had noticed something...or rather, some things flying about the office. His eyes were quickly fixed on the little figurines, watching as one lodged itself in Malone's hair, setting it aflame. He grumbled loudly. Why they felt the need to pester that woman, he would never know. Malone was damn good at her job, and a hell of a lot more productive than most of her colleagues.

Ackerly did not realize, until his own figurine was whizzing around in front of him, that they apparently looked like those in the office. "Real mature," he called out, flicking his wand at the miniature version of himself. "Confringo," he snapped loudly, watching as the figurine exploded in mid air. "Some of us have work to do," he stated flatly, going back to what he was doing. If another one came his way, he'd do the same thing. This wasn't a playground- this was an office.

Things had been quiet - too quiet - for the past few days.  Ever since Gibson's body had been found and identified, they had had to buckle down with paperwork, getting the case securely laid out before anything became public with the press conference.  Since then, most of Charlene's time had been devoted to running down leads, trying to put the pieces together of what had happened to the teenager in the days before he'd been murdered, though it seemed like any research she did was for naught.  Even with that part of the Remembering Day Murders case tentatively closing, there were still far too many unanswered questions.

Which was why she wasn't surprised when the normal lunch hour was interrupted by miniature Quidditch players swooping through the air.  Charlene wasn't certain if she'd been spending too much time with Edward Pratt, but her tolerance for stupidity had certainly risen the past few months.  She barely batted an eye as the tiny figurines staged a Wronski Feint into the miniature magical fountain on her desk.  Instead, she simply shook off the droplets of water that landed on her parchment and continued to watch the whirling figures out of the corner of her eye.  Though she would never admit it, she was secretly pleased that her partner had put her on the opposite team as Dean Bailey.

One of the figurines landed on top of her head.  Charlene absently swatted at it, still focused on the piece of parchment that she'd been writing on, and then stopped, wrinkling her nose as she realized something was burning.  She patted her hair down to suffocate the flames, turning in her seat just enough to shoot a dirty look in Pratt's direction before returning to her work.

The ongoing Quidditch match was mildly irritating, but not nearly as much so as some of the other recent pranks around the Auror office.  As far as Charlene was concerned, the figurines were for the most part ignoring her paperwork, and as long as the miniature version of herself managed to continue its excellent job of keeping the tiny bludgers away from her desk, she could get on with her work and be productive.

Hearing Ackerly snap surprised her.  She glanced up, brows raising as her eyes found the Senior Auror, and frowned.  It was irritating, certainly, but her old mentor usually didn't rise to the pranksters' bait.

"I suppose that means we can call the game for Orange, then," she remarked in a bored tone, loud enough for anyone else nearby to overhear.  "Since Green are down their seeker.  Too bad, Radley - although perhaps you ought to get used to it, the way that Puddlemere's season is going so far."

Dressed in heavy leather boots, dark green robes and a heavy, black hooded cloak, the Auror trainee appeared much more suited to blending in amongst the shadows of Knockturn than the brightly lit cubicles of Level 2.  By Ministry standards, it could hardly be considered early morning.  The Black Chimeara's typical schedule was hardly complimentary to that of the Ministry.  Especially on mornings following Alliance meetings.  If Chris wanted to continue improving his image amongst the Chimeara's regular crowd, ducking out of meetings early for bedtime would be foolish. 

Especially lately.  The somber sense of shock amongst the WBA since the loss of one of their own was starting to slowly fade.  In its place, though, was a bitter sense of anger and revenge.  Last night's meeting had been long and volatile and there had been no shortage of cries for a bloody quid pro quo.  It hadn't been just for image that Chris had joined those cries.  He'd happily turn a blind eye should any of the revenge seekers take action.  Not that that sentiment would make him very popular with the collection of Aurors gathered around the tiny figurines.

It had been an incredible short night and it probably showed around Chris' eyes.  But, now was the smartest time to come to polish and drop off reports.  There shouldn't have been any ex-Azzie appointments scheduled and it was far too early for any of the meeting goers to come in on their own volition.  Chris could slip into the office, catch up on what he needed to and slip back to Knockturn long before any of those in that social group were likely to be up and moving. 

He'd been weaving through the cubicles, a roll of parchment with an odd assortment of notes and observations in one hand, when the tiny Quidditch figure exploded.  Glancing at the remaining figures, it was easy to recognize the identities of most of them. 

"Is this how you all pass the time in the office?"  he asked, a touch of amusement in his otherwise flat tone.  He set himself at an unoccupied desk and unrolled the parchment.  As Chris had still been a trainee when he'd been assigned to infiltrate Knockturn, he had no desk of his own.  This desk's regular occupant was elsewhere, though, at least for the time being.  What of last night's meeting should he include in his notes? 

