In the Ministry's main atrium, two guards chattered at the security check counter.
"You came early. Everything at home alright, Jeffery?" said Pierce, a ministry guard, sitting behind the security counter with a puzzle book in his hand as he leaned on the back of his chair, making it stand on its two hind legs with forelegs dangling in the air.
"Everything's alright," said Jeffery, rubbing his forehead, "couldn't sleep last night, and then it was already morning. . ."
"Because of the baby?"
"Yeah," Jeffery sighed, "he kept crying for the entire night. Just when I thought he slept and I could also sleep, he would walk up and raise up a storm."
"Your house isn't the only place where someone raised a storm."
"What do you mean."
Pierce picked up a newspaper from the counter and slid it through the hole in the glass panel separating them. Jeffery picked up the newspaper— the front headline was literally plastered all over the page, and reading it made Jeffery's sleepiness fly away as if he had been injected with a potion that he took during his NEWT days to stay awake for various nights.
"Numengard fell?!"
"Shhh!" Pierce leaned forward. "Not so loud!"
"What loud? It's on the front page!"
"I know that; I'm not stupid. But I got ordered that we're not to talk about this during work. So keep it down, and we can talk."
Jeffery leaned forward on the counter and spoke in a low voice, "What about Grindelwald? Did he escape? Was it someone who worked with him in war? What if—."
"No, the Dark Lord Grindelwald is dead. According to that, someone dug him a grave and buried him in it. They dug the body out to confirm it."
"They dug a dead man's body out?!"
Pierce shrugged, "The only way to be sure if a Dark Lord is dead or not."
"Is there something about Dumbledore written in there? He must be happy that his nemesis is finally dead after so much time. It must feel good that now he only has to worry about one Dark Lord returning."
"They couldn't get him for a comment. But I guess you're right," Pierce chuckled.
"I thought I needed a coffee. I don't think I need one anymore."
"Go get some. No one wants you drooling all over the counter. I'll wait."
"Thank you."
But as Jeffery was about to turn away to get some coffee, a voice called out to them. "Good morning, gentlemen. I would like to check in if any of you'd like to help me do that."
Jeffery and Pierce turned to see a young man dressed in a maroon suit over a black shirt.
"Name and reason for the visit?" asked Pierce.
"Quinn West. I am here to visit the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," said Quinn.
Pierce noted it down before asking, "Do you have an appointment?"
"No, and I don't need it."
Pierce turned and procured a badge from the machine and handed it to Quinn through the hole in the glass before asking, "Your wand?"
"I don't use one," said Quinn.
"Squib?" Pierce raised a brow.
Quinn placed his palm flat on the glass panel, and a layer of crackling ice began spreading on both sides of the glass. He smiled and answered, "Would that have made a difference?"
Pierce seemed miffed but shook his head. "Would you be willing to submit to a search to see if you're hiding a wand?"
Quinn nodded and calmly went through the search, resulting in Pierce not finding a wand, or to be precise, he ended up finding nothing but a few coins. Quinn's person was free of any personal belongings other than some money.
". . . You're clear."
Quinn thanked both the guards and walked past them.
"Just money and no wand," said Jeffery. "That bloke was weird."
"Not just money— most of it was galleon, and you saw how he was dressed— he must be a brat from a rich family," said Pierce picking up his puzzle book again. "People like them don't have a worry about problems that we suffer. If he needed something, he would buy a new one. Rich people have it easy."
Jeffery looked at Quinn's back before a yawn came over him. "I need a coffee."
On the other hand, Quinn walked to his destination with a sigh. "I should've taken grandfather on his offer." There was a special(VIP) entrance to the Ministry without any security checks for affluent people. George and the others in the family all used that entrance— all except Quinn because he didn't usually come to the Ministry, and today he wanted to keep his presence invisible.
After taking an elevator ride, Quinn reached his destination. He walked out of the elevator and walked straight to the greeting desk to greet an elderly lady sitting behind the desk.
"Good morning, lovely lady," he said, "I'd like to meet Stephen Spreck."
"Do you have an appointment," the elderly receptionist asked.
"No, but I'm sure he'd like to meet to meet me if you tell him that Quinn West is here to visit."
The elderly lady quirked her brow and looked up at Quinn for the first time. She narrowed her eyes at him in a half-threatening way.
". . . Sit. I'll inform him," said the elderly lady.
Quinn smiled charmingly and rapped his fingers on the high-quality desk. He took in the space around him with people coming in and out. Quinn enhanced his ears to listen to conversations and watched every person that walked by— the way they walked, what they talked about, what they wore, among other things that he could perceive. He eavesdropped on their emotions and surface thoughts.
He smiled and nodded to everyone who matched eyes with him.
"Follow me," said the receptionist.
Quinn turned to the elderly receptionist and nodded with a smile. He followed her through a few corridors until they reached a small section with only a few offices and another smaller receptionist desk at the end with a young and pretty receptionist lady.
"Karoline, if you could lead him to Mr. Spreck," said the old receptionist.
Karoline, as she had been identified, put down her nail file and looked up for her eyes to widen as she took a look at Quinn.
Quinn smiled charmingly and extended his hand for a handshake. "Good morning, Karoline. My name is Quinn West. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Karoline immediately grabbed Quinn's hand for a shake, and her other went to twirl her blonde locks as she stared into Quinn's eyes, finding herself not being able to look away.
The old receptionist cleared her throat, ending Karoline and Quinn's handshake.
