January 9, 2009
8:45am
Department of Games and Sports
Head Office

Maximilian watched the clock tick by agonizingly slow as if time had frozen. The Holidays were over and once again Max found himself sitting behind his desk, leafing through folder after folder, and putting his signature on the many forms needed to be filed. Contrary to popular belief, his department wasn't all fun and 'games' in fact, he found himself envying the Aurors who were at least in the thick of things. The black haired man gave another sigh as he glared down at a rather long list of games waiting for approval (and of course his signature.)

"Cannons vs Harpies." he called out to himself before adding a small check mark in the corner. Max didn't need to be a seer to know the turn out of that game, poor Cannons, they'd be whipped from the pitch all the way to their losing locker rooms.

Giving that game his approval (and giving one last ounce of sympathy for the Chudley Cannons) Maximilian turned his attention to preparations for the Quidditch World Cup which was approaching slowly but surely. It was also the one time out of the year that his department received the most heat.  All of the other department heads would literally breathe down his neck with their ridiculous notions that something could go wrong. In his honest opinion all of them were tossers anyway, and could shove their ideas where the sun don't shine.

Still feeling drained from only a few hours work, Maximilian once again opened another folder and began reading team statistics and other small facts which he could honestly care less about.

'Only three more hours' he told himself dejectedly. 'Only three more hours till lunch break.'

But even with that ray of hope in the near future Max could barely stand the tedious paperwork before him. And found himself so bored that he would gladly face a dark wizard raid at the Ministry. Heck, he'd even take on Death Eaters if it could free him from predicting which team would get beaten next.

Dipping his Quill into the ink bottle Max halfheartedly wrote down the next couple of Quidditch game times and dates, while making sure each one was at least three weeks to a month apart from each other.

"At least this job pays well." he muttered before writing more dates.

Maximilian King wasn't a name Xiomara Hooch had ever expected to see heading the Department of Magical Games and Sport.  The old witch was in the very unique position that over the past 50 years she'd spent time with nearly every British born witch or wizard.  Honestly, she didn't remember them all - it was much easier with the ones who went out for Quidditch.  Those who merely passed Flying and went on their way were always harder to peg.

But she remembered Maxy King.  Not because he'd played Quidditch at school - she remembered him because he hadn't!  Most every person working in that Department was some sort of sport fan, and had played as a kid.  Xiomara couldn't figure out what interest King had in the job, but all reports were that he was doing excellently and things ran smooth.

The old witch was in London this morning to do some of her infrequent business in the Department.  Hogwarts was autonomous, as was their Quidditch program, but she liked to keep in touch about how scouts and coaches for the professional teams could get in touch with her older players, as well as other related business.

His door was open.  A clerk nodded her through the outer office area and she stood in the doorway.  Her grey spikey hair, and her sturdy bearing peering in at him.

"Maximilian," she greeted pertly.  "How are you this morning?"

Maximilian had just finished leafing through Puddlemere United record sheets when he heard footsteps approaching his office door. Giving a long sigh he neglected looking up at the newcomer as he continued to write more check marks next to suggested game times and dates, or scratching them out if he disagreed. He heard one of the clerks allowing the person entrance into his office and he huffed another sigh.

Max was sure his schedule was pretty empty; save the annual meeting he held with his department every fifteenth of the month. Frowning, he lowered his quill and glanced over the ever present calender which was charmed to update itself upon request. No, there was no appointments today. So who was this?

His question was answered when he heard the voice.

"Maximilian, how are you this morning?"

Ah, of course. He should have known there would only be one person who dared enter his office before his morning coffee break.

"Madam Hooch." Max greeted respectfully. "I'm doing fine as can be expected with all this paperwork." he smirked before adding. "But what about you? what brings you here?"

Though Max already had his suspicions. It of course had something to do with Hogwarts. Just thinking of the school brought back bad memories of failed flying lessons and loud Quidditch parties in the Slytherin common room. Yes indeed, the reason for his old flying teacher's visit was endless, and at the moment Maximilian wasn't sure how he felt about answering questions and whatnot; especially when he had at least thirty more folders to look through before break. So instead he merely sat back in his comfortable leather chair and decided to let his old Professor speak next.

He was polite, although he didn't seem happy about it.  His eyes looked more tired than a normal morning tired, more weary than a normal paperwork weary.  There was a lot more to this highly coveted job than attending Quidditch matches and overseeing wizard chess tournaments in the sunny south.  It wasn't all fun at games at all.  But then, all of Hooch's dim recollections of King was that he didn't seem to be much fun and games himself. 

She took a few steps in and made no move to show that she had any intention of sitting or settling in.  She was always on the move and hadn't even taken off her travelling gear.  Her goggles were on her head, and her thick long gloves were pinned up in her riding robes epaulets.  (She preferred spend the day on the many hours of flying than to floo in, although her schedule today might require her to floo back to Hogwarts, just today.)

"I've got a silly little idea, actually Maximilian," she said.  "It's quite an imposition, but I hope you'll allow my audacity this morning and won't get too touchy," she tried, her tone brusk and wry.  She had thick skin herself, and partially hoped the request would stir him up out of his funk.  But maybe it would just make him mad - but mad was at least a change from weary and bored, like he looked.

"As I recall, you did not pass Flying your first try and had to take the remedial course the next term.  I'm not mistaking you for someone else, am I, Max?"

Perhaps she should be calling him Mr. King...  She always forgot these formalities when speaking with her former students.

