chapter 5
Ministry Cafeteria – High Noon
Percy stared at the rejected Floo proposal like it had personally hexed his mother.
"INSUFFICIENT PYROTECHNICS?" His voice cracked on the last syllable. Across the table, Audrey Yaxley lounged like a cat who'd not only gotten the cream but set fire to the dairy farm for good measure. Her flowchart—Weasley’s Likely Reaction (Scale of 1 to Incendio)—had a suspiciously detailed quadrant labeled "Ineffectual Rage (See: 1995, Daily Prophet Editorial Re: Father’s Promotion)".
"Explain," Percy demanded, slamming the parchment down so hard a nearby intern flinched.
Audrey sipped her tea. "Your proposal put three separate goblins into comas. I did you a favor." She flipped the document to reveal her edits. "Look. Section B. Your original: ‘Streamlined regulatory oversight.’ My version: ‘Like giving a toddler a Floo powder allowance.’" She smirked. "Which one sounds like it was written by a human being?"
Percy’s eye twitched. "This is vandalism."
"No," Audrey corrected, tapping her quill against his temple, "this is why your memos have a 72% ‘unread’ rate. Face it, Weasley—your writing style is what happens when a dictionary mates with a stapler."
A teacup shattered somewhere. The cafeteria held its breath.
Then—
Percy snorted. A tiny, traitorous sound.
Audrey’s grin turned feral. "Was that a laugh? Quick, someone fetch a Mediwizard—the apocalypse is nigh."
Ministry Archives – 2:17 AM
The floating candles guttered, painting the walls with shadows. Percy knelt amidst a battlefield of sugar packets ("Cherry = Dragon Heartstring (PROTESTED)"), his sleeves rolled up, his hair a lost cause. Across from him, Audrey sprawled like a fallen queen, her shoes kicked off, her toes nudging his knee whenever he missed a citation.
"The Welsh Green’s conductivity is obvious," she insisted, lobbing a sugar cube at his forehead.
Percy caught it without looking. "Only if you ignore the 1993 cross-breeding debacle—"
"—which you’d know was debunked if you read past the goddamn index—"
"—Gringotts’ research was goblin-biased—"
Audrey’s eyes gleamed. "Ah. So you have read it."
Percy opened his mouth. Closed it. Resisted the urge to hex her.
Instead, he reached for the last biscuit.
Audrey’s hand clamped over his wrist. "Mine."
"You’ve had three."
"And you’ve had zero, because you’re emotionally allergic to joy." She plucked the biscuit from his fingers. "Consider this an intervention."
Percy’s jaw worked. "You’re insufferable."
"And yet." She took a deliberate bite, crumbs dusting her chin. "Here you are."
The candlelight caught the flecks of amber in her eyes. Percy exhaled through his nose. "Fine. If we adjust the flexibility index—"
"Finally." Audrey flipped a parchment over, revealing a fresh diagram—this one with a doodled phoenix setting fire to a bureaucrat. "Now. The holly conundrum."
3:02 AM – The Janitor’s Perspective
Old Elias Fipps had seen many horrors in his thirty years: enchanted quills that wrote erotic poetry, a filing cabinet that ate interns, even a squadron of memo airplanes staging a coup.
But this—
A Senior Undersecretary and a Yaxley of all people, sprawled on the floor like star-crossed scholars, bickering over sugar packets while a plate of biscuits sat untouched like some tragic metaphor for sexual tension?
"Er," Elias ventured. "Archives close at—"
"Not now," they snapped in unison.
Elias backed away slowly. Some wars weren’t worth the pension.
4:55 AM – The Breakthrough
Percy stared at their final draft. "This… works."
Audrey snorted. "Of course it does. I wrote the good bits."
"You doodled a phoenix in the margins."
"And you used twelve words where one would suffice." She poked his knee with her toe. "Admit it. My version’s better."
Percy studied her edits—the way she’d carved his bureaucratic corpse into something alive—and felt something dangerously like admiration.
"It’s… adequate," he muttered.
Audrey’s laugh echoed off the shelves. "Merlin’s pants, Weasley. Was that a compliment? Should I mark this date in my calendar?"
"Don’t push your luck." But the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Outside, dawn painted the windows gold.
Neither moved to leave.
5:17 PM – Ministry Atrium (Storm Warning)
The first thunderclap shook the building. A memo spiraled down from the pipes:
"ALL PERSONNEL: SHELTER IN PLACE. WEATHER CHARMS MALFUNCTION. DO NOT APPARATE."
Across the bullpen, Audrey’s quill exploded into bluebell flames.
"Fuck," she hissed, shaking soot from her sleeves. When her gaze landed on Percy, she pointed accusingly. "You. You’re a walking bad omen."
Percy adjusted his glasses. "Statistically improbable. Unless we’re counting the Misfiled Memo Incident—"
"—which improved your proposal—"
"—and required three all-nighters—"
The lights flickered. Audrey grabbed his wrist. "Archives. Now."
5:43 PM – Department of Mysteries (Sublevel 9)
The storm raged beyond enchanted windows charmed to show a shipwreck—dramatic bitch, Percy thought fondly. Audrey produced a dented flask from her bag.
"Emergency rations," she declared, tossing him a squashed cauldron cake.
Percy caught it. "You keep firewhisky in your work bag?"
"And you alphabetize your socks." She took a swig and grimaced. "Tastes like regret. Your turn."
Their fingers brushed. The whiskey burned.
6:22 PM – The Confession
"Why you really came to me that night," Audrey said suddenly, her foot nudging his ankle.
The flask weighed a thousand pounds in Percy’s hands.
"I couldn’t breathe," he admitted to the storm-glass. "After the nightmares… my lungs forget how to work."
Audrey went still.
"You didn’t look at me like I was broken," Percy murmured. "Just… handed me tea and waited."
"Professional deformation," she lied.
"Liar."
Silence. Then—
Audrey snatched the flask back, her knuckles white. "Fine. Truth? I noticed you before the sessions. Saw you running at dawn like the hounds of hell were after you. Watched you eviscerate the Wizengamot with verb tenses." Her voice dropped. "Thought, ‘There’s someone who actually gives a damn.’ Then you walked into my office, and—"
Percy looked up.
"—you were just as fucked up as the rest of us."
Their knees touched. The air crackled. Percy’s gaze dropped to her mouth—
CRASH.
A shelf of prophecies rattled. They jerked apart.
"Fucking weather charms," Audrey growled.
Percy’s pulse hammered.
7:55 PM – The Aftermath
When the all-clear sounded, Percy stood too fast. Audrey yanked him down by his tie.
The kiss was all teeth and firewhisky, her fingers in his hair, his glasses digging into both their faces. When they broke apart, her lipstick was smeared, his tie undone.
"Finally," someone catcalled—Elias, already retreating.
Audrey smoothed her skirt, still gripping Percy’s shirt. "Breakfast. Tomorrow."
"The café with the terrible scones," Percy agreed hoarsely.
She kissed him again, quick and biting. "Don’t be late."
As Percy straightened his clothes, he realized two things:
His thesaurus lay abandoned on the floor.
He didn’t care.
(He’d still be there at 6:45.)