"Lead him in," she said before walking away.
Karoline led him through the door beside her desk to the office of her boss Stephen Spreck who stood up from his desk and came walking with a pudgy belly to greet Quinn with an oily smile.
"Mr. West, what an honor of someone from your family to come to visit me," said Spreck.
Quinn smiled and shook hands with Spreck, who used both his hand.
"Karoline, if you'd get us some refreshments," said Spreck.
Karoline gave Quinn one last very flirtatious look before leaving.
"Departement Head Spreck," said Quinn after he and Spreck sat down, "I have always been interested in the work of the Invisibility Task Force here at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. The muggle and the wizarding world need to remain apart from each other, and the task force is an essential part of it— keeping all the magical creatures and incidents hidden from sight must be a hard job."
"It's hard, but it's our job, so we can't complain," said Spreck, twirling his miniature mustache.
"I see, so it's hard as I expected. . . so that's why during the last two Death Eater Azkaban transports, there were two breaches of the protocol where major magical incidents came into the muggle view," said Quinn with his eyes smiling.
". . . Pardon?"
"I understand that keeping invisibility across the entire state is a tough job, and having a mishap or two during one's tenure is understandable, but having two of them— of such magnitude that Aurors on reserve duty had to be called in to cover all bases— so close to each other. . . what can I say, it raises some question."
"What are you trying to say?" Spreck's face turned red.
"I am trying to say nothing, Mr. Spreck, but people have been asking questions about the happenings— you must know how important the Law of Secrecy is— and if accidents like these keep happening, who knows when we might find ourselves revealed to the muggles."
"And who might these people be?" asked Spreck, looking like a red balloon about to burst.
"Well, my grandfather is one of them."
That made Spreck deflate to a normal fat human being.
"Mr. Spreck, I did some fact-finding about you before I came here and was surprised to find that out of the entire Ministry, the Invisibility Task Force is the one department with the least diversity in its ranks. You not only have the least number of first-gen magicals— ah, pardon my habit— that's muggleborn for you. . . but you also are rutting in the bottom when it comes to halfbloods. . . all you have our purebloods."
Spreck seemed to realize that Quinn had been insulting him. He stood up with his belly jiggling, bursting in anger, and shouted at Quinn. "So what! This is my department; I'll do anything I like! Who are you to tell me how to—"
Quinn tapped his armrest with his finger, and Spreck found himself being pushed down by a strong force into his chair.
"Sit down, Mr. Spreck, and put on a smile."
"W-What?!"
"Smile," said Quinn with a smile.
The office door opened, and Karoline walked in with a plate of refreshments.
"Thank you, Karoline," said Quinn with a smile, ignoring her blatant attempt to touch his hand as she handed him his glass of juice. He gave Spreck a look, and the man seemed to understand as he cooperated by acting normal.
After Karoline left, Quinn continued, "Resign, Mr. Spreck."
"What?"
"Resign— as in relinquishing your position as the Head of The Invisibility Task Force. Your time here has come to an end, and consider this as a generous warning and a chance to exit with dignity."
"What is that supposed to mean? I'm not going to resign!"
"Then be prepared because we're going to drag your name through the mud until your superior is forced to fire you," said Quinn.
"Huh? Wh—"
"You don't want everyone to hear about your misteress, do you?"
Spreck sputtered as if his tongue was repeatedly being pulled. By the time he could put his words together, Quinn spoke again.
"Karoline is a gorgeous woman; you're a man in power; just think about what it'd look like. Moreover, we have very good people who can make it look like you forced her into this. . . and if we can assure that, I'm sure dear Karoline would be happy to play the part."
"I-I—"
"Yes, you, Mr. Spreck. We are giving you a chance. If you walk away peacefully and hand over your seat to a candidate of our choice, we can assure you that you'll face no retaliation. . . and Mr. Spreck, when I say resignation, I actually mean retirement. . . I don't want you to be involved in any bureaucracy or politics— I want you to leave the Ministry, go live in that summer house of yours away from your Death Eater friends, who I know were behind the two incidents you let get out of hand.
And believe, under this administration, you don't want to be labeled as an accomplice to the Death Eater and the Dark Lord. Lady Minister and Scrimgeour will eat a small fry like you for breakfast and ship what remains to Azkaban."
Spreck couldn't speak. He could only stare at Quinn with his mouth open. The man had sweated so much that the color of his shirt was soaking.
Quinn drained his glass of his juice and stood up.
"You have three days to decide, Mr. Spreck. I'll return in three days to get your response. If you say yes, you announce the retirement by the end of the week, and then the clock will start on two weeks under which you'll leave the Ministry for good. If you say no, we will start our campaign against you, and don't bother trying to fight it because we have everything ready for deployment at any given moment."
Quinn walked to the office door, and before he opened it, he turned and said, "Think about your family, Mr. Spreck. If you go peacefully, they won't be disgraced, and you'll still have plenty of means to earn a handsome living, but if you fight. . . you know how ugly things can get."
He smiled, "It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Spreck. I'll see you soon. Let's go for lunch at that time."
Quinn opened the door and left, leaving behind a man with as much sweat on his clothes and thoughts of turmoil in his mind.
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Quinn West - MC - I am optimistic that this one will break.
Stephen Spreck - Head of The Invisibility Task Force - Has a summer house that'll be seeing some use.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Can you guess where I took the names from today. Except for Karoline, that was random.
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