She had been going over the details concerning the abduction of Robin Adani when something small and rather volatile had flashed through her peripheral. Naturally, the Head Auror had become immediately suspicious. If paranoia was not an already inherent part of an Auror’s job, then she could think of at least two internal influences that made sure that paranoia was well exercised. One might imagine her shock then, when it was not Edward Pratt of Archer Radley raining furniture about her head but rather herself, charging at her with a mini battle cry and making a direct descent for the inkwell.

The story was continuing to unravel amongst the cubicles. Doppelgangers in Quidditch paraphernalia were reeking havoc on the Aurors’ Office. Zooming overhead, battering case files. She had to duck a miniscule bludger as it wheezed by, propelled by a cackling Adon Eleor. Upon spotting their fellow Orange teammate in distress, Paul Martin and Dean Brison charged the larger version holding her captive. The real Tamis Raynor halted her step and glared at the pursuing figurines. Two little brooms slowed as the comrades exchanged glances and then abruptly changed direction to return to general mayhem. The mini-Raynor chattered at them angrily, shaking a little fist at their fleeing backs as she swung back and forth from her cape.

Undeterred, the Head Auror walked the familiar route to a likewise very familiar pair of cubicles. On her way there, she analyzed the damage. Fox looked less pleased than ever – Tamis could almost feel the latest complaint speech formulating in his head. Colburn appeared amused but the crease between his brows suggested he had larger concerns he was contending with. Malone looked, well, like Malone. The primary suspects, Pratt and Radley, sat cheerfully behind their desks innocently enjoying their lunches among idle conversation.

“As a Puddlemere fan, I am sure he is quite used to it,” she replied, catching the tail end of the conversation.

Reaching up between the divider of the two cubicles, Raynor deposited her miniature there without her broom. The doppelganger squeaked indignantly and clung to the narrow expanse with all fours.

“Morning, gentlemen,” she greeted the two men pleasantly. Too pleasantly.

The sandwich tasted exquisite. Madam Merhaba’s Terrifyingly Strong and Mouth Watering Cheddar Cheese, smothered in the delights from a Prince’s Positively Powerful Pickle pot, encased in slices of herbed bread made by the tiny, delicate hands of house elves and crafted together by none other than Mrs Quincy Pratt for her dear, hard working husband. She most certainly knew how to treat a man. A cheese and pickle sandwich and a hot mug of well brewed coffee got to Eddie’s heart any day. He wasn’t a difficult man to impress.

And these miniature figurines were very much impressing Edward. Especially as he heard Fox lose it with his own miniature. Hardly necessary but Ackerley Fox was just a stubborn, protocol humping reject with nothing better to do with his time than complain about the way other people went about their jobs. Eddie was pleased to hear him getting riled. He smirked and took another bite from the superb blend of perfectly put together flavours and glanced from the small puppy at his colleague’s feet to the colleague himself as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring around them.

He grinned broadly, flashing two rows of sparking white teeth, the teeth always on display whenever the man presented one of those dazzling cheeky grins. They usually got him out of trouble. “If I told ye, Goliath, I’d ‘ave to kill ye.” Not exactly necessary. The main case Ed was working on was no secret. His moves were being watched closely by some dim-witted, foul mouthed journalist hoping to comment on the dragon poo the primary auror on Gibson’s case happened to stand in. And thanks to that, Ed had to be very careful. While the case had become public property, Malone and Ed were working damn hard to keep the rest of it closed to ministry eyes only.

As if by luck, Eddie managed to catch the beautiful, distasteful look Frizzy Malone quite literally fired in his direction. He looked back at her, happily taking a bite from his glorious sandwich and revelling in her frustration. It was quite clearly a magnificent sight, one to behold. Ed was certain he could feel the heat rising from the lightning bolts that were Frizzy’s hair.

“Puddlemere’s destined to lose anyway, Radley. If morons like you support them they’ve got no chance.” This was said before a shadow appeared in his peripheral, much larger than the miniatures but still miniature in itself. His green eyes shot up to see Tamis Raynor, the miniature dragon placing her own figurine on the parting between his and Radley’s cubicle. Ed’s eyebrows rose as he took another bite of his sandwich, eager to seem natural. No one in the office would doubt who was behind it, Ed enjoyed that very fact, but at the same time, he liked avoiding the trouble after him and Archer had caused a small distraction.