Max continued to sit back in his leather chair, his face still peaky from the lack of sleep (and a rambunctious four cups of firewhiskey last night.) Nevertheless, he gave his old flying teacher his undivided attention as she began speaking. He frowned however when the topic of his dreadful flying lesson came into the forefront.

Sighing Max folded his arms against his chest and smiled slightly though it didn't reach that far. "Indeed, my first flying lesson was in no way spectacular." he agreed before adding. "Gave me a bit of grief in the ol' Slytherin common room because of it."

He tilted his head slightly, remembering his first year at Hogwarts and his first flying lesson. Where he literally fell off his broom mere seconds after Madam Hooch blew her whistle. Max remember hitting the ground so hard that it caused him to spend the night in the Hospital wing, with a nasty glass of bone regrowth potion to keep him company.

All in all it wasn't a great year at all. But still, by some great irony, he found himself head of a game and sports department.

"So, what is this silly little idea of yours Madam Hooch?"  he asked seriously, instantly jumping back into his head position.

Department Head King seemed to break for a moment, as he remembered back to his days as an eleven-year-old student at Hogwarts, and Xiomara smiled with him.  But in a moment, he was back in the present, his adult life having overcome a childhood failure.

She stepped forward into his office more, hands behind her back, and now standing before his desk.  "Speak to my students," she said with a chirp, raising her eyebrows, like her suggestion was the most natural thing in the world.

"Come to Hogwarts and speak to my Remedial Flying class this term.  These are students who for one reason or another haven't passed their Flying class and until they do, they can't go out for Quidditch and they can't use brooms at school," she said, matter-of-factly, nodding her head once at him.

"You," she said, putting one hand on her hip and gesturing at him with the other open palm, "Maximilian - you've been where they're at.  They're going to be quite downtrodden and will be taking some heat from their peers.  I think they could use some cheerleading from a  wizard like yourself, who started his journey to this office with quite a hard fall."

"Well?" she almost barked at him.  "What do you say?"

Maximilian rose a dark brow at his former Professor, a look of surprise written over his face. The clock in the office was the only sound that could be heard as Max continued to watch the woman in front of him. It was after another moment that he finally spoke in an amused tone.

"That's an odd request. Normally I get inquires to reinstate very old and dangerous games banned centuries ago. Sometimes I'm even asked to fire team coaches, which isn't a easy task at all..." he trailed off and turned her request over in his mind again. Speaking to children...it was something Max hated doing, he didn't like speeches in general and luckily his field of work didn't cause for much of it.

"So you want me to speak to your remedial flying class?" he asked finally, a frown on his face. "I'm not too sure about that Hooch. Not only do I hate speeches but I don't know what I could say to the children. Sure I worked hard to get where I am. But it wasn't without blackmail, backstabbing and a lot of 'swindling.' Is that something you want me to teach to your class?"

Xiomara was leaning on Maximilian's guest chair now, hand still propped on her hip in her stignature stance, regarding him with a look of patient, but chiding disappointment.

"I hardly think so!" she scoffed at his frowning face, still wearing her own tolerant half smile.  He was clearly repulsed at the idea. Did he not have a family of his own? He looked old enough, but then there were no pictures around his office to bely any proud offspring.

"I was hoping you might speak to topics of persistance and confidence and being oneself at all costs.  And by the way, I'm no one's mother, but I doubt you should go around admitting to such things as blackmail - careful you don't make your whole department out to be fools.  You need them, you know."

She sighed and pursed her lips.  She was feeling a little disappointed.  She'd expected him to be somehow more altruistic, but she might be barking up the wrong willow.

Maximilian pursed his lips silently and stared out his office at the Clerk's desk, they would surely receive a swift talking to for announcing people without an appointment. But finding that for later, Max turned his attention, once again, to the woman in front of him. He noticed she had a strict look on her face, but then he recalled she always had that expression.

"I'm not sure," he said finally. "Speaking isn't my best skill and quite frankly I have no plans to visit my old school anytime soon." Max crossed his arms against his chest. A thoughtful look upon his face.

"Tell me, Madam Hooch, why are you still teaching at Hogwarts? Surely you'd be retired by now. If I recall correctly, you were there a bit before I even came to Hogwarts."

Max sat back in his chair, waiting for a response.

'I'm not sure' was clearly his best attempt at a polite decline and with a little shake of her head, she accepted it.  She had to suppose that there were some people with a didactic bend to them like herself, constantly thinking of the little ones and the good that could be done for them - and she had to suppose there were people whose focus was elsewhere.  Clearly, her favor resided with her bias, but perhaps she shouldn't have expected so much altruism from Mr. King.

As evidenced by his somewhat unexpected question.

"I started at Hogwarts in 1948 and stayed for nearly fifty years," she said proudly. "So just a bit before your time, I think, yes.  And I'm there now because retirement was completely useless."

"I suffered through retirement for seven years before I decided it was a scam.  All this resting and aimlessness - I think I'd rather go down flying, Mr. King.  I've got many more years to go, if you believe my Seer, and I've still got students running into solid brick walls."

She nodded, thinking of poor Dahlia.  Poor Eirene.  And that strange boy called Fir. 

"I'm needed. It's good work.  It was either that or work in your Department calling quidditch matches, but, pardon-my-gobbledegook, bloody hell if I don't want to ever go near another Falmouth Falcon if I can help it."