The guv seemed a little too calm. Nonetheless, Ed remained sat comfortably back in his seat, chewing and savouring the delights of cheese and pickle.
“Mornin’. Yer lookin’ quite grand today, guv. Radiant.” He flashed a cheeky grin at the boss before taking another bite. If only the glorious pleasures attained from cheese and pickle heaven could go on forever.

There was nothing entirely uncommon about things flying around the office.  In reality, memos and paperwork, files, things flew around the office all of the time.  Notes to and from people for meetings and arrangements glided above heads all the time.  What was the difference if it were to also include a host of little flying people?  They might have interfered a little more, but seriously, as if a memo or two hadn’t gotten stuck in Malone’s hair before?

“Then sit down and do your work, before you destroy something else, Ackerly!” Archer piped up from his seat, glad to be the peanut gallery on this one, grinning to himself.  There was clearly some pleasure being derived from all of this, and pissing off some of the more… straight-laced in the office was becoming one of his favorite hobbies.  Sometimes, it really felt like the old days, though the marked difference in the quality of Ginger present in the office was noticeable.   

It was just a normal day in the office, as far as Archer was concerned, and he leaned back in his chair as he pulled out his sandwich.  It was a normal sandwich, standard for sleeping at Tamis’ turkey – low fat meat – with lettuce and tomato and mustard.  No cheese allowed.  Sometimes, he really hated not having control of his lunch, especially when, as he peered further into the bag, there were carrot sticks – yuck – and an orange.  What kind of lunch was this?!

He’d probably have to take the lift up to the atrium just to snag a muffin or five before the day ended and hide them in his desk.  Squeak had no sense of good food, and grimacing a little, he was glad to see, as he looked over to Eddie, that he was not alone.  Far from it, actually.  “I’ll trade you a carrot stick for a celery stick…” he started, glancing down at the offensive, orange logs in front of them.  How he loathed this healthy eating business.  He would have a word with Tamis, a man could not survive on carrot sticks and oranges! 

He was not being sent off to primary school to learn his ABCs and arithmetic.  No, he was going to work to fight dark wizards.  That required a little more substance than what he was currently receiving.   With a heavy sigh, Archer bit into the sandwich, desperately missing cheese.  He missed anything with fat content during the week – he even suspected the pop bottles were being refilled with diet pop… just to spite him. 

“And Chudley is much better, Knucklehead… or was it Chucklehead the last time I checked?” he smirked, at least his team was better than the Cannons.  That made this horrific lunch a little more palatable.  Everything tasted better when victory could be discussed.  And glancing up at the sound of Colburn’s voice, Archer did not see him, but raised his voice enough to say, “Nothing out of the ordinary, Colburn.  Get used to it.” 

And then… there was Malone.  She was encroaching on his victory speech! How dare she align herself with Eddie and Tamis and talk about his beloved Puddlemere like that.  “Oi, and who do you root for, Malone?  Magpies?” he rolled his eyes, “It is a girl’s team… I suppose, at least that’s how they play.” 

The number one Magpies fan in his life was approaching now too – what was this? Gang up on Puddlemere day?  He frowned and looked up at her, not going to play the game Eddie played when the honor of his Puddlemere was being attacked so viciously.  Honestly, why did haters have to hate?  “Good afternoon, Madame,” he greeted coolly.  “Nice new ring you have there.  Tell me, is it so desperately clinging because it’s the last Magpie victory ring? When was that… fifteen years ago?”

Ackerly didn't even grin at Malone's comment, too distracted by being grumpy with the entire situation. When Colburn spoke up, Ackerly shook his head. "Not those of us who are responsible," he stated. "If you want to be someone who actually gets their work done, I wouldn't suggest emulating Pratt or Radley." He shuffled a few papers in the case file on Knox Greyfriar and scribbled a bit on another piece of parchment- trying to think of more questions or routes to take on the case. Whoever had it before him hadn't done so hot with note-taking.

He was glad to see Raynor make an appearance, and the greeting she gave the two either meant she was angry or going to let things pass. It was just... too happy. And Raynor never sounded happy around the office. The greetings she received from Radley and Pratt were hardly what he had expectd. Obviously they had no worries about getting into trouble for this little stunt. But why should they? The two never got in trouble for any of their idiotic shennanigans. If he had been running the auror office, things would not only be different, but likely more efficient. But, for whatever reasons, he'd been passed over for the promotion. Even though he was not the only more deserving person in the auror office, he seemed to be the only bitter one.

"Can you do something about those two?" Ackerly asked impatiently. "Some of us have work to get done- and just because those two half ass their cases doesn't mean the rest of us intend to do the same." He loudly shuffled more papers, scratching out a few more things on his parchment. He muttered quietly to himself, agitated at the situation